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!