In Calvià, Balearic Islands, Spain.

I do. Not. Care. For this place. Magalluf, Mallorca is populated by fat people. Only fat, drunk people. I swear, I tried to find some decent food yesterday and the healthiest thing I could find was – get this – fried carrots.

Wassevah – no big deal. I live in the most gorgeous hotel room with the most gorgeous view and in the midst of all the drunk people – I might possibly be the most gorgeous person here.

The view is just killer goooood. And I can just stroll down the cliff and dive into the mediterranean. Awesome.

The bad thing is that  - I miss Barcelona. I miss Barca so much my head hurts. We had something incredible. We were as connected as a person and a city can be. I long for my little apartment where I could watch BarcaTV. I want to sit by the benches of the Maremagnum, gaze at the freakin’ awesome view and read El Pais de Barcelona. I miss the smell of the exotic flowers I was given at La Rambla. I miss walking alongside Les Corts and see that everyone is wearing Barcashirts.