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.