uptempodemonplumsauce: "We really live an amazing life." "Yes."

...I said to Stella, and Stella said to me as we road the metro recounting some of our favorite Wes Craven memories. He was so special, so brilliant, so funny and such a visionary.

So much damn fun!

(Quick story: Stella and I traveled to London & Paris after working on a Wes Craven movie called "Cursed" (watch it to see me act with my eyes as 'Make-Up Artist'- Wes was so fun about letting crew be on camera) as part of a pack of badass "Cursed" women: Tina, Julie, Maria and Joni- we love and miss you!
I recalled to Stella that I was only able to afford the trip because Wes pulled my name out of the Five-Dollar Day bucket, meaning I won around $1200, the day after Stella and everyone else had booked their flights. It occurred to me for the first time that what I considered to be an amazing coincidence - that my boss pulls my name to win a load of cash the same time all my best friends are going on a trip I can't afford - might have been Wes just being a sweet, thoughtful man and giving me what I wanted most in the world. Coincidence or not, that's how great Wes was.)

September 15, Friday
We wake up late. Its been raining all night and has turned borderline cold. Today is Park Güell day! We take the subway partway and walk the rest of it, since I'd rather exercise than ride the bus.

Even though it's a wet day, it feels good to be outside in the fresh air moving around. We have appointments both for Gaudí's House Museum and for Park Güell. We're half an hour early for our museum appointment which is good because it takes us that long to NOT find a restroom. Between the map of the park in our hands indicating where the toilets should be, and the signs pointing to the WC ("water closet"), not being able to find a place to pee is feeling like a personal failure. Finally, we appeal to museum security who lets us in early.

The clouds only make Barcelona more gorgeous

The museum tells us Gaudí is an austere, penitent man who lived in the very house we're touring with his sickly father and niece who both die within the same year. "Murderer," whispers Stella. "Yup," I agree. It's suspicious!

Tourists in Gaudi's wonderland

We also decide Gaudí was gay, because no straight man could have this gorgeous imagination and creativity, AND be able to express himself with such sensitivity and wit. Plus, church twice a day and never married? And he had a "right-hand man"? And their love couldn't be expressed in the time in which they lived so The Right-Hand Man helped Gaudí fulfill and bring to life every exquisite vision he ever had, and the art they created together was the true expression of their hearts desire and devotion to one another, and now it exists to thrill and inspire tourists on their own quests to express their innermost yearnings... The moral of this story is no matter how many details you give us, we're gonna find a way to write our own epic tragic fairytale love story.

Bestie in flight

By the time we have our appointment to enter Park Güell, I'm hungry and tired and dislike every tourist in the park. I keep this from Stella as long as I can, because you never want to be the unfun one. Five minutes later, the words, "Let's get this over with," come out of my mouth.

I whine about being hungry, Stella suggests the energy bar in my purse. I whine that it's sweet and I'm feeling salty and she trades me her salty for my sweet. I yawn and whine I'm tired. She reminds me to drink water to wake up and then distracts me with a gut-busting, fantastic, fun photo shoot. Her skill for managing young children and cranky creatives comes in real handy with me.

Park Güell is choked with tourists, even on this cold, rainy day. The Dr. Seuss vibe is strong here, which makes the place feel like an illusion come to life. I can't believe what I'm seeing, but I'm standing in it and walking through it so I know it's real. Even as a crankypants, I can't deny how phenomenal this place is. It's magic come to life. (And that magic is the fairytale love of The Penitent Artist and his Right-Hand Man-- see, it's a good story.)

That's our tea! It's warmed by a tea light! I get the name now!

Stella and I have been outside in the rainy cold for hours at this point and only eaten a small breakfast and protein bars. We are dying for ramen. We walk from Park Güell into Grácia and use our instincts to decide where to turn left and right. And when that doesn't work fast enough, I try Yelp. Every ramen place we look up doesn't open for hours. We turn a corner randomly and find IT. The Perfect Place. The place with ramen and good beer and beautiful tea and a great soundtrack and a waiter that speaks excellent English, but we don't realize it because he's understanding my Spanish. Plus, it's warm and dry. Stella and I consider sleeping here, if not just moving in.

On Fridays, we ramen.

We go home to rest, but not for long because we're going out. Again. This is breaking news because in LA, we leave the house for food and exercise and not much else. Certainly not to be around people drinking drinks we could drink at home watching Friends.

Last night we walked to Ambar, a local bar Stella found that we've been drooling over simply based on its pictures. It's perfect- divey, a weirdo rockabilly soundtrack, and reminds me so much of the California Clipper in Chicago.

Tonight, we branch out and try a few bars recommended by an article that I decide was meant for 23 year-olds with little imagination and taste. I might not have been in the best mental headspace, trying to top our previous night's success with greasy hair in the clothes I shivered and sweated in all day.

The last bar we try is The George Payne, a giant Irish bar with an excellent 90s soundtrack and fun people watching. This place has everything, from a Hawaiian clad bachelor party to white-wine moms on their night out to club kids to a table of Irish Elders building things out of coasters. I'm too tired to appreciate it until we're walking out and I know that bedtime is imminent.

"Another good day," Stella says as we both settle into our sofa beds in opposite nooks of our quirky little art studio. "Yeah," I agree.