Monday, April 14, 2014

Marzipan & beer, live snails & you are from WHERE?

Sunday I went to a Martinez etc, etc, family reunion. This would be The Human's mother's side of the family. Turns out if was much more than a reunion is was a triple  birthday party and a meeting of people that completely warped my brain. Let me share the brain warp. You ready?
My Human has family WHO LIVED IN WEBSTER MASSACHUSETTS and  are still in the area.
One of them even went to BARTLETT! HWTF!
Here we all at in Tijuana relating about Nelson Street by the ball field and what they did to Cranston Print. HFTW?!
And then it was explained that, for some reason (those pesky Norns), Webster ended up being the midway point between the south of Norway and Obregon (Mexico); were an aunt met and a Norwegian man, with whom she eventually married.
He proposed to her on the bridge spanning the French River at the Webster-Dudley border. I am not making this stuff up! I met them, and they all told the same story.. The world didn't get smaller. It got weirder. Because for the family this makes Webster (the bland hole that it is) a kind of legendary place. It has become part of their story already and then I walk into their story coming from that far, legendary place. How does this not warrant brain melt? And Human had no idea he had family that had lived in Webster. We knew there were some folks in Connecticut, but hey, the state isn't THAT small, you know? And I never bothered asking further because everybody gets the geography fuzzies. Today, I am still woah-ing about it. I mean, without even knowing, I have been a connection for my Human to his family further south and even further north! I knew Webster had some major crossroads for the natives running through it, but good gods! I had no idea they were that far reaching!

Wednesday, March 26, 2014


The footbridges are public toilets crossing over a public toilet.
The worst  comes at the end, but nearer to the middle; beginning on the Thursday or Friday-and/or depending on the moon phase, maybe Tuesday at about 10:30am.
Since December, my cycles brought me to the point of illness. Three months in a row of miserably failing to fight off little microbes.
Lucky me, that pattern was nicely broken with a few nearly simultaneous incidences.

-A break in.
On a busy Friday evening, not quite so late, a young man picked one of the locks and walked into our place. We were home. We were right there. It was obvious people were around, but he came on in anyway. The Human ran him off and we have since actually got the door fixed. Sleep has been rather elusive since that night for the both of us.

-A.. how shall I say? Shit flinging?
A 'client' chewed me out for the pettiest reasons at just the right moment to send me spiraling further into panic attacks. I won't go into it more. I did get an apology. But damn. Damage DONE to a mind/body on the verge of menses.

-A septic tank leak... seep.. stink!
To add to my anxious state, when there is a change in humidity (or the economic conditions in Beijing. Or something!) the room that was set aside for me to work in smells. It smell like shit. My office space is conveniently located above the septic tank, which, these days, has begun to - fart. To further explain: rip some of your hair out viciously, by the roots, grab a lighter, and set that dead keratin protein on fire. Now inhale and luxuriate in the odor that you smell knowing that it is quality perfume compared to this.
And we aren't going to get it fixed any time soon because- sigh- because we don't have enough money.
If we start coughing up the dough for that job then I am certainly not going to Europe- that would be my birthday present I was supposed to get when I turned 30. Actually, I was supposed to go to Cambodia. Look at me, all gone to Cambodia and back! Fphgh.
So I took my frustrations and I did a bit of redecorating. I moved my entire base of operations to another room. I even purchased fragrant candles; things that have been forbidden for fear of burning the place down. So far, the tank hasn't been dropping stink bombs all the time, but I really don't need anymore reminders that I am living 3rd world shit hole. Especially not while on the rag.

I'm on the rebound at least.It's just grinding through one day after another of imbalances you begin to think it will always be like that. Always- I can't think; therefore I can't work. Always- my abdomen is in knots; therefore I can't concentrate. Always- my heart is racing. Always- it is taking me a really long time to focus, to read, and  to type so that the spell checker can even help me; therefore I cannot make any of my deadlines; therefore what is the point.
And then it stops. Just like that. And you feel like an ass.
...This time I didn't get the flu. Yay?

Blessed be this design.
Can you hear the bitter sarcasm?

Saturday, March 8, 2014

So to the sea - photos

So to the sea, to the sea
 Where I sent my dreams
I went to that shifting shore to gather them back to me
Those hopes taking the shapes of
Abandoned spidery exoskeletons, bladder wracks and worn glass
All at my feet once more for the taking
Exquisite things, new with salt memories and feelings of vast expanses...

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Carnival? Already?

The sun came out after two days of much, much needed rain. I would not have known. I was at the laptops (two, yes) catching up- since the power finally decided to stay on after all. Then there was this noise outside that was beginning to distract me more and more. I ran out to figure out what parading was going on this time. 
Just before all the Oscar crap came on the tv,  a Carnival parade disrupted the traffic for a half hour, or so. Let me just say, Brazil can keep it's bare-assed women. This parade was children in feathers: a mildly organized rabble of confused youth, hot rod cars, a tractor, a large blue djinn from the Aladdin cartoon, Amazon girls on horses, confetti, loud music; all with a sleek touring bus from Guadalajara stuck in the middle. 

Dubbed Oscars sucks.
I'm in the other room, not looking at interesting gowns and penguin cloned men so it sounds terrible! The Human wants to see who wins this time. Gods know why.

Monday, February 17, 2014

5th year anniversary.

Champiñones con ajo

Our plan for Sunday was a giddy success.
Because Cafe De La Flor still has the best mushroom dish in all of anywhere around (and that Italian panini thing isn't so bad either), we shrugged off the brunching yuppie families and fresas to have our menu favorites at the cafe before walking over to "Jabba's Palace"- more commonly known as Plaza Rio; an even bigger hive of yuppies and fresas.
This was where we got our skate on. I thought I had not been on roller skates in a while but when Human figured he hadn't been skating in a Christ's lifetime, my crazy idea seemed even more perfect. The Oh-Zone was writhing with children. The music was blasting. It was all so familiar to experiences in my youth.

Giggling behind my knees. 

I was going to chicken out of getting skates and ask for blades instead, but the man behind the shoe counter plunked down a hideous octet of wheels before I could say anything. Choice made. Roller skates it is. I was going to relearn the old wheel configuration.
Human got the same. We laced up and tentatively rolled on the carpet to the rink. 
I took it slow and discovered that my physical training at CAVE applied itself. Not once did I fall down. Human needed heaps more practice and went down about four times. He even strained something in his shoulder after one tumble. It was a miracle nothing worse came about! We are old after all. With ear plug sticking out of my head, my falling was into a happy, alert, relaxed, trancy mode that kept me from taking my skates and beating all the kids who weren't following the flow of traffic or were just being show-off pricks. I didn't care how old they were, it would have been blood sport roller derby. 

Ready. Steady?
Two hours later we stumbled out of there to recover at Starbucks. Egh. I know. They are in Mexico as well. We killed time sketching. Until! Movie time! Originally, we were set on watching 47 Ronin. It, however, was not playing at at that hour. What to do? Plan B. Robocop. I went in expecting anything and enjoyed the remake for the most part. The gun battles bored me, actually.. At one point we had to liven things up by pantomiming game controlled in our hands: A, B, A, C, A, B, B. {Lots of brownie points if you know that reference.} 

After the movie we walked about two miles back to the taxis that would take us to Rosarito. We resisted the urge to stop in for a nightcap- or tacos. For 10pm would easily turn into 1am and more mischief would be afoot in the dark in the small hours....
Además de yo puedo hacer una bebida muy buena en el hogar. {Ah! Ha! My Spanish learning game learned me sumthin'!} Porque tenemos el agua con sabor, vino tinto (en caja) y Controy. Controy es una liquor de naranja muy similar al Cointreau pero Mexicano. Más barato. 
{And Google translate does sorta help...}

From standing to falling. 
Tambien! Tenemos hierbas frescas. Pongo estas en la bebida para muy rica sabor. Now I'm just being unfair. No es justo.. Yeah, yeah.. I just got a bit excited about my brain suddenly wanting to apply some of it's learningz. I'll rope it in.  
Anyway, we got home before the pumpkining hour, safe and sound. And I did make a mixed drink. Sleep was not far behind. A whole work week awaits!

So, five years. How about that?! Brumply years: bumpy and rumpled. Most of the rough spots being my troubles; I'll own up to it. My Human is a human. Those beings just aren't as complicated as Shapeshifters. But we are figuring things out. Making little improvements... Poco a poco.  
And. Ahem. Do NOT ask when we are going to get married. Just don't. God's own selves is not pressuring me about it. So don't you try. 

Friday, February 14, 2014

Dessert? No, not this time.

The other evening I picked up some canned Flor de Calabaza. 
Yeah, that would be a can of salt water and squash blossoms. This was my first time eating the flower and I am left asking why flowers aren't in everyone's diet - all. the. time. Sure, saltwater logged flowers lack the grandeur of the fresh variety, but looks have little to do with taste buds.

For a simple, light dinner, I put together: avocado, olive oil, basil, epazote, and flor de calabaza on a right out of the oven bolillo (roll).

Human beings of other lands who have not eaten this "exotic" foodstuff, I declare unto you a word-

Suck it, Georgia O'Keefe. 
I ate this food and had a mini revelation through flavor. {One never knows when those nettlesome revelations will strike!} It was more than, "oh this is really tasty and I want to keep eating it.'  Through my sense of taste, I found a further understanding of Mexico, the people, the further south, in way I cannot put words to. I was so satisfied by the meal I didn't want any kind of dessert afterward. 


On another note.
I will be celebrating 5 years with my Human this weekend. We are going to be very mature about it: A nice dinner, maybe with some wine, a couple of hours rollerskating and then go a theater to see 47 Ronin... Hm. You know what. Screw the maturity levels.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Death leans in close these days

de mortuis nil nisi bonum dicendum est
José Emilio Pacheco, famous Mexican poet dies January 26. The cause - cardiorespiratory arrest. He had been hospitalized on Saturday after falling and hitting his head.

Last night I briefly attended a wake for the sister of the cousin (Pancho) who lives next door. I left before it got too late. That means I left before the family priest said a few words and  the arrival of the mariachis. I just cannot be a tourist during these times. I was not even going to go except, I kinda know Pancho felt that it would be appropriate to show him some support.  His sister's death was very sudden- a double tragedy for the family. It follows quickly after the death of her father who passed in December. All she did was fall, hit her head just so, and... embolism/edema and that was it. Age and alcohol were a factor, but wow. How all it can take is one knock in the right place and everything goes sdfjkgber.

Then the famous actor death pops up on all the feeds attempting to eclipse a single post from a New York friend that his mother died...

Did you see my last post!?

Hiya Death! ¿Qué pasa?