my place, MY place

The past few days have been littered with sightseeing, cuisine and culture, and my freakin' feet hurt from it. I now sit in Hostal Luz, writing on my bed, a hostel that is decorated and run by three feuding grandmothers. These women awake at 8:30 and have a fight by 8:35. There is the main abuela that sits at the front desk and takes the reservations, while two others scurry about into and out of rooms, cleaning and folding. Maybe it is the role dynamics that play a part in a power struggle reminiscent of one of Homer's tragedies. The linens have more floral prints than a female Ed Hardy line, but with abuelas running your hostal there comes perks. Everything is spotless, over-linened, and quiet. Tomato, Tomahto, right?

It is my last day here because today at 2:30 I get to move in to my very own apartment. I was telling my parents that I cannot wait to lock the door behind me, lay on the floor and roll around screaming, "Mine! Miiine! Miiiinneee!! There is something about American's and property, something that stems from a severe dependence on privacy that makes us feel comfortable or at home. Our obsession with ownership and exclusivity has really taken a toll on myself and our culture as Americans. I can just picture a paraphrased version of an intellectual property litigation suit where the two fundamental arguments are:

Plaintiff: "It's mine!"

Defendant: "Uh-uh, it's mine, give it back!"

But, truth be told, my stay for 2 1/2 months requires some sort of haven, some sort of reclusive get-away that allows me to shut my door, tap my heels three times and wish for the bible belt. I want a place to invite people over, a place to cook, a place to really engrain my existence into so as to create a displaced comfort. The apartment is in a great location with a frutería, verdurería, quesería, charcutería, carnecería, Burger King, Starbucks and McDonald's all in one block.

So who shall I invite to my housewarming party tonight? Hmm..maybe I'll invite..well, or maybe...hmm well. HAHA no one's invited! 'Cause who the %$&%^! would come, I don't know anyone. I jest, there are about two Spaniards I think may make the trip out. Probably only one, Jaime the furniture restoration store owner, will be in attendance. But it will be the most awesome two-person housewarming party EVER!

Don't forget to bring some Manchego cheese, the Deputy loves that stuff.