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.