i think I'm turning japanese

I fear I've neglected my blog so much that it's been taken over by Asia. If only I knew what they were saying. Do they hate my posts? Love them? Are we related somehow? Did we used to date?

sweet and sour

I show up for my Karate Internship right on time but he's already gotten started, I walk in and see a bunch of boys, a few girls, and M. Karate Guy looks at me and says I brought her this time, just like that, no warmth and sort of defensive maybe. I look at the clock and inwardly groan. I wonder why Karate Guy is hating already and then I figure I can't really blame him.

I'll help I say and he says okay and points over at a group of boys. Keep them in line he says. So I walk over to the little dudes, boys I think are maybe in the range of 9-12 years old. They are off the hook, karate chopping each other and being generally unruly. I stand between them and give them a look. Dudes, I say. I'm watching you.

They don't seem to care and keep on being little shits so I stand between them and tell one of them to go sit against the wall. The rest of them look at me askance. I'm not messing around I say and one of them sticks out his tongue at me.

I decide boys between the ages of 9-12 can be little fuckers. The only experience I have with kids of multiple ages is from my work, and kids at the shelter could be little creeps too but I suppose I cut them some slack. These kids have it pretty good, being housed and all so I figure there's no going easy. I break up two more going at it and make one of them hold my hand.

That pretty much did it, if a girl wants to completely freak out boys between the ages of 9-12 I suppose you make them hold your hand. So it's working long enough for Karate Guy to get started, he's paying extra attention to M and I can't tell if he's making a point or just being cool because she's the smallest one there. So I figure since I'm here I might as well learn something, I do some of the exercises and frequently position myself between my boy posse breaking up random acts of dumbassery. He puts them through a few paces and things are going well until one of the boys calls another one fat and all heck breaks loose. The kid who was being teased gets really upset and to be honest, the kid who was calling names wasn't super slim himself but whatever, I grab that dude's hand and he shuts his mouth. I do all the regular things one does with the other kid when one's feelings are hurt and he's not really having much of it but did start laughing when I took the other dude's hand so I think we are okay.

It's nearing towards the end and Karate Guy asks me to be a "shark" so the kids can be "fish" or something like that, I don't really know what the hell he's talking about but it involves tagging them as they try and run past me which I can do pretty well but some of these kids are also pretty fast, so maybe they should be called "eels" but whatever.

So the class ends and Karate Guy tells the class that this week was much better than last week and I'm of course thinking it's because he had back up, the hand holding kind of back up and he turns to me and says thanks and asks if I can come again next week. Only if there's beer after I say and I think he takes me serious and you know, maybe I am because as I said before boys between the ages of 9-12 can be little fuckers, but they are also pretty cute and so I tell him I'll come next week. He looks at me and says you know, I didn't realize M was so upset last week, the teachers told me she was crying and I thought about punching him in the arm just because he's being kind of dorky but then he leans down and talks to M and apologizes directly and tells her how good she did and that she has real promise and I don't know that I believe him but I lost the urge anyways because he's really a very nice guy doing something nice for these kids and if I were him I'd want as few kids in the class as possible too.

kung fu this

I signed M up for karate weeks ago and she's been over the top excited ever since. The class is offered at her school right after her class is over so as far as I knew it was settled, she was going from class to karate and I was going to the gym. With my mix tape.

So feeling spry and earphones in place take me down to paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty I arrive at her school and head to the room. I was excited all day knowing she was finally getting to do this. So as I'm walking in a guy comes walking out and for some reason I had a feeling this was the instructor so I say, Hey, are you the karate instructor, I'm looking for my kid. Her name is M and he stands there looking perplexed for a minute and says, oooohhh...M? Yes I say and he says Oh, wow, I had so many kids I couldn't handle them all so I left her in her class.

You what? I say and he says he's sorry and for some reason I reach over and punch Karate Guy in the arm. He looks a bit taken aback by this but you know, whatever. Look dude, M's been looking forward to this for weeks, did you at least tell her why you weren't able to take her? Um, no, he says. So I punch him in the arm again. So you just ditched her, and now I get to go pick her up and have her cry?

I'm really sorry he says. Do you want your money back? No, dude, I want you to teach my kid karate.

He looks a little sheepish. There's too many kids, he says. I can't handle them all.

What do you need to do about that, I say? I need a helper, he replies.

Fine, Karate Guy, I'll be your helper. He smiles and reaches out his hand and introduces himself and I do likewise and for a minute I decide Karate Guy is actually okay and he's also really, really cute. And I'm surprised he is actually getting this close seeing as I've already punched him twice. But he does and we settle it. I'll do this thing. Not sure what this thing is, but I'll do it anyways.

I find M and when she sees me she breaks into tears. I didn't get to go to karate! she says.

I lean down and pick her up and hug her. Dude, I know. I've already told Karate Guy how lame he is and she starts laughing. No you didn't! Oh yes, baby, I sure did and I tell her the story but I leave out the part about hitting him twice and she's happy now, especially now that she hears I'm coming to karate too. I'm not sure what I've gotten myself into, but something tells me it'll be amusing at least. And I figure I could do with learning some karate too. Maybe it'll even take away the uncontrollable urge to punch people I've just met in the arm. Twice.

i'm a mix tape in a sea of mp3s

I brought my ipod to the States but forgot my cord. I figured it didn't matter because I don't know how to download music anyways but then I started working out and holy mother I've been doing some long overdue rocking out and all the indigo girls in the world can't meet me there.

I was sharing my lament at my friends' this weekend, two of my most favorite people in this world. I've been hanging out with them a bit lately, my kid loves their kid and I love them and they are the only two people I know in real life who read my blog. So they let me borrow a cord and three hours of computer time later I downloaded all the stuff I liked when I was seventeen or twenty seven and while I am sure there is better stuff out there I dare you to prove it.

Bad Medicine: Who can't relate to this? Love IS like Bad Medicine. But we Like Bad Medicine. I actually saw Bon Jovi on my birthday one year, on a first date with an older guy (not usually into older guys) who showed up with a cake and champagne and good seats (let's hear it for older guys) and I thought it was going to be bad but the show was actually a lot of fun. Plus that singer, he's kinda hot.

Cum on Feel the Noise: There's really nothing I can say and even after 20 years I still smirk when I see the title, those dirty 80's boys. Again, I dare you to prove there are songs better than this. I think I was in 7th grade the first time I heard this and my friend's mom was gone for the night and someone showed up with wine coolers. Remember wine coolers? Those were awesome but probably not when you are in 7th grade.

Lose Yourself. I like Eminem. I know he's controversial and all that, explicit lyrics, yadda yadda but I've always liked him and I'm almost 40 so I probably always will. And nothing gets my speed up on the treadmill like this song does.

Why Can't I Be You? The Cure. 8th grade and it's 3am and I've been listening to Boys Don't Cry for 5 hours straight.I am positive I was wearing all black. Is there anything else I need to say?

Eye of the Tiger. If it's good enough for Rocky, it's good enough for me. Plus it makes me laugh when it comes on. The lyrics are so intentionally intense it makes me giggle. Just a man and his will to survive. That guy wasn't messing around.

Highway to Hell. I saw AC/DC in concert when I was 20. Man, that was a good show. Those guys knew how to rock.

Sex Dwarf. I swear this is Soft Cell's best song, but I think I'm fairly alone in this thought because I don't even know if they released it in the US. I remember driving several hours to the one import store that had this disc and it was a whole adventure. Now we just press a button. Life used to be a lot more interesting. And this list proves I'm a bit twisted. Or at least kind of a loser. But that's okay, I'm comfortable with that. Round and Round, Love will find a way just give it time.

There's some more 80's rock, some rap, basically a bunch of songs you'd probably never admit to liking but you'd sing along to in a bar. So I love my music, it's about two workouts worth and I love it so much I keep the earphones in when I leave and sing really loud in the car. I think that may be against the law here but am not entirely sure.

So all in all this post proves what you already know, that I am a total dork. But I'm a fairly happy one, and I've decided that after 39 years on this planet I'll take a happy dork over an unhappy hipster any day of the week.

rainy days and mondays

Me and Karen C, we are driving through the rain. The one radio station here plays American 70's music all the time, an amusing juxtaposition as I slow down to avoid the big bull in the muddy road. I wonder what Karen C would make of all of this, of the kids in their often ill fitting uniforms and the ladies strolling with babies strapped to their chests maya-style.

I end up as I often do in the open air produce market, the only place in town where you can get fresh fruits and vegetables. Today I score some cauliflower which is a rare treat amidst the usual bananas and onions and occasional starfruit. But I need bread and I can't find it so Karen C and I, oh wait she's gotten off the bus and now it's me and Barry G and his brother or two and we are cruising, cruising. I hit three little markets and there's not a loaf to be seen. It's hard to describe, this way of living especially coming from a place where more is always more and there is always more of it. But shopping this way forces one to be sociable, you exchange this and that with folks you run into and the shopkeepers who are used to you by now.

I briefly contemplate making my own bread, but my schedule doesn't allow it and besides, I burn it more often than not so I hit bingo at the last stop and can't believe I'm buying white bread but I'm desperate and that makes me giggle too.

By the time I'm done it's time to get M for lunch, the afternoon break is already here. I pick her up and a neighbor kid and I eavesdrop as I often do on the closing minutes of her class. Time to say our prayers says the teacher. Shut your mouths children and I can't help but laugh, saying shut your mouths doesn't seem acceptable in any setting but somehow right before kindergarten prayers it's especially off limits but not knowing what else to do we drive home and it's still raining but now Donna S has joined our ride. We sing along, or at least I do and almost run over a chicken. Those dudes run really funny. I suppose everyone's just trying to get along.

tricksters

As many things go here, information regarding Very Important Events is often contradictory and somewhat loose. As Halloween approached, we tried to figure out customs and whatnot so as to allow M to have some sort of holiday while navigating the fact that Things Are Just Done Differently Here. So after several inquiries we thought we had it figured it and headed out to go to a few houses and trick or treat. The first two houses were practice, expat neighbors we know who were more than happy to offer a treat. But then we ventured over to our village friends, with our gorgeous little Dorothy with her dog Toto in tow. (Note to self: no one here has seen the Wizard of Oz).

We were welcomed heartily at our first stop but also with laughing. Oh no, we don't trick or treat till tomorrow night. And Monday night. But not tonight. Today of course was Halloween. Alright then, we shake our heads. Leave it to the gringos to get it wrong. So M is rather disappointed so we figure it can't hurt to see if other folks on on this same page. We stop at a restaurant a friend of ours runs and she being anglo has some candy to share. M now is energized and wants to make more stops so we go to another village friend who reiterates that trick or treating is tomorrow and laughs as we go. As we are heading back home with a rather meager bucket of candy we stop at a ramshackle little store on the off chance one out of three might come through and besides, it's a little tienda so I am pretty sure they have candy no matter the day. There's an old woman in the back and I see her making tortillas. She sees us and smiles and walks up to the front. Que quieres? she says and M says Trick or Treat! Que? So I lift M up and so the woman can see. She smiles and laughs. Quieres dulce? She asks and I smile Por favor. So the woman grabs a couple lollipops and hands them over even though I'm pretty sure that she's also of the This Doesn't Happen Till Tomorrow ilk. The funniest part of it all is a little boy was in the store at the same time, a shilling in hand probably there on an errand from his mom. The woman hands him the lollipops too and he looks in confusion and amazement and runs out the door. I am laughing now and we thank her and walk back outside. We end up calling it a night after that, M is ridiculously understanding about all of it and I've never loved her more.

So tonight, the day after Halloween we've had some visitors and they come in massive, massive amounts. The walk through the village swinging little lanterns going door to door, no bags to hold candy or a costume to be seen but high spirited and joyful just the same. I'd like to think it has more to do with Dia De La Muerta, I've noticed the cemetery across from our house has been bustling today, paying homage to ancestors and lighting candles with candy and costumes secondary if at all.

So as with anything we roll with it and when we shut the door we look at each other and laugh because everything continues to make no sense and be exactly fine all at once.

recorded for posterity

My kid is really funny. I know all kids are really funny but this one's living here with me and I'm keeping her alive till she's grown and ready to do her thing so you know, she's special. And if I don't write it down somewhere I'll forget. Nearly five years old is a fantastic age, isn't it?

Proof positive:

M: Mama, do you still hate John McCain

Me: Well baby, I don't know that I hated him...

M: Oh, yes you did

Me: Bygones. Whatever, I don't hate him now.

M: So do you want to invite him to the jungle then?

Me: It's probably better we keep our distance honey. No offense to him.

M: Well, would you want to marry him then?

Me: What about daddy?

M: He won't mind.

Or this:

M: Grandma and grandpa love me a lot. I think they love me the most besides you and Daddy. I hope they never have their own daughter so they keep loving me best.

Me: Um, I am their daughter.

M: Oh, yeah. I forgot about you.

And here:

We were driving and discussing for the first time that Mommies and Daddies Sometimes Split Up M is watching it happen to a friend in the village. I am gripping the wheel tightly, thinking we are going to have one of Those Defining Moments when it dawns on her that this is something that can happen in the world.

Me: Well honey, sometimes mommies and daddies decide they can't live together anymore so they agree to live apart. But no matter what they love their kids and it has nothing to do with your friend.

M: So sometimes Mommies and Daddies stop living together?

Me: (heart sinking while puppies everywhere die) yes...

M: Well, if that happens I'm definitely going with you. Can I have some ice cream?

And my personal favorite:

Mama, when I grow up I want to work in a Pizza Parlour.

Me: That's great honey. Make sure to tell daddy, he'll love that.

getting by with a little help from my friends

I have a new friend, one who has lived here all her life and has a son M's age. She's married to an expat, so in the many lines that are drawn and dotted here she straddles a number of fences, she's risen out of poverty but she hasn't forgotten it, she's familiar and comfortable with some things western and she's also deeply ingrained here. She's honest and she's unassuming and I like her very much.

We've agreed to get out of town once a week in pursuit of other scenic vistas, determined to show our kids more of the country and allow them to experience new things. Our first outing was today, we'd decided to go to an eco-park where the kids can play and swim. She offered to tack on a grocery shopping trip at the end of the day since we were close to the City and I happily agreed because dusty shelves filled with vienna sausages and pork and beans lost their appeal months ago.

So after a day of sun we headed into the City and parked the car. We walk across a busy street into an old garage, a dirty nondescript place where she promises we can get the best produce in the country so I follow her laughing inside because I'd never have even come close to this place on my own nor would I have ever had the slightest idea there was anything inside. So we walk into this dark and dirty place where a couple of guys are unboxing fruit. They nod at us and she heads back to a walk in freezer, a big one and she moves the log that was bracing the door aside. We walk inside and I realize suddenly it's my mecca, all the produce that never makes it to the villages is sitting on the shelves. Boxes of yellow peppers and baby carrots, heads of romaine and cherry tomatoes. Green onions. So I look at her and she's going through the boxes and taking out things she wants and making a neat little pile on the floor so I figure I will do the same and so I peek inside a box and then I see it, I see bundles and bundles of asparagus, something I've missed so much and have never once seen.

I grab a bunch and I must have squealed because she's looking at me now and she's laughing it's like the angels came down and shined a white light down on your face when you saw that asparagus and I started laughing too but not before I started singing hallelujah and gently caressing the lovely green stalks against my cheek. This makes her laugh even harder and I am pretty damn happy and even as I realize it's silly and these vegetables cannot possibly be local I still make a little pile for myself. Oh my god, I see blueberries.

I forget we are in a dirty nondescript little garage and when we emerge from the freezer I realize I have no idea what to do next but there's a guy there who weighs each thing and writes it on a scrap of paper with a total and we pay and as we pay we are still laughing one because I am such a giant dork and two because we are both happy with our bounty and our day and the knowledge that we'll bring these things home to our families and enjoy their wide eyed appreciation. This is followed by a trip to a real grocery store, one with real food on the shelves where I bought ricotta cheese simply because a lasagna has been a long time coming in this land of rice and beans.

My other happiness has more to do with realizing this is one more thing I've figured out, in a country with very few addresses or stoplights or signs but plenty of word of mouth I found a little treasure and amidst all the change and poverty and adjusting it's this, this way of digging deep and figuring out and being off autopilot that I appreciate the most. Well that, and a well stocked walk in freezer in the middle of nowhere.

going

I was supposed to leave at 8am last Monday. But buses just started making the trek again from here to Mexico so things were confusing but the guy who owned the transport assured me they'd show. As it approached 10am I started to get grumpy so I say it right, dude, I need to get my ass to Mexico. I knew I had a good twelve hours to go and I don't really want to arrive in the middle of the night. Fuck it, he says, I'm taking you myself.

We'd been talking for a few hours now and I already liked him, strangers sometimes have a way of making sense right off.  So I happily jumped in his car prepared for the first 5 hour leg of my trip, the one that would take me out of one border and into another with a no mans land in between.  As he's getting gas in his car he gets a call.  He looks at me and smiles the bus just drove past us so we jump back in the car and catch up to the bus which pulls over and lets me on in the middle of the road. He's yelling, my new friend have a good trip call me if you need a ride back.

The bus is full of backpackers, Israelis and Brits and an American or two.  I settle in and pull out my book.  I'm in this thing now and so far I've only got a ride across the border, the rest will still need some figuring out. I read for awhile and fall asleep.  At the border the driver tells us to get out and go through immigration and he'll meet us on the other side.  We do and after the free zone we have to do it again but this time it's Mexico.  Bienvenidos.  

The countries are so different right away, here is all Dos Equis and street tacos and everything is in spanish.  I go through customs and they search my bags and I always, always think of Midnight Express in these moments, like somehow someone stuck a kilo in my bag but of course no one ever has and they wave me through, machine guns at their sides. 

I sit on the curb and it's hot and I am at a border and no one knows I'm here.  I'm on the road even if it's just for a day and it makes me want to keep going, that backpacking sort of travel where things happen and everything unfolds.  I look up at the sun and realize I need to make sure the bus doesn't leave without me.

This transport ends at a bus station and I have no idea when I can catch another bus to go up north.  I learn quickly the next bus doesn't leave for two hours (fabulous) and it's a six hour trip (super fabulous) but it's less than $20 for the whole ride.  So I buy my ticket and wait some more. I'm a dork at bus stations, I am always sure they are going to leave without me and I can't understand a thing folks are saying so I am anxious.  I eat a bad looking taco because I am not sure when I'm eating again.  My cell phone doesn't work and I forgot to exchange enough pesos and I ran out of US dollars a long time ago.  I shake my head.  I wait.

I finally board the bus and it's a nice one this time, air con and decent seats.  I don't realize the seats are assigned so I of course sit incorrectly and am promptly booted but at least he took pity on me and pointed me in the right direction. I read and fall asleep and look out the window and somehow six hours make their way gone.  

I get off the bus at my destination and get in the first taxi I see. I only have a name of a hotel and we settle on a price first because I'm still peso poor.  We drive in silence, I roll down the window and lean my head back and breathe deep, I love the smell of travel, it's intrigue and exhaustion and solitary and a bit on the edge. I'm both sad and happy today is almost over.  

We pull up at the hotel, my friend she has money and insists on staying in nice places and even offers to pay so what the hell, I can suck it up. My dusty flip flops hit the marble floor and a porter dressed in a suit actually wants to carry my piece of crap backpack and I feel embarassed, both for being here and for being me.  They stop me and ask if I am a guest here and I am not surprised in the least. I promise I clean up well I say and they smile the smile that richer people than me are much more used to. Me, I much prefer the dusty road and straight talk, street tacos and a cold cheap beer. All of a sudden I see my friends and they scream a happy scream. I'm finally where I've been trying to be.

take me out to the ballgame (and hurt me)

I'm probably hovering at 38,000 feet right now as you read this, or wading through the Houston airport accidentally breathing in swine flu germs or perhaps just perhaps cracking that first jungle beer but I couldn't leave the US of A without sharing a story with you to ponder whilst I'm en route.  So sit back and relax and at the end I'll be asking for your opinion.

J and I are at a Dodger game with two friends.  It's maybe the 4th inning, we are in fairly decent seats (friends with money treated us to the game) and we are enjoying our first beer.  The crowd is raucous, it's obviously that this section has some very dedicated fans who whoop it up every time something good happens.  It's good fun and everyone seems friendly.  We are here at the 4th inning because traffic was so bad (yes LA you have bad traffic you bad city you bad traffic city you) that it took us this long to get here and then to find the beer.  But it's okay because on the way we were listening to New Order and you know, I haven't listened to New Order since I was a wee wisp of a thing, and now I'm old.  So it was quite a reunion me and New Order. But I digress.

Sitting in the stadium on the first base line, I can see the field and the night is clear.  I smell hotdogs and everyone is wearing blue. Directly in front of us is a couple that I might rather generously describe as rednecky.  The dude is affable and loud, the woman seems to be enjoying herself.  They are sitting close but then again we are all sitting close packed into stadium seating. He jumps up and screams every time something good happens for his team which happens a lot.

 

And then it happens. 

All of a sudden and without provocation a peanut shell lands on my hand.

I glance down and see it and a few more shells on the aforementioned affable yet rednecky gentleman in front of me.  Almost unthinkingly I reach down to brush off the shells on his back when all of a sudden his lady friend whirls around (think the chick from Exorcism) and grabs my hand and squeezes it hard.  Hard.  And right before I even make contact with the said shells. As she squeezes it she says Don't you touch him and then lets go of my hand and turns back around.  I see her gentleman friend nudge her but he doesn't look back. J's watching the game and misses the entire thing. 

Needless to say I am speechless. She then proceeds to turn around and glance at me every 12 minutes or so for the rest of the game.  Just in case.  But in case of what? 

Lacking closure and slightly afraid of the crazy chick in front of me I am unable to find resolution and am left to wonder what could have possibly been going through her mind and what would cause a person to react like that.  So I've come to you for help. 

Is it that she:

1. Was terribly insecure and thought I was hitting on her aging rednecky gentleman caller even as I sat with a male friend of my own?

2. Has eyes on the back of her head implanted there by the CIA for purposes of looking over her shoulder to thwart evil at large scale sporting events?

3. Thought the peanut shells added a little sexy something to his ensemble?

4. Thought I was an alien invader looking to suck the blood of a strapping young buck and feared for her very life?

5. Thought I looked like his 2nd ex-wife, the one he can't get over and still calls on Fridays after too many beers?

6. Fill in the blank

Or was I simply wrong for somewhat absentmindedly invading another person's personal space, space that is on short order at a sporting event of this kind?  I realize that is probably the right answer but her response was well over the top for such a minor offense.  

Or was it?

See you on the flip side (from down under and why do they only say that about Australia anyways?).

day 44: hot damn

Neen has been here since Saturday, and in that time I've learned more than I want to know about occult blood, spinsters and shrimps. She's a curious girl, that Neen. And she's learning all about child puke, since M caught the flu just as soon as we got to the beach.

Needless to say we are having a fantastic time. No seriously, we are.

We went to the Cayes and swam in the Caribbean and ate way too much food. We've drank beers and climbed pyramids and watched monkeys and talked. She even witnessed a neighbor dye my hair jungle style, over a railing using river water with dogs and cats and kids climbing all over us. And the hair turned out pretty good. It's been good having a friend here, a woman to talk with, to commiserate with, to see some of the ridiculous things I am struggling to figure out and to offer suggestions of her own that are pretty damn good. She's leaving all too soon but it's been so good to have her here. But before she'll go I'm taking her to visit my mystic friends and on a canoe trip through a cave. Gotta send her off clapping, right?

In other news, it's really fucking hot. It wasn't really hot until this past week, but now I know what people here fear and what everyone complains about during the dry season, this endless blistering heat that grinds on and on for months. The beach helped us escape it for a few days but now we are back in the jungle and it's hot from the moment we wake up till long after we've fallen asleep. I'm too sissy for heat. And for bugs. In fact, I whine all about that at my BlogHer post today. If there are two things I'm not woman enough for, it's heat and bugs. And yet those two things are on full display here, this chosen place of mine.

There's a lesson here, one I haven't yet figured out.

day 30: novelty and reality

We've been here a month now, in this time we've learned how to shop for eggs and produce at the outdoor market, where to get the cheapest milk and chicken, where the best panades and garnaches are and how I can feel full on .50. I've learned the fastest way to get a collectivo (taxi), figured out M's school (and even managed to ask you all for help), had one visit to the MD and one to the moon, got a puppy and a hammock, learned how to cook with butane and have wielded more packing tape to ancient screens in the name of bug whispering than a girl should ever use in her lifetime. I've got some time here now, and all of this has led me to a few observations which I will kindly share with you.

1. To the makers of Charmin toilet paper: What gives? You make one kind of paper for the US and one for everywhere else? Do you think people here don't deserve to wipe their asses the same way as folks in the West? The crap you peddle here is ridiculous, I can't believe you put your brand on it which goes to show how little you must think of us, we who still need to wipe our asses even outside of the States. It's so thin it falls almost off the roll, and are the smallest rolls you can imagine. What gives, makers of Charmin?
2. What gives, makers of ice cream? Have you not found a way to import your wares into this country, so that we are forced to rely on the local ice cream, which is really just frozen milk and air and generally filled only about a third of the way up the container. What gives, Dreyers, Breyers and Baskin? There's a market here waiting for you. I don't even like ice cream but my kid does and this might be the least you can do.
3. Jungle bugs. You dudes are such suckers, literally. Must you bite us into oblivion? Must you be so creepy, falling off the walls and popping out in the dark? J stepped into a tick nest and who had to pull out 15 of you little suckers? Me, that's who. Using tweezers that once were for my eyebrows but since I haven't worn make up in a month haven't had to use till now) That's just gross, jungle bugs. The frog I accidentally grabbed this morning when reaching into my washing machine? This goes for you too, buddy.
4. What gives, sudden rainstorms? I'm feeling decidely amazonian, watching my freshly (and frog free) laundry swaying in the breeze between two palms like little prayer flags when suddenly it starts pouring, pouring, pouring. I think you like seeing me race out to the line and snatch things off like a crazy person only to stop raining as soon as I'm done. I get it, I'm a newbie. You could go easier on me is all I'm saying. Stop laughing at me.
5. What gives, jungle roads? People drive crazy, there are potholes and craters everywhere and I literally bounce along everywhere I go. You try carrying home eggs in a bag (no neat little egg cartons here folks) down those roads. Be sure to watch for the wild horses. And the dogs. And the pigs. And the roosters. And people. It's like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride every single day. No matter that M loves it, she rolls her window down all the way and hangs her head out screaming HORSES PIGS DOGS CHICKENS everywhere we go. No matter if that's really cute. Ok, it matters some. I don't really mind you that much, jungle roads.

The lovely Painted Maypole has kindly offered to facilitate getting supplies to M's jungle school. She is happy to have folks ship the donated items to her in the States and then she'll forward things along in one package OR she's offered to accept donations via paypal which she'll use to then purchase educational items for the classroom. If you are interested in either option, please email her directly at pntdmaypoleATyahoo.com. Isn't she the coolest chick ever?

Here's what the school looks like, the outside of the classroom and part of the playground. More pictures coming soon.


So if you'd still like to contribute to stocking a little Central American preschool with much needed educational supplies, this might make it easier for you. You can also scroll down to my Full Moon post and read the list of stuff they need. And for everyone who has already contacted me, I thank you so much. It's consistently humbling and amazing how this community of ours always seems to say yes.

going to redneck country

I'm off to see her tomorrow, she who keeps taunting me with visions of frozen toes and mysteriously disappearing Mounties. Did you know that Canada supposedly has the best beer? But I think she means Moosehead and I don't have the heart to tell her that really isn't very good beer. Also, I hear it's cold up there but I figure people up north just like throwing the word minus and wind chill in front of numbers to scare us. I mean, do thermometers even work going backwards? And maybe the wind just needs to calm down. Is wind more nervous in Canada? I hear there are cheap prescriptions up there, maybe free health care and the wind should talk.

Oh, and I lost my only coat in Oregon last weekend. Do they hand them out for free in up there? They should. Free beer too.

It's a short trip but I'm bringing a big bag, I figure I'll covertly take a bunch of her stuff and then auction it off online and fund my trip to the jungle. Who's in? Anything in particular you are looking for? Just don't get your hopes up, I'm not sharing the Mounties.

Get ready, Canada. I'm coming and I'm serious about the beer. Calm down already. Can I borrow a coat?

Today is the last day to send me your Just Posts for December, all you have to do is share writing from you or others you appreciate about social issues to me at girlplustwo(at)yahoodotcom. It's also not too late to send us original just post hosts off right - all you have to do is read this and write a post about who and how you support philanthropy in your world. We hope you join us. The Roundtable will be up on Monday.

whose woods these are

We drove through the cold and foggy night, winding down an unfamiliar highway through sporadic towns we do not know. The child was in the backseat happily ensconced in the magic that is the portable DVD player (judge me if you will but I couldn't care less, that thing is the moniest money of all) and we sat in front with the heater on low telling stories. You might think we'd be all storied out by now and to a large degree we are, as any couple who's been around for years we've already heard the good ones at least once if not four or five times. Tonight was different, we were telling ghost stories.

It's getting good and creepy when we come around the bend and the fog is thick. We see something off to the side up ahead and startled I say slow down and J hits the brakes. It's a person we realize but aren't saying out loud. A person standing so still he looks like a tree.

I'm scared now, my heart is racing and I lean behind me to push M's door lock down. She glances up from her video induced coma and lights flickering in her eyes she smiles and her eyes dart back to the screen.

Do I stop J says and we are just upon him now and I swear, I swear I see a knife. This man creature lifts his arm and it glints in the moon. I grab the phone and no service blinks back at me and I say what the hell is that we can't we need to keep going don't stop but J slows down even more as I am yelling at him to go. It's surreal in this moment, a premise for a bad slasher flick unfolds before us and I am just the girl in the car waiting for the guy not to be a cowboy.

The man is outside our window now, his face looks calm and eery, he stares right at me and lifts his hand and I start to scream. He grabs for the door handle and as he opens his mouth I see his teeth, they are filed to tiny points and am screaming go go go.

Ok none of that really happened. It's like April Fools around here. That's all.

PS. I told you we were telling ghost stories, one you might have heard had you been there in the car as long as we promised we'd be able to hermetically seal your child's ears with dvd earplugs before freaking each other out.

three days to go and i need your help

We are three days away from the election, after two years of grueling coverage and divisive politics the day is finally here. We've voted already and helped nearly 100 others register to vote too and on Tuesday we'll bus them to the polls. MOMocrats kicked ass all year and getting to be even a small part of those dynamic women saved me from the brink time and time again. We've done all we can and now everyone simply needs to vote.

At home we are preparing for a party, we've invited everyone we know to come over to our grubby little house and spend the night watching the returns, drinking wine and betting on the exact time the other guy will concede and who will take Pennsylvania. We plan to stay up as long as it takes and have offered floor space to whoever wants it. We are working on party favors and are in the midst of making wine labels to mark the occasion. So far we've come up with these as slogans for the bottles:

It's about fucking time

Pairs nicely with dead moose

Mavericky with a hint of oak

Wine we can believe in

This wine fights terror

Socialism means more wine for everybody

Clearly, I can use your help. If you have a great 3-5 word phrase fitting for an election party wine bottle leave it in the comments. If we go with yours I'll even send you a bottle. The wine is cheap but the sentiments are rich.

It's Just Post submission time again. If this is new to you every month on the 10th we host a Roundtable featuring writings about social justice or social issues on three blogs in three different countries. You can see last month's roundtable here or click on the purple and white buttons to your right. All you have to do is email me posts you've written or read from others to me at girlplustwo(at)yahooDOTcom by the 7th. All are welcome. It's easy and it feels great. Join us.

mostly devoid of puking

We've been working towards purchasing a car for months now because both of our cars are too old to make the long drive to the jungle from the states and we'll need something a bit more durable when we get there. So we've spent weekends and evenings on the prowl, narrowing our choices and seeing what we can afford. (It's great fun with a four year old by the way, if you haven't tried it please, promise never, ever to do it. Ever.) So last night we ended up at a used dealership and ironically, they'd just received a car that met our criteria and more surprisingly, our tight budget. Score one for the economic depression - car dealers are desperate.

As we started to engage in the long death march to the finish line, the car salesman guy brought out his manager, a rather cute younger guy who starts off by saying something like We price cars like this to avoid the relentless back and forth that ultimately leaves someone throwing up until someone else caves in. There is always room to come down but let's be honest it's not like you are buying a new car or that this sale will make me much money and he seemed almost bored with us and for some reason the truthfulness of it worked for me - to him it was only about margin and getting the car off his damn lot. Somehow it felt like a challenge. Humanity was in order.

So as we descended the escalator to car negotiating hell I tried to entice him with things that might make us seem more human and less like a sale. We started talking about the jungle and what we needed the car for and we even made M share the M&M's we'd bought her earlier as a bribe. She woefully and under duress handed one (yes, only one) over to him and then I threw in the whole working with homeless people for good measure. His eyes clouded a bit as he chews the lone piece of candy so I said that last bit not working for you? and he replied to be honest the driving to the jungle stuff was more interesting, if I were you I'd stick with that so we did until I finally said look, your price still makes me feel like puking and he laughed and asked what price wouldn't make me feel like puking and we told him and he agreed, leaving me to wonder if we should be puking after all.

A little while later we are the proud owner of an older yet with acceptable mileage vehicle, one we feel will get us to the jungle and hopefully around town. Or at least once the water goes away. It struck us that we should also be looking into canoes, but we are choosing to remain optimistic. Besides, I hear canoe dealerships have even less puking. Or perhaps more M&M's. Either way we are chalking it up to uncharted territory, which I expect will be serving as the theme of our very existence for the next long while.

We've now raised $965 for the village. You people are amazing. Thank you.
Update #2: The total is now $1,005 coming in three different currencies. What a small world after all. Thank you so very much.

we are clearly ready for it to be over already

Me: Want me to chop up some garlic for the pasta?
Him: OK. But you consistently use too much garlic.
Me: What? How can you say this 8 days before the election? You wait to bring this issue up till now?
Him: You do. Consistently. I've always thought so.
Me: 8 days before the election? This is what you tell me? How will this help? Why are you dividing when we should be healing?
Him: Turn off CNN.
M: Guys! Guys! Listen to me! Stop talking!
Me: Baby, you are interrupting.
M: But
Me: Baby.
Him: Honey, hold on.
M: Stop!
Me: Ok, M, keep talking, baby. We may have to cut your taxes.
Him: We'll spread the wealth of your toy box.
Me: We'll socialize the whole house if we have to. Groucho Marx, Karl. Whatever it takes.

M: Crumples into a ball and starts crying.
Shit. We scoop her up in a hug. We were totally kidding. Consoling commences. Irony doesn't quite work when you are four. Thankfully she's happy again rather quickly.
Me: J, fix it, man. You did this. You are like the RNC, you just won't quit. Use the spin machine for good for once.
Him: You started it.
M: No more debating! I hate debating!
Me: This is going to be a long week.

Because of all of you we've raised $940 for the village. Thank you. So much.
Update: As of Wednesday AM we've raised $950.00. Thank you!

the little pitcher loses her mind

I'm sitting on the couch with my laptop while J is in the kitchen cooking dinner. Small whirlygig child person come flying into the room and catapults herself onto said couch crying.

Me: Babe, what's wrong?
Her: He's ruining MY WHOLE LIFE!
Me: Who?
Her: Daddy!
Me: Why?
Her: He just IS! My WHOLE LIFE!
Me: Dude. Why?
Her: (Flailed across the couch, arms tossed over face for dramatic effect). Because he won't let me have a fruit roll up!
Me to J: M says you are ruining her whole life!
Her: HE IS!
J: (laughing) She hasn't seen anything yet.
Me: (reaching for my wine) Yeah babe. You haven't seen anything yet.

And with that she catapults herself down the hall to her bed, where more hysterics ensue while J and I giggle at each other and occasionally remark that we are ruining each others lives.

This high drama? This is normal for a four year old, right?

Right?

right on target

Having company in town makes you see things through a different lens. Maybe like how pretty the flowers are or how crappy your house looks. Or how there are cops pulling people over everywhere or there's trash on the ground. Classy, I say. Taking visitors around your town makes you notice the abandoned parking lots or the broken down cars. And having people like Tanis in town means weirdos will hit on you while you are having dinner. No wonder she's Canadian, this place is terrible.

There were high points though, like when I scheduled some time at a local spa complete with smuggled in bellinis so I could get her drunk in the hot tub. Or when I took her to a great restaurant for lunch and let her believe I'd actually eaten there before instead of telling her I'd begged some MOMocrats for help so I could look fancier than I really am.

There was supposed to be a boy around on Saturday night but apparently the thought of hanging out with us freaked him out enough that he made up some story about having to go to New York to get pictures taken for a blogger calender. A Blogger Calendar? That's kinda like cranberries on pizza or hunting wolves from a helicopter, it's just not right. Since he was gone she made me do the one thing I think she's been dreaming about her entire life. That's right, people. I took her to Target.

No really, I did. And she was way too excited about it, but that's why I love her. She's the most complex woman I know. She's got the proof so I'll leave it to her to show you. Or try to deny it. Whatever. But no matter what she says, it was her idea. It. Was. Her. Idea. After all the other classy stuff I just don't think I could recover from this one too.

All the hoopla caused me to forget to remind you about the upcoming Just Post Roundtable. It's not too late to send your September posts on social justice to me at girlplustwo(at)yahoodotcom. All the posts will be featured on the 10th. If this is new to you click on one of the purple buttons down the page on your right.

in my shoes

Today was a hell of a day, sometimes work goes down like that. The degree of suffering, the nakedness of despair, it's too much to even try and share no matter how much it rattles around in my head. So instead I'm going to talk about shoes, because if I don't talk about shoes I might break down and sob and no one likes a crier.

So back to the shoes. This morning when I was getting ready to leave J said something to the effect of those shoes are hideous. The shoes in question are ones I've had in my closet forever, I almost never wear them and yet find them endearing and perhaps even sassy and they were super cheap (for some reason that qualifier matters a great deal). Of course, J has no sense of style and I've told him so, in fact several folks at my work were highly complimentary of them which of course I've enjoyed gloating about when I came home.

But figuring that the jury may still be out, I of course must turn to you.
In or out, amigas? Inquiring minds want to know.