Es una may-yarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrda!

It looks like the sun is rising. We're flying in a northwesterly direction, chasing the setting sun as I try to get my one working earbud to stay in mi oido. I'm on my way home from Mexico after selling the house - back to the land of surf, burritos, and higher rent. These last few days blew through like a hurricane...driving everywhere, chasing money, chasing Negrito, eating way too much and not caring. I feel very lucky to have wrapped things up so quick, but I'm not surprised. For whatever reason, the majority of things I come up against work themselves out just how I need (I think) them to. I try my best not to take this for granted. Life is good.

Except now I'm thirty.

How should I wrap this blog up? I was thinking stream-o-consciousness, but then I realized I may not be able to spell "consciousness", so scratch that. What has even happened since last time? Do I know? My memory seems to be going with old age. Hmmmm, let's focus on my boy Negrito for a bit. I had a very emotional morning with him before I flew out. It was basically way too much Beggin (with turkey and tocino!) and petting/scratching. I think he knew I was going, his eyes had a different look to them. Actually, I think that was from sticking his entire head into the sand going after crabs, emerging with a dome covered in dirt. Que padre. He did walk pressed against my leg the last couple days before I left, he probably sensed it was bail-out time. I've had a couple ex girlfriends do the same thing right before I said "hasta luego!"

Negrito was going to live with Jose up the way. This plan went straight in the toilet after the VW incident (more on that later). I'm worried about my dog, right? Right. As luck would have it, when Ricardo's wife came to see the house right before we closed, she fell in love with Negrito - LOVED him. In fact, when she called from the states to discuss wiring over 300,000 dollars with her husband, the first thing she asked was "did you talk to Adam about Negrito?". It may have been the second thing, but that's good enough for me. They are going to keep him, feed him, get him all his shots, etc etc etc. This is good on all counts, as my life has been threatened at least once by my friends in the states, if I were to leave Negrito in bad/no hands.

I saw Mexico D.F. today from above. You see the air first, however, and you taste it. The air pollution is unreal, and my understanding is that they battle this in one way by restricting the days you can drive based on your license plate or something similar. I've got an idea...how about emissions control on the actual cars? The city is enormous, and as we dropped down lower to land, the haze pushed back and I could see the sprawl much more clearly. I can't describe the density of the homes or seeming endlessness of the blocks stretching out in all directions. It looked like a movie set for some 2056-the-world-is-over-populated-and-Arnold-will-save-us flick. I'm pretty sure there are more than 10 million people in this town, and a crazy Canadian I met in Mexico said there are more people there than the entire country of Canada. He also thinks there are satanic black cubes on the poles of Saturn. Who knows, maybe he's right.

I thought I was going to have to beat someone up in Mexico. I've never done that before. I know I was more mad then I've been in a LONG time. Jose! My friend. My amigo of many months. The man that assured me he'd pay me back for the car. This guy turned out to be a really bad fellow, compadres. After a month and a half of chasing him around, with not a peso to show for it, I decided to make peace with losing the money and give the car to that couple I mentioned before. Jose agreed to meet me at my house at 5pm to either give me the money (from ANOTHER guy he said wanted to buy it...) or go with me to Telchac to sign over the car. Perhaps it was my Spanish, maybe I misunderstood what he had said - turns out he actually said to go to my house at 5pm, but he'd be drunk in Chixchulub until 830 or so. Treats! I waited for him to come home, and he was furious that I was actually going to take back the car from him. We didn't argue at his house, though. That fun was later. He insisted on bringing his wife with him (I think he knew I would make him walk the 18 KM home) and proceeded to drive all over the road with me following in the truck. I think we maxed out at 35 mph, and that was the fastest I'd ever seen that VW go.

We arrived at the hotel where my friends work/live, and Jose decided to hop on the belligerent express for a joyride. He yelled, saying he wouldn't sign anything, that I was a bad person, yada yada yada. I couldn't believe it. Who did this guy think he was? I could feel my blood boiling as I apologized to my poor friends for the trouble. We were standing out on the front porch of this place, and Jose actually got in my face. Well, it was more like my collarbone, but you know what I mean. I told him if he was 20 years younger, I'd be tossing him off that porch in front of his wife. Lucky for both of us, I'm not a violent person, but I was very upset. My friend and I were then able to talk him into leaving the car, title, and keys at the hotel, and coming back in the morning to sign. I don't know why he agreed to this, but I was glad to be wasting more gas to drag him up there again. The next morning, he spent the ride over telling me why it was my fault he couldn't pay, and how I was a bad person for doing this. Basically, he thought he was going to get a free car, and how could I be so cruel to ruin that plan? I used all the Spanish I know to tear into him, and when I was done, he didn't say a word until we got to the hotel. He promptly signed, and then it was silence all the way back to our neighborhood in the truck. I lost $550 and a friend, but I think it was a good amount to learn this lesson on. If I had just said "no" to the loan, we'd all be sharing a beer and ceviche to see me off. Instead, muchos sentimientos malos.

It's going to be odd living in San Diego again. A 9 to 5 job seems so foreign at this point, but it won't take me long to fall back into the groove. I'll miss the goofballs down there, my dog and his fleas, singing with face inches from the tile wall in the bathroom at all hours of the night, sharpening my machete, the sound of the waves and the swing of my hammock, the calories, Diego's underwear drying in the sun, all the bad words I couldn't help but learn, that sic-em-on-a-chicken song that Remko played over and over every time a cruise ship from the southern states was in, speaking spanish like it was my job, the roar of that exhaust as my truck sucked up the gas, and habaneros...I love me some habaneros. As I said my goodbyes today, I was asked over and over "Cuando regresas?", or something similar - when are you coming back? I doubt I will actually go back, but you never know. I've got plenty of memories to tide me over.

Hoy es el 21 de Abril.  Saldré en una semana.  Que loco!  I'm sitting in the corner of a restaurant, looking out over the Malecon and the turquoise water.  I forgot to buy water last night, and I had little food in the house, so breakfast in town was the only logical solution.  I wish these guys would clean the jelly out of the little cup before they cram it full of butter.  Asi es.  The guys across the street are hanging up "magical little shirts" for sale.  That's what the sign says.

I've come to a conclusion of sorts, and I don't know how it's going to affect my life back in the states.  I'm trying to figure out why I haven't just worn white cotton tshirts every day before I moved down here.  I'm certainly going to after I move back.  Cheap.  Easy.  Comfortable.  The only problem is my deodorant stains the pits like a CHAMPION. 

"Isn't that the same thing you wore yesterday?"

"Yes.  Well, kinda."

My buddy Jose has supposedly been trying to sell the little orange VW so he can pay me back at least a majority (mayoria) of the money he owes me.  I think, when you try to sell a car here in Mexico, you do the following:

1. Claim that there is a guy in a somewhat distant town that wants to come to my house to discuss the car.
2. "Arrange" for the meeting at 1 pm, then push it to 2pm, then 3pm, then 4pm, then 5pm, then he never shows up.
3. Instead of stopping at my house to discuss this situation, blow past it with 7-8 people in the car to go buy more beer in Chixchulub.

I think I'm going to give him until Saturday to sell it.  If he can't, I understand.  My feeling is that he thinks if he dances around for the next several days, I'll just get frustrated, leave on my plane for San Diego, and never see him again.  Instead, I'm going to go get him Saturday morning and make him drive the car to Telchac (stopping to fill the gas tank on the way).  I have made friends with a poor couple that works in a hotel there - the same place I check my email sometimes.  They are very sweet, don't have a car, and have never asked me for anything - only chatted with me in Spanish for as long as I liked on the way in and out the door of the hotel.  I'm going to make Jose sign it over to them at the hotel, and then tell him a ride back to his house in my truck will cost 6500 pesos...which just happens to be the amount of money he didn't pay me back.  I think this is the superior solution to my other idea - make him drive with me out to the middle of nowhere, force him to watch me torch the car and dance around it laughing, and make him walk home from there. 

Before I go, Gerald wants to load up the jeep and head over to a ruin a couple hours east of here.  Supposedly, there is a cenote there that can be accessed by a zipline.  If that is true, I can't wait.  I wanted to see the 3 Kings cenotes as well before I left, but I think those will have to wait for the next time I visit the Yucatan.  I tried to get my goofball brothers to go with me when they were here, but we went with the take-it-easy approach to vacationing in Mexico.  Speaking of: I was going through some of the pictures from that trip, below are a few more.  Credit to Wiley and/or his awesome camera and lens.

No te claves

I would swear sometimes that I'm stuck inside a choose-your-own-adventure book, but there are no good options. If you want Diego to lie about his whereabouts yesterday, turn to page 43. If you want Jose to promise repayment of a loan in 2 weeks, but pay you back exactly Zero pesos after twice that amount of time, simply turn the page and continue reading. This reminds me I'm human - as much as I try to make a strong effort to focus on the positive in life, I find myself dwelling on these little things that really don't make much of a difference. Quien sabe, mis amigos?

I chopped another limb off the Mexican Real Estate monster this morning. Diego and I loaded up the truck temprano and headed into Merida to meet our lawyer. In Mexico, when a home changes hands and there are employees involved, you have to pay them a chunk in case they get let go by the next guy. In return, they must sign a legal form (needing a special stamp) stating that they won't go after the new owner for old money. Long story short, I have a lovely stamped form to give the bank when we close, and Diego is trying to decide how quickly he can burn through 8000 pesos on moonshine-tequila and cheap prostitutes. After we left the courthouse (and I use this term lightly), he advised me that he'd be taking a bus to his daughter's house for the evening, and wouldn't be able to return until early tomorrow morning. I have a feeling I won't see him for two days, because he and I both know that his daughter's house has somehow magically transformed into an old shack out in the middle of nowhere, full of his equally-handsome friends, the majority of whom will spend the rest of the day and night cramming as much alcohol into their cramholes as possible. If I sat him down and asked him why, he'd probably say it's to honor his Mayan heritage.

These last couple weeks should prove to be interesting, with regard to dealing with the lawyer and wrapping up Diego's stint. I just checked the calendar - I have about 2 weeks and a day left to handle m'business. We're expecting a very important FedEx this week, and I'll need to camp outside the lawyer's office to make sure he's working on our file instead of looking up swords or megayachts on the internet. Supposedly, Diego's daughter will be showing up with a truck on the 23rd to take his things somewhere. Turns out...Diego went on a shopping spree before I arrived. He bought a refrigerator, refillable propane tank, and other important parts of his casita. Of course, this is all with the tiny bit of weekly salary he claims doesn't cover his food and other expenses. He is now very excited to load all these things into that truck, along with probably anything I leave laying around unlocked. I can't really call him out on it, since I can't prove that Dave paid for this stuff. Are you guys picking up a theme as of late?

I'm pretty disillusioned with the people here in the Yucatan. I still love the food, language, etc. The majority of the folks are very friendly, don't get me wrong. The trouble is trust - you can't trust anyone here, really. I'm trying to understand this culture of deceit and backstabbing, figure out where it comes from in my brief stay here. I think a lot of it has to do with money. Of course, almost everything has to do with money, but this appears to be a direct cause/effect type'a deal. I would suppose, to my mostly low-income friends, that I symbolize the Haves. The truth is I don't have much to my name, but they see the tall white boy driving around in the big truck, living in the big house on the beach, and I'm sure this puts me in a certain spot that I can't get out of, no matter how much deer I eat or limestone I carry side by side with these guys. When it comes down to it, it's me vs them, I guess. They have to hustle to survive, and if they can take advantage of one of the Haves like me, that's just part of the deal. I can afford it, right? (not so much) Is this to say, that poor people are all scumbags? Who am I to judge? If it is indeed a means of survival for my friends - to take advantage of my kindness and naivety, can I really be angry? I'm looking forward to the Peace Corps, where I'll be sleeping in the dirt with no means of impressing save my big ole blues. Perhaps this will help to alleviate this problem, vamos a ver.

This blog entry has been a bit of a downer, eh? Let's end on something light - Negrito can eat a grasshopper like no body's business! Living alone tends to do things to your mind. You find yourself talking to animals more than usual. You find yourself taking your flashlight and a stick, chasing around Negrito in the dark while he hunts for anything that moves. He's developed this amazing technique of clawing insects against the hard ground or tile without killing them (for a while). He'll also grab them gently with his teeth and toss them up in the air, trying to teach me that I should play with my tacos before I eat them. The driveway is a cockroach graveyard, littered with bodies in different states of decay. On occasion, Negrito runs up against a scorpion, and I swear the kid has no memory. He gets stung in the face EVERY time. What a goofball. The most recent display was with a large grasshopper that snuck under my screen door. It probably took him a good 10 minutes to finally finish it off...we're working on his efficiency. I encourage this hunting/eating thing, because I have a feeling he'll be doing a lot more of it for real after I'm gone. Hi-Five!

Oh, and Imma marry this lady.

Spider-crab

It's dark, the moon hasn't risen or has already set or someone borrowed it.  There's a saltwater marsh with lots of mosquitos and crocodiles across the main road from me.  I'm sitting outside a perimeter fence of a house on that water in the dirt with my netbook, machete, flipflops, and some SHORTS.  I smell a skunk. 

Only 3 more weeks.

Tengo sueño

I don't have a thermometer.  I do have a dog.  If Negrito is situated in a similar manner as this photo, I know it's hot.  If he isn't, I know it's not that hot.  Simplify, gangstas.  Simplify.  I'm in Buddys right now, typing away after injesting way too many habaneros and half a gallon of water.  I'm trying to sweat out the crazy, but I don't think it's working.  It's a beautiful day out, lots of families on the beach - Right now some guys are heckling a girl walking by.  That's kind of like saying, "and now, there is air."  It's good to be a macho in the Yucatan, I can't imagine being here alone as a gringa. 

My dear brother Wiley wanted to see some more needle pics, so here they be.  The last shot was the easiest, and I'm feeling 98% better right now.  All I'm lacking is the next questionable dish of Mexican food with a mystery bacteria hiding within.  It's like that great old toy, Puppy Surprise.  When you bought it, you had no idea how many puppies were in it.  That's what I see when they set down a plate of tacos in front of me...How many high-dose-antibiotic-shots-in-the-rear are inside?!?  There could be 3, or 4, or 5!  I used to wonder if they ever screwed up and forgot to put any puppies in one of those things.  Poor kid. 

 I'd like to end this entry on a positive note: dead turtles.  Of course, I don't think the concept of dead turtles is a good thing.  It's positive because I got the chance to see this guy washed up on the beach.  I'd reckon he's 100 pounds if he's an ounce.  What an interesting creature.  On my honeymoon many moons ago, I had the pleasure of visiting a turtle hatchery down south.  You were allowed to pick up a young turtle out of the tank (about the size of a small pizza) to observe all the flapping that they guys are known for.  Flap flap.  This big one I found on the beach wasn't very active, to be honest.  He was more along the lines of smelly. 

Besides his outer layer of shell coming off in spots, I couldn't see anything really wrong with him.  I wonder how he died?  I guess it could be old age, he was pretty large.  Did he swallow one of those plastic rings that holds a sixpack together?  It's possible, if you saw the beaches here, you wouldn't believe the amount of garbage on them.  Poor old guy.  I think, in his honor, I'm going to just lay around on my stomach all day.

Ridin' that train

You want a whole fried fish to go? Sure, no problem. Porfavor, espera aqui, and in about 10 minutes or so I'll return with it, tail sticking out of one of those thin plastic bags from the grocery store - hot off the deep-fryer. I about lost my lunch on this scene earlier at the restaurant. Normally I'd be okay, but I was still nauseous after giving myself an injection of strong antibiotics. Where did I give myself an injection? That's a tough question. I could answer it a couple ways: lying sideways on the backseat of my truck in the parking lot of Buddys, or directly in my butt cheek. Both would be correct. It's an interesting sensation, pushing a needle over an inch long into your skin, through the layers into the fat, popping through on your way to muscle. It's better if you don't look, or go slowly the first time. Trust me on both counts.

I'm pretty sure I have a bacterial deal in my gut, i.e. Salmonella or something similar. The medicines the doctor prescribed (with his one good eye and mangled hand) seem to be doing the trick, so I think we guessed correctly on the illness. You can see by the picture how excited I am about my first shot at the house. Look at that face. The other fun part of this whole thing is: the medicine has to be mixed. I opened up the box to find a vial of liquid with a glass top that has to be shattered, another vial of powder that will ultimately hold the sweet mix I'd be shooting into my behind, a syringe (in only one of the three boxes) that had to be assembled, and a little wipey for my skin. Que suerte. Thank God I had seen a couple episodes of ER before it got really bad, or I may not have known how to deal with the whole situation. I made sure all the air was out of the syringe and that I was lying down in case I passed out. I feel like I should have had a little tequila before, but I wasn't sure how the meds would do mixing with it. I noticed, right before sticking the needle into me, that it was wide and hollow... like I'd be taking a core sample of my butt ala some artic-ice-sample to analyze the layers and prove global warming was true. I love needles.

How did I spend my 30th birthday? Mostly in the bed, partly staring at the blue tiles in my bathroom.

How will I spend my Easter Sunday? Sticking the final needle (hopefully) in my moneymaker.

More later, I think I need some rest.

Mexicoke

Like the hairs surrounding Negrito's mange sore, so are the days of my stay. We're rapidly approaching the end of March, the holiday weeks, the reverse-tsunami of Mexico-natives seeking intense sun, bebidas, and turquoise waters. That means only about a month or so until I should have the sale wrapped up, and my behind on a plane back to lovely San Diego. That's exciting and scary a la misma hora, I can't wait to see all those I left behind, but I'll miss my little chunk of third-world paradise ( and I'm hoping nothing goes wacko with the paperwork so we can actually make that deadline). Cuando yo vine a Playa San Bruno, fui un gringo sin color, y no lo pude hablar espanol muy bien. Ahorita, tiene color mi piel, estoy mas rubio, y puedo hablar y entenderlo mas bueno espanol. My grammar, conjugation, and spelling still need a lot of work - in english and spanish.

Today I made a bad choice. Honestly, I didn't know it was going to be close to 100 degrees today in Progreso. Lord knows I wouldn't have pulled on JEANS if I had. I was riding the sweat express without a ticket today, and to make it worse - I decided to ingest my weight in habanero peppers along with my tacos de arrachera. I'm so lethargic right now, the power of the sun and a little tequila should not be underestimated. Or the water lost by sweating in your jeans while in a semi-tropical climate. I actually made two bad choices, truth be told. I decided to make a small loan to one of of Mexican friends, Jose. He needed to buy this old VW right away, but supposedly won't get paid for the big jobs he's working on for a couple weeks. This is my very first adventure in making loans to un amigo. I have a feeling it will shortly be followed by another first - not getting paid back. Yeah! Put that between some bread with relish and snack on it! Wash it down with a warm 3-Liter of Coca-Cola!  Diabetes yeah!  Seriously though, sometimes you need to take risks (besides falling off a rock face or falling in love).

One of the local ladies is in heat, I suppose, because all the male dogs are running around like idiots - hips thrusting to nowhere, biting each others faces. My poor Negrito is one of the smaller dogs, and it doesn't look to me like he's even remotely interested in mounting, he is just used to running around with his friends. Now (ahora), these same friends are ripping holes in his face for even getting close. He was dripping blood on the tile this morning, and before I realized what was going on, I searched all over my body for the source of the mystery red smears on my arms and hands. I wonder how long he'll live after I leave? Nobody will be feeding him, Diego will soon be going bye-bye and I doubt he'll be taking the animals with him - not that it matters. I wonder if Negrito would fit in my uke case behind the neck...there's a small space there that I usually reserve for a book or a bag of cashews. Two plane rides later, he's searching for dirty diapers on the beaches of San Diego. Que Bueno!

It's strangely gloomy here today, which I think is a contributing factor to my mood. I wonder if I took up residence someplace more gloomy (Seattle?) with a marked propensity towards rainfall...would that turn me into a writer? I have little-to-no pain or angst in me as I sit, and the sunny days help to keep that feeling rolling. Perhaps I should try writing songs in spanish - I think I'd focus more on getting the vocab and grammar in line, and worry less about my lyrics laying gold eggs. On a related note, the last time I played in front of folks, I was booed by a group of old drunk gringos and canadians. Que Bueno!

Esa cosa que me hiciste mami, me gusto!

It's been 6 long days since I last checked in, outside world.  Life has been very interesting 'round these parts as of late.  There are several stories floating around as to why exactly, but the greater Progreso area has been SWARMING with police the past several days.  Did they receive a tip that a big shipment of drugs and arms was heading this way?  Maybe.  Did someone steal a briefcase full of important documents from the governor's daughter's home?  Es posible.  I don't think anyone really knows why for certain, but about every 5th car has been a police vehicle of some sort.  This is important to me for a couple reasons, the main one being that the truck I'm driving doesn't really have all its paperwork in line.  The truck was imported by my friend's father (a gringo), and the paperwork is wrong and long-expired after his father passed last year.  It wouldn't take much for my ride to be swept away to some impound yard in Merida, never to be seen again.  In fact, I had to sweet-talk and actually bribe the police the other day to avoid just that.  I was stopped twice in the same day; drug dogs and thorough search the first time (no problema), and 2000 pesos in the pockets of the policia the second time (ai!).  I think I got off lucky, but I need to be extra careful as the year progresses and more people come to the beach area - the police presence increases as well.  I've been semi-holed up in my fortress for the past couple days, but today I decided to brave the roads, and it would appear most of them are taking a Sunday siesta or something.  Que bueno!

I did sneak up the road a km or so to see my friend Jose on Friday, his wife had prepared some fresh fish ceviche and fried up some corn tortillas (not so fresh?) for us to enjoy.  Diego and I sat with him, talking in spanish and enjoying the breeze under the big coconut palms.  Topics of conversation included me losing money to the police, which of the rich owners of the homes surrounding were nice or mean, and of course which one of the several guys in our small group of friends was the closet to a "6" on the Kinsey scale.  On a related note, I've recently discovered that Manuel's wife, when he is away working in Merida, will sell her body to the local guys for extra cash.  To give you an idea of Yolanda's standards, feast your eyes on her number one customer in the green shirt - the dashing Diego.  I do wish Jose was my cuidador instead, but what can you do?  Nada. 

I'm a little discouraged at the moment - I think my dreams of the motorcycle trip were too far-fetched.  I'm almost positive now I need to have a special license to drive an actual motorcyle, so if I want to rent one (tough enough as it is), I'm out of luck.  I could get away with one of the little scooters the tourists rent, but that's not going to cut it.  I need to talk with some more cycle owners in town, it's amazing what random bits you pick up from the local gringos y mexicanos alike.  Maybe I should just rent a small sailboat and see if I can reach Cuba instead.  There's a GREAT idea.  I'm sure I'd probably run into the only State police drug checkpoint set up in the middle of the Gulf, a little raft with a short guy with way too much grease in his hair, and a german shepard. 

Yo no soy marinero, soy capitan

I can't remember the last time I've suffered with insomnia. I fought getting up since 3 am or so, but I gave in just before 5 when I heard Negrito outside my sliding door making noise like he does. I wonder if he could sense I was riding the toss-n-turn train? The little shrine Diego has on his wall ( Maria Guadalupe Virgin de Concepcion Jesus Divino Nino) must never shut down, I can make out the red glow of the bulb in the window through the palm fronds. We've talked before about how early he gets up, but I think I've beat him today. I love it, he wakes up early so he can lay in the hammock. That's my man!

Hey! I just re-found Blind Pilot on my itunes, perfect for early-morning-half-open-eyes-crazy-talking. What sleep I did get was split between inappropriate dreams about mexican women, and bad dreams about my dad and my grandmother. I got an email last night from my little brother Wiley, apparently my sweet ole grandma is not doing so well. I'm not sure exactly what is happening back in Ohio, but he wrote that she has around a month or less left. How do they even determine that? She has been in a home for a long time now, and although she hasn't been suffering physically, her mind has been gone for some time. Grandpa left her stranded back when I was 16 or so, which reminds me I need to watch my intake of certain fats and bad cholesterol. Or do I? I don't see myself in poor Grandma's shoes, wasting away in some folding bed with little idea of what's going on around me. I guess it's hard to say for sure until I reach that age-range, but it seems like an awfully awful way to go. I've been looking at a picture I have on my phone of Wiley and myself with Grandma, I can close my eyes and see her chasing us both in the basement with a flyswatter because we had kicked the ball into the ceiling for the 454th time.

I was reading an article about the Mayans and dentistry, and they discussed how excavations of certain cities and graveyards were crucial in determining blah blah blah and etc as well. I'm wondering - how would it go over if I went down to Greenwood cemetery in Hamilton, OH and started my dig ( I'm researching the effect of excessive milk intake on bone density in Midwestern towns with populations around 60,000). Of course, I'm not serious, but it made me think what the cutoff is where it's acceptable to start digging up bones. How many years do I have to be in the dirt before someone can unearth me and earn grant money instead of being tossed in the slammer?

I made the mistake of putting Negrito back outside, and now he's whining like he's getting 55K a year plus benefits to do it. Pobrecito. I still feel a little foggy this morning, yesterday I think I had a little too much food and drink. Late morning and afternoon were spent on Ricardo's 40 foot cruiser, eating botanas and drinking cerveza while his captain drove us around for no real reason. Apparently, it's over $1000 to just put gas in this thing, which I understand has a tank on the small side and wouldn't last very long. I can't imagine having that kind of dinero, but I'm glad he does. It will make it much easier for him to buy this house out from under me. I love that the guy is so excited to get it closed, he's been helping me drive all over the place, tracking down documents that don't actually exist, battling it out with Mexican government workers (you thought the DMV was bad). Holy Moly. Yesterday he mentioned he'd like to have a party once he takes over the house, put a band out on the back terrace and have a ton of people over. I'm sure Dave will be smiling down, from what I'm told he was quite the entertainer, and many folks talk about the good times they had here at the house. As it sits, the only party I can think of is when I give Negrito a piece of Beggin and he goes crazy...oh yeah, and that time I found a scorpion in the kitchen - that was fun.

The March wind is blowing, and I'm turning my color. You're welcome Mom!

I feel like this entry is rather random. I think "impensado" is the random in espanol. I've developed the habit of carrying around my Langenscheidt diccionario around with me - leave it to the Germans to make the best spanish/english dictionary I could find. When I'm home, I've been tearing into my Spanish book from the last semester I took in college, and if you happen to be reading this cousin J-Reid, you know what I be talking about. Who doesn't love a good dose of indirect object pronouns, irregular preterite verb forms, or instructions solamente en Espanol? I love speaking spanish and learning from my neighbors, and the language is slowly but surely worming its way into my cerebro. Que bueno! Oh, Chela and Negrito are at the door, I better feed those locos. More later.

　

Eres muy guapo y quiero hacerlo contigo

This starfish rode its own little struggle-express over the exposed sandbar, trying to find some water before the sun could suck the moisture de su cuerpo and send him to the much-more-moist starfish heaven, also known as Point Loma.  I found this picture to be both beautiful and depressing.  Ahorita, estoy en la cibercafe en Telchac Puerto.  It's late.  I'm tired.  My stomach is full to the top with porkchops and salad and bread, courtesy of my Italian neighbor Joan Duca, who recently shot a LOT of stray dogs directly in the buttocks with a pellet pistol.  This is my life in the Yucatan.  This is paradise.

I was in San Diego for a week for business / pleasure, and I must be honest - I felt like I was in a foreign country.  Apparently, I've assimilated much more then I imagined I would, and I was looking at the ole SD through tourist's eyes.  What a lovely town it is - I understand why I live there.  One thing to note: it would seem I have grown quite a bit since moving to Mexico, check out how much bigger I am than the carts at Whole Foods in Hillcrest.  Yikes. 

The two Mexican Men in my life are giving me trouble - Diego and Negrito.  We've wrapped up the construction on the new portion of Diego's casita, courtesy of my tiny bank account.  I was happy to pay for and do some of the work myself, until I found out that there's a very good chance Diego lies to me on a regular basis.  "Somos amigos!" I tell him, and he nods.  I'm getting to the bottom of this little mystery of mine, but I have a feeling that making up stories is as much a part of the Mexican culture here as luke-warm Coca Cola and pescado frito. 

Negrito, on the other hand, shoveled me up a dose of the mange when I got back from my trip.  The guys tell me to put motor oil on it.  I'm not so sure.  I bathed him today in some special soap which he hated like a champion.  I made sure to give him some treats before and after to thank him for putting up with the cold water and suds.  Poor guy.  I have to selectively pet him as to avoid the scabs and such, which reminds me of the good ole days.  It's ironic, he's also taken to chasing a poor little starved puppy that comes around looking for food...didn't take him long to forget his roots. 

I'm going to wrap up this clusterfriend of stories with a bit on selling a house in Mexico.  It's much more complicated than I would have guessed, and it turns out that everyone must be paid something when a home changes hands here.  The big bank.  The lawyer.  The federal government.  The local government.  Even the liar Diego.  When it's all said and done, we might clear enough to buy some corn tortillas and a caguama of Sol.  Andale!

Valentine

Heartbreak, old friend, goodbye it's me again.
Of late, I've had some thought of movin' in.
Of all the many ways a man will lose his home,
Well, there ain't none better than the girl who's movin' on.

True love, I knew some thought of leavin' you.
Bad thoughts I had, when valentines were due.
Of all the many ways a man will break his heart,
Well there ain't none meaner than he pulls his own apart


Valentine, the destroyer, Valentine, you belong
In the stars, where you are, always rollin' on.
Cried, I've cried till I couldn't carry on.
It's a lonely, lonely feelin' when your Valentine is wrong.
It's a lonely, lonely feelin' when your Valentine is wrong.


Heartbreak, old friend, goodbye it's me again.
Of late, I've had some thought of movin' in.
Of all the many ways a man will lose his home,
Well, there ain't none better than the girl who's movin' on.



Valentine, the destroyer, Valentine, you belong
In the stars, where you are, always rollin' on.
Cried, I've cried till I couldn't carry on.
It's a lonely, lonely feelin' when your Valentine is wrong.
It's a lonely, lonely feelin' when your Valentine is wrong.


Of all the many things that you've been countin' on,
Well, there ain't none better than the girl who's movin' on.
No, there ain't none better than the girl who's movin' on.
No, there ain't none better than the girl who's movin' on.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SsRRmUU0wlk&feature=related

¿QUIÉN SABE?

In the west behind me, the setting sun lights up the clouds over the last few days of the Carnival festival here in the Yucatan.  I'm stuck behind a computer after a day of heavy lifting and cerveza...both help to dull the mind.  I've got an offer to buy the place I've been trying to sell, and to be honest - I've got mixed feelings.  I'm elated to at least have some progress in the actual sale for Mike, but I'm not sure that I'm ready to roll just yet.  I've still got so much Spanish to learn, I need to take my motorcycle trip across Mexico and beyond, and I'd like to get my diving certification if time/money allows over in Playa Del Carmen with Nat.  I'm sure it will work itself all, it always does.

I'm having a love affair with a dog.  The longer I'm around Negrito, the more little nips he gives me on the back of my knee, the more burrs I pull out of his fur, with each swipe of the cats claws across his little black nose...the clearer it becomes that I'll probably cry when I leave him.  He started out as an emaciated insane scabby puppy tied to a tree, and has grown into a playful paint-covered (he slept up against a fresh white paint job) son-of-a-bitch (literally) that I can't get enough of.  I've never really had a pet before, and I'd wager that he's helped to soften up this ole heart a little.  Oh, and I promise to the Lord above that I'll cut Diego if he gets drunk and throws his machete at Negrito again.

We've been hard at work doubling the size of Diego's casita.  He was basically living in a 10' x 12' box with a window and a small bathroom for 6 years.  How great is that?  Bonus?  Toilet doesn't work.  There is a close group of friends living nearby that do construction, so I coughed up some dough to give them some work and Diego's family a place to sleep while they're here (God bless Hammocks).  It's going really well, we laugh a lot, speak only espanol, I get to lift heavy rocks and play music for the guys, etc etc.  I am getting really tired of playing La Bamba, but what can I do?  One of our favorite pastimes in between lifting rocks and slinging mortar is to sit in the casita, reading these odd periodicos scattered with scantily-clad mexican women and articles making fun of the policia, drinking cerveza out of plastic cups, and cheerfully postulating which one of is, in fact, the most homosexual out of the group.  I'll give you a hint - it isn't me (sorry KW).

While lifting one of those heavy rocks, I found mamascorpion with a bundle of babies on her back just hanging out.  Exciting you say?  Peligroso you say?  Probably more of the former, but we gave her the works for good measure after I snapped some choice fotos of her in compromising positions.  One of these little guys stung Negrito in the face like he was getting $50K a year plus benefits to do it, so we don't take chances.  We do, however, take tortillas...by the kilo, and it's great because a kilo only costs 14 pesos (tad more than a dollar) from the guy that drives by around lunch time.  It usually takes about 3 days for me to stuff a kilo of corn tortillas down my throat, so life is good.  Speaking of, I'm hungrier than a dosa.  I'll hablo con Uds. mas tarde.

Raw Fish

Chat with denise carroll

show details 2:37 PM (11 minutes ago)


2:34 PM me: denise
i'm going to give you one last chance
to come back to me

2:35 PM i'm eating ceviche de pescado

2:36 PM and it made me realize
that we should never have split up
problem is
i've got my eye on this girl that rents motorcycles in progreso
so there's a bit of a time constraint
call it a deadline

2:37 PM long story short
it's about 240 pm now central time
let me know by 247 pm mountain time
otherwise, I have to go with plan B

2:38 PM oh, and if it helps you make your decision either way

2:39 PM i spilled salsa and guacamole all over the front of my white Tee

Reply Forward  Reply by chat to denise
 

¿Sabes "La Bamba" en ingles?

I'm on a tiny couch, trying to decide what's more troubling at the moment - the netbook superheating on my crotch, or the two terriers barking and licking my face and ears like champs.  I'm crooning with Barry while the dogs howl along, and Sheila is trying to get some ridiculous Susan Boyle video to come up on Youtube.  Ahhh, Gringos.

Prior to this little stint online, I had a round of tequila with what seemed like every adult Mexican in the greater Progreso area to celebrate finishing the garage floor.  I'm sure you can guess whos bottle it was.  It was quite the eventful dia, mis amigos.  I built a firepit for Diego to burn trash in proper, ate Mexican food off the trunk of a car with my guitar slung around my neck, ran around the property with ninos in the wheelbarrow, heard tell that Negrito ate a baby duck (score!), contributed to the workers drinking on the job, found un gato en los cocos, etc etc.  Oh yeah, and a crab grabbed my finger and I bled...mucha sangre. 

Yesterday I relearned to ride a motorcycle (un moto).  Today I also met an attractive woman that rents motos, hopefully she has un grande para mi when I'm able to bail out of here for a bit.  I like this blog so far...it's basically me just listing things.  I love lists, and if you know me, you KNOW I'm schpeakin' the truth. 

 Para bailar la bamba,
Para bailar la bamba,
Se necesita una poca de gracia.
Una poca de gracia pa mi pa ti.
Arriba y arriba
Y arriba y arriba, por ti sere,
Por ti sere.
Por ti sere.

Yo no soy marinero.
Yo no soy marinero, soy capitan.
Soy capitan.
Soy capitan.

Ba-ba-bamba,
Ba-ba-bamba,
Ba-ba-bamba,
Ba...

Para bailar la bamba,
Para bailar la bamba, se necesita una poca de gracia.
Una poca de gracia pa mi pa ti.
Arriba, arriba.

R-r-r-r-r, Ja! Ja!

Para bailar la bamba,
Para bailar la bamba,
Se necesita una poca de gracia.
Una poca de gracia pa mi pa ti.
Arriba y arriba
Y arriba y arriba, por ti sere,
Por ti sere.
Por ti sere.

Ba-ba-bamba.
Ba-ba-bamba.
Ba-ba-bamba

Behold - the Apocalypse (Diego dancing)


In closing, I'm pleased with myself at the rate I'm getting back into reading...I'm halfway through Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, after finishing a couple other quick reads.  When I was a nino, I couldn't put the book down.  Hopefully I get back to that level of "read"iness.