No, seriously, mi mancano le parole...

Before I depart on my weekend adventures, I should relay some of the things that happened to me during the week.  It'll be a bit disjointed, so consider yourself warned.  The name of this post was almost "aaaaaahoooooo werewolves of Toledo" because I heard the guy in the apartment above us howling like a wolf this morning.  Seriously.  In his defense, though, they have a baby (I hear it crying sometimes).  Still, I feel like the howling would only make it cry more.  On a different note, I feel like a giant here.  Spaniards are pretty short.  I'm taller than all of the women and around 90% of the men (and another 9% maybe are my height).  It isn't as bad as Japan, but still.  Another note: Veronica found this great picture of the concert I (almost) attended in Santiago:

And she owes me ice cream.  We had a bet on the Italian's age- I said 26 and she said 30.  He's 26.  Hahaha sweet victory!  I met another of my intercambios, Sergio, yesterday.  He's neither really attractive nor really rich (bummer!), but we get along well and he's easy to talk to and understand in both languages.  We had a lovely chat on accents and linguistics.  It was really helpful, actually, though I'm a bit worried about going to Andalucía this weekend.  Apparently they're the Scots of the Spanish-speaking world- impossible to understand, even to native speakers.  Ángeles has mentioned this too.  But, that will all be relayed next week when I return.  On to the title incident.  Seriously, only I would get myself into this situation.  A quick translation: "mi mancano le parole" means "I lack the words" or "I don't know the words" in Italian.  It's usually pretty helpful.  Not so, this time.  So the Italian and I were chatting (which means he was talking and I was struggling to form complete sentences), and we somehow got on the topic of Halloween and/or Carnival costumes.  I, not thinking, brought up the kid at ND who went as a box of Kleenex with a sign that said "blow me" (and you thought we were a Catholic school :).  Guess what doesn't translate?  I at first said something like, "oh, sorry, it's a play on words that doesn't really translate", but he wanted me to explain the joke.  Joder.  I really had no idea how to go about it, seeing as I lacked the pertinent vocabulary in Italian and Spanish (well, most of it anyway), and he had no idea what I was saying in English.  What ensued was probably 10 very awkward minutes that felt like 10 hours of me trying to explain, during which he was like, "what are you talking about and what does it have to do with Kleenex?"  Then he wanted to use word reference (for those who don't know, the best online language dictionary ever), and I explained that it was a phrase that didn't translate literally (and I don't think urban dictionary has a translator).  Then he pulled out a pen and pad of paper and wanted me to draw what I was talking about.  Um, how about no.  Eventually, I just said that it was a sexual reference and left it at that when salvation (a customer) walked through the door.  Joder, ¡Que pregunta!