My one-handed birthday hug...

My dear friend, Linda, had a dinner party
at her house. Here are Joel and I
with our first (of many) glasses of wine.

I celebrated my birthday on December 20 here in Antigua. I spent the day at work and with friends and with the rescue dogs and it was all good and lovely. As I walked home that day, I heard someone walking behind me, but thought nothing of it. When I stopped on the sidewalk to unlock the gate, a man walked past me and grabbed my butt. At first, I thought, "Huh? Joel was behind me this whole time?" It was the kind of thing Joel would do as a playful gesture.

The guy kept on walking. Then reality hit.

I realized my butt had been grabbed... by a stranger.

OoooOOooOoh! Grrrrr!

As he walked away, he turned and looked over his shoulder with a smug little grin like, "Heh-heh, I just grabbed your ass and got away with it."

That's when I got MAAAAAD.

Ok. I realize I have a big ol' juicy bootie (dare I say it's "bootylicious?") but there was no way it was an accident -- my butt did not accidentally fall into his hand. Plus, there was definite cuppage. Maybe he meant it as a strange macho Latino-type compliment, but I was mad.

I yelled, "HEY! That is NOT right!" And he kept walking.

The more he walked away, the angrier I got. I kind of hit The Red Zone and went nuts. I am not a violent person, but if you push me, I will push back. (Or, in this case, if you check to see if I'm a briefs or thong kinda gal without my permission, I will hunt you down and give you the Wedgie of a Lifetime.)

I ran after him. I had absolutely no plan of action in mind, but I was really pissed off. He was not going to get away with this!

And what did he do? He ran like a scared little sissy-boy. I yelled, "Yeah, you'd better run because if I catch you I am going to KICK YOUR ASS!" (I meant it.) And then he ran across the street.

So, I ran across the street after him. I kept yelling things like, "Turn around, you coward! I want to see your face so I can remember you!" and "When my husband finds you, he's going to kick your ass, too!"

Yes, this is how I felt
and looked
(minus the head band)
(and the dirt)

It was the closest I've ever been to actually kicking someone's ass. I felt empowered. I felt like Rambo.

And he ran faster, zig-zagging his way down the street, heading in the opposite direction. He looked scared -- and that made me happy. I actually scared someone! Yaaay for me!

He ran. I ran. I continued lobbing my verbal hand grenades at him. There were plenty of people on the street that day. In fact, there was even a posada* going on at the far end of the block. The people closest to me had stopped walking and were watching the crazy red-headed white girl who was running and screaming English obscenities at a scared Guatemalan man. I was a hit. Or, at least, I was amusing to watch.


Here's a posada we saw in Antigua one night...



My elderly landlady, Alicia, who is 105 if she is a day old -- heard the commotion and leaned out her window. She asked me (in Spanish) what happened and I answered (in extremely broken Spanish) something about my "culo" (culo is "ass" in Spanish) being grabbed. She understood what I was saying and looked really angry and made some fierce hand gestures and said something along the lines of "hijo de puta" (S.O.B.) but all I heard was "puta" (bitch) which I knew was a bad word, so I yelled, "PUTA!" at him as he scampered around the corner. I really wish I knew more Spanish so I could yell at him properly, but I'm pretty sure my body language got the point across.

*sigh*

Now I am constantly on the lookout for Mr. Booty-Hands and his blue jacket with the white logo stitched on the back. I betcha he won't be wearing that jacket near my street anytime soon. I have a can of Whoop-Ass with his name on it... and he knows it.

So, until we meet again, be good, have fun, and stay thirsty my friends!

*What is a posada?
The ceremony of Las Posadas commemorates the cold and difficult journey of Mary and Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem and their search for shelter at an inn before the birth of Jesus. In Spanish, "Posada" means inn, lodging or shelter. Today, the Posada has evolved into a religious and social celebration, paying a festive homage to this journey.

Kids on a posada

Traditionally, on each of the nine nights before Christmas, a party is held at a home in the neighborhood. At dusk, all guests and neighbors gather outside the house. A small child dressed as an angel leads, followed by children carrying figures of Mary and Joseph.

Everyone participates in the procession, singing the melodious verses of "Las Posadas" as they walk slowly along, carrying lit candles. They make three stops, three times requesting lodging and being denied. They return to the original house. Half of the group goes inside and the other half remain outside. Verses alternate back and forth from pilgrims to hosts until the sacred nature of their visit is revealed and they are admitted into the house. The doors open and the joyful pilgrims enter singing. "Enter Holy, Holy Pilgrims..." This ends the religious part of the ceremony and the fun begins.

Welcome to the new apartment...

We recently moved to a new place. I think this experience has taught me that it's a very good idea to spend a few nights in a new apartment BEFORE you sign a lease. (Thank goodness we didn't sign a lease!)

First, the good things about the apartment... It's about twice the size of our old place and the location is AWWWWESOME -- it's in downtown Antigua. Our old apartment -- although verrrrry cute and owned by very nice people -- was in a town on the outskirts of Antigua and we had to drive our gas-sucking car every time we wanted to go to town, which was EVERY FREAKIN' DAY. So living here means no more buying stupidly expensive gasoline every week. We are only a 7 minute walk from the Central Park and we can go up on the roof whenever we want. Unfortunately, the people in the house behind us built a MEGA-WALL around their property and blocked our view of the volcanoes. (Phooey on them!) However, fireworks are a very big deal here (they set them off for every occasion -- birthdays, religious events, weddings, etc.) and we can run up on the roof and see them whenever we want. So that's nice. Right? And from the roof we have an excellent view of the old churches and ruins in the city. Too bad we can't LIVE on the roof, right?

...and now the rest of the details of our new crap-o-rama apartment.

This place is a death trap. The light switch for the bathroom is INSIDE the shower. And speaking of the shower, yeah, we have another one of those "suicide showerheads" but this one refuses to give us hot water if we try to take showers after 9:30pm. It is ICE COLD. There is absolutely no logical explanation for this except to admit that the place is haunted by the devil. (And cold nighttime showers are obviously the work of the devil.) And speaking of COLD -- this place is not insulated. Ok, none of the houses here are insulated with that nice pink fluffy cotton candy-looking stuff but this place is especially UN-insulated. The windows are made of the thinnest glass made (think glorified Saran Wrap), plus some of the windows are missing and others, like the one in the bathroom, don't fit their window frames so there's a gap. BRRRR! And there is no heating here. You want heat? Put on an extra pair of socks. Still cold? Add another sweater. THAT is how people here stay warm -- by looking like the Michelin Man under 23 layers of clothes. Ok, so it's cold. Very cold. My hands are icy as I type this because it's, well... COLD. What am I wearing right now? Cargo pants, socks, shoes, a t-shirt, a fleece jacket, a windbreaker AND a scarf. I look beeeauuuutiiiful. And I'm still cold. Now I know why people who live in cold places have lots of cats. If I had a cat right now, I'd have that thing duct taped to my lap for warmth.

For your viewing pleasure:  The layout of our suck-o-rama apartment

Other than the frigid indoor temps, the bathroom sink doesn't drain, there are no countertops in the kitchen (just a big ol' sink), the fridge is older than the pyramids and freezes our veggies till they're solid little ice nuggets, and we have no windows that look OUT -- the windows all look out to walls or to other windows. Nope, not kidding. It's a little claustrophobic. OH! And have I mentioned the LAYOUT? No? Really? Ok, then let me tell you about the layout. It stinks. Stinky stinky stiiinks. This place was built little by little. Like, they had this space and decided, hey, why don't we put this here...and this here...and build around this and put a wall there... To save money they left the windows in strange places... Plus, there is a rolling armoire thing in the bedroom for storage and it can never be moved OUT of there because it doesn't fit through the door. (Whoever built it was inside the room when they nailed it together.) Ahhh, stooopid stooopid stooopid! And you have to walk through the teeeny tiiiny bathroom to get to the bedroom, so if someone is, uhhh, occupied, they will be interrupted. I guess it's fair to say this apartment has brought us closer together, in ways we never expected.

OH! And if someone is up on the roof (other than us) and we happen to be in the bathroom or in the kitchen...they can see EVERYTHING. I mean EVERYTHING -- wink-wink. Most of the windows don't have curtains and the curtains we do have are lacy and thin -- think of a doily...on steroids. The curtains are more decorative than useful. So we try to avoid streaking not only because it's cold enough to raise a family of penguins in here, but also because we don't want to moon any of our neighbors.

So, there you have it, the new casa. We are eager to move so we haven't even unpacked everything. Uuugh! Wish us luck on finding a new place to live!

Until then, stay thirsty my friends!

Santa is going to crap in my stocking for this...

...but I have a confession to make.

I can't stand Christmas music.

It's not that I'm not religious or that I don't like Christmas. I can enjoy a round or two of "Frosty the Snowman" or "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." I can even tolerate hearing Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" a few times without having to vomit. But after SOOOO many part-time retail jobs, hearing Christmas music non-stop makes me want to go postal.

The absolute worst Christmas music every played on the loudspeakers of a retail store -- and probably the cause of my hatred -- was at Garden Ridge. They wanted shoppers to get into the holiday sprirt as early as possible, so they'd start playing it in November. Over and over and over again. Non-stop Christmas music. I bet they would have started playing it in July, if they thought they could get away with it.

But there was one particular song -- one out of the many, many, MANY songs played over and over again -- that still haunts me to this day. It's like fingernails on a chalkboard. It's like hearing a cat in heat on the fence outside your window at midnight. It's like having a crying newborn with colic and bad gas in the aisle behind you on a transatlantic flight. It's like your neighbor's car alarm going off constantly when they are out of town. It's like someone cracking their knuckles -- one -- by -- one -- in a movie theater. Or like standing in a looooong line in front of a sorority girl who is gabbing on the phone ("Like, I knoooooowah!") while smacking her gum. Yes, it's that annoying. Times 170.

It is the WORST CHRISTMAS SONG EVER MADE.



"Hey kids! Who's that dude with
the sleigh and the reindeer?
Why, it's SANTA CLAUS!"

 It is Nipsey Russell (or so I was told) and a bunch of sugar-crazed crack-addict tone-deaf children screaming "Here Comes Santa Claus" at the top of their lungs.

I have absolutely nothing against Mr. Nipsey Russell. He sang, he danced, and he made lots of people laugh for years and years on many game shows. And he had beautiful teeth! Let's have a moment of silence in honor of dearly departed Nipsey. (....s...i...i...i....l...e...n...n...n...c...e....) Ok, I feel better, don't you?

I DO have a problem with whoever thought it was a good idea to put those howling mongrels -- uh, I mean, delightful little cherubs -- in a room with a live microphone. What the hell were they thinking? This song will make your ears bleed.

Whenever it came on the overhead speakers, I wanted to run out of the building like my hair was on fire. I kid you not, my jaw would tighten, my fists would clench, and I could feel my blood pressure rise. I would do ANYTHING to avoid hearing it, so I'd hum (loudly) the tune to a song -- ANY SONG -- just so I could avoid having Nipsey and The Crack Addicts bounce around in my skull.



"My sincerest apologies to anyone
who has to hear this song..."

 Customers who saw me must've thought, "Wow, that Jennifer sure is cheerful! Is... that... 'I'm Henry the Eighth I Am' she's humming...? Well, that's interesting... But it's Christmas! Why isn't she humming something like 'Here Comes Santa Claus'?"

It took ever fiber of my being not to crawl on my hands and knees and beg a customer to put me out of my misery by crushing my head with their shopping cart. "Have mercy on me! Kill me! Kill me now. And make it quick so I don't have to hear this song ever again for the rest of my (hopefullly short) life."

If you are intrigued and want to hear this song, go for it. I realize it's like very similar to the morbid curiosity you have when you gawk at an accident on the highway, but be warned -- too much Nipsey will kill your desire for Christmas music.

And if it turns out by some chance of fate that it wasn't Nipsey singing that song with the Crack Hound Kids, I apologize profusely. But then, who was it????

Stay thirsty, my friends!

-Jennifer

Dog stories

I am a selfish turd.

Let me 'splain.

Me and the girls

The night I returned to Guatemala, I was told that my very favorite rescue dog, Savannah, had been adopted. Joel avoided telling me this while I was in Texas because he knew it would upset me and thought it better to tell me in person. His intentions were good -- but it hurt just as much to hear it in person as it would have been over the phone. (At least in person he was able to give me a hug when my lower lip began to quiver.)

As happy as I am that sweet Savannah got adopted, I am truly bummed that I will not get to see her at the Puppy Palace. The night before I left for Texas Joel took some pictures of me with Mattie, the wonderful street dog who had been adopted by a really great lady named Katherine. Mattie would be heading to her new home in the USA while I was in Texas, so I wanted a few pictures to remember her by. As I sat on the floor to have my goodbye pics taken with Mattie, Savannah flopped down next to us -- she's sort of like a pesky, but endearing sibling that always wants to be the center of attention. It is good she decided to be in the pictures because I didn't know she would be getting adopted while I was away.

Here are the stories of my dear girls, Savannah and Mattie...

S A V A N N A H


Savannah on a ride to the finca



Savanna was the sweetest dog you could ever meet. I often said she was a mix of Collie, Shepherd, and Velcro -- because she wanted to stick to you like glue. Wherever you were was where she wanted to be. If you sat down, she sat next to -- or if possible -- ON top of you. She had gigantic radar-like ears and a little bobbed tail -- like a white-tailed deer. It would have been nice to see her with a full, long wagging tail -- unfortunately, someone took it upon themselves to lop it off during her past -- but she wagged her little bobbed tail with gusto when she was happy. Or when she knew she had done something wrong -- like eat a shoe, chew on a table leg, or devour a pair of glasses. (Savannah is also part termite.)

 
She was picked up before Joel and I started volunteering with the rescue group, so I didn't see her original condition. What I do know is that at some point she had been hit by a car (as sadly, most rescue dogs are) and her leg healed in such a way that her back right foot was  always pointing outward. We jokingly referred to her as a ballerina standing in "first position." Her wounded ankle didn't slow her down ONE BIT. On walks to the finca (a giant coffee farm where the dogs could run freely) she took off like a rocket into the bushes with her dog friend, Sally, chasing anything that moved. Birds, squirrels, lizards,  grasshoppers, a wayward leaf -- nothing was safe from Savannah!



Check out Savannah's stunning "Cleopatra" eyeliner

Savannah was the Switzerland of rescue dogs. She could easily be the poster child for Humane Societies around the world because she could get along with anyone and any dog. Whenever a new dog or batch of puppies was brought to the Puppy Palace, Savannah was the first (and sometimes only) dog who would befriend them. She'd play with the puppies and patiently let them wrestle with her, but she'd keep them in line if they ever started playing too rough.
Joel and I fostered her off and on. We realized right away that Savannah was a early bird, while we were night owls. She was ready to fall asleep by 7pm each night. But she was up up UP and ready to go go GO by 5am the next morning. UUUGH. And she wasn't content just to lie in bed, chewing on a shoe, table leg or pair of glasses. Noooo... Rule #1 in Savannah's Book of How Life Should Be was: "If I am up, you will be up to entertain me. Or I will devour your entire home while you sleep."

Shhhh! Princess Savannah is sleeping...

But regardless of her bad habits, Savannah was always the first to greet me whenever I walked in the Puppy Palace. I often wonder if she thought her name was "SavannahDOWN" because I'd say it as she bounced up and down body-slamming me and wanting my full attention. Sort of her way of saying, "Love ME! Love ME! Love MEEEE!" And of course I, like everyone else, truly loved our big-eared, short-tailed, chew-o-rama friend named Savannah.

She was adopted by a family who loved her at first sight. I can't blame them, she's awesome. They live in a house with a yard and as an added wonderful bonus, they have another dog named Brownie. (Brownie? Really? You couldn't come up with a more original name? I bet a MILLION DOLLARS that dog is BROWN.) Ok, so regardless of their lack of creativity in dog names, I've heard they are great people. And now Savannah has a new friend to live and play with. And the new owners love her to bits and let her sleep on the sofa and treat her like a princess -- it's Savannah's dream come true. So yes, I am very happy for Savannah and her new wonderful life... I'm just being pouty and miserable because I miss her. I hate to say I played favorites with the rescue dogs, but she truly was my favorite. (Shhh! Don't tell the other dogs or I'll deny it and tell them you are -- GASP! -- a Cat Person!)



Mattie... wondering if I have a treat for her

 M A T T I E (and Henry)

Mattie is, in my opinion, an Angel Dog. She was picked up with her boyfriend, an old guy we named Henry. Henry and Mattie were always together and since they were buddies, there was no way one could be rescued without the other. (If you think I am mushy and tender-hearted when it comes to animals, you should meet Linda and Terry!)

Upon arrival to the Puppy Palace, the dynamic doggie duo was placed in the back pen, where they could be kept separated from the rest of the dogs until we knew how they would interact. When we'd go in the pen to feed them, Henry was pretty listless -- almost as if finally being able to relax after a lifetime of living on the street was was just too much to handle. Mattie, on the other hand, adapted quite well. She seemed to enjoy having a soft bed to lie on, people to pet her and food brought to her every day. There was not a speck of unfriendliness in either of them. They didn't bark or whine or try to claw their way out of the pen. They were the most chilled-out street dogs ever.


Dear old Henry after his very first bath

 

I'm not even going to attempt to say what mix of breeds Henry was. All I know is he was not in good shape when he came on board. He had ugly tumors and was so painfully thin there was extra skin wrinkling around his tail. Mattie, who was some sort of shaggy-haired Lab mix, was in better shape, although, like Savannah, she been hit by a car. Her leg/shoulder injury was far more serious than Savannah's and had healed badly. She walked with a very obvious limp and her "elbow" will forever be at a awkward angle. But Mattie had spunk and didn't let her old wound slow her down. And DAMN she had a huge tail! I mean  it was as long as her entire body and as bushy as a...a...a giant bushy thing. (I can't think of anything giant and/or bushy at the moment. But believe me, it was a BIG tail.) Linda referred to it as a "coffee table clearer" -- as in, she could knock everything on a table to the floor with one wag of that giant tail. 

Sadly, when Henry was taken to the vet it was discovered that he had advanced lung cancer and the only humane thing to do was to end his suffering. We miss our sweet, gentle friend but are thankful that the last few weeks of Henry's life were made as comfortable as possible. He had food and clean water every day. He had a soft bed to sleep on. He didn't have to fear for his life on the street. And best of all, he was with his best friend, Mattie, who never left his side.

 

Mattie loved the sun! Toss her an avocado and
she would be The World's Happiest Dog

Mattie adapted well to life at the Puppy Palace. She got used to having baths (she didn't like them, but tolerated them without freaking out) and became friends with the other dogs. At first, she didn't dig Chow's presence (can't say that I blame her -- he is quite intimidating at first glance). And rather than growl or bark at him, she would silently lift her upper lip, showing her lovely white teeth and "smile" as a way of saying, "You will not dominate me, you giant hairball." Chow got the message and they eventually became friends. She and Savannah got along great, of course. And on walks to the finca, she kept up with all of the dogs, regardless of her leg injury. She was unstoppable! Oh, and did I mention she LOVED avocadoes? Yep. There are avocado trees in the finca and should one ever be lying on the ground, it became Gooey Green Mattie Chow. Interesting, huh?



Mattie and Joel (Mattie is the one on the left)
Check out her bright white teeth!

A sweet woman named Katherine, who lives in Washington, DC but visits Antigua on a regular basis, met Mattie at the Puppy Palace and they bonded immediately. She decided to adopt Mattie, but had to return to the US. She asked if Joel and I could foster her so she could get used to being in a "home" environment. Let me just say, Mattie was the easiest dog ever put on this planet. She did not for ask much -- just a nice soft bed and a bowl of kibble. Oh, and did I mention she liked to eat while laying in bed? I don't think I ever saw her eat standing up. Maybe it's just easier for her to do it laying down. I called her the "furry speed bump" because she would flop down on her bed and be happy as a clam. We could walk her around the neighborhood without a leash because she never went more than 20 feet away from us. She was a great houseguest and never had an accident of any sort. Plus, she was a lounger -- meaning, even if she woke up at 5am, she was happy to lounge in bed waiting for one of us to get up and let her out to pee. If Bob Marley were reincarnated as a dog, his new name would be Mattie. Yahhhh mon! 

 

Right now, Mattie is living the high life in DC. Katherine jokes that Mattie is the "Slumdog Millionaire" and it's true! She hit the rescue dog jackpot! Yes, if Savannah is going to be treated like a Princess, then Mattie will be treated like a Queen. Katherine's daughter and 6-year-old grandson are thrilled to have a new furry member of the family. And as far as the "angel dog" statement goes, Mattie was there with Henry every day through his illness, keeping him company and being a loyal friend. Katherine was also diagnosed with cancer and was between treatments when she met Mattie. I thought it was more than a coincidence that Mattie would once again be a loyal and caring friend to someone battling an illness. But GOOD NEWS! Within the last week, Katherine found out she is cancer-free! YAAAY! So she and Mattie will live a long and happy life together in DC. Katherine is going to SPOIL HER ROTTEN and Mattie will LOVE EVERY MINUTE OF IT.

Mattie and Savannah hugging it out (or wrestling,
it's hard to tell sometimes)

So there you have it... The stories of my furry friends who have moved on to better lives. I feel selfish and sad to see them leave, but I know THIS is what the rescue group is here for, so I need to lift up my chin, take a deep breath and move on to the next dogs in line. And there are plenty left to be saved...

I hope everyone is having a good day -- stay thirsty my friends! And wherever you are, if you see a dog, give it a hug for me. WOOF!



And now, a word from our sponsors...



"Honey, don't you want to go for a swim?"


TV commercials here are pretty funny. One of the best I've seen lately is for a feminine hygiene product called "LadySoft." (Even the name of the product cracks me up.) In the commercial, as the gal is reaching for her favorite LadySoft product, she wonders what it would be like if the boy/girl roles were reversed. She imagines her boyfriend curled up in bed with cramps, him crying emotionally over something on TV, him wrapping a towel around his waist at the beach, and -- my favorite -- having her "check" his butt as he walks in front of her. (Every woman out there knows about "the check.") I found the commercial on YouTube and even though it's in Spanish, you'll be able to figure out what's going on.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aq-ScSM6GdQ

There's another good one for a laundry detergent. I laugh every time I see the mother's reaction to seeing a stain on her son's soccer shirt. Her expression of, "Ay, nooo!" is sooo overly dramatic, you'd think she was just told her credit card was declined at the nail salon. I swear I saw this commercial five times a day every day I've been here, but now that I want to see it, I CAN'T FIND IT ON TV! Well daaaamn. If/when I see it again, I'll hunt it down on YouTube. "Ayyy, nooooo!" Hee-hee-heeee.

And don't get me started on all of the commercials showing gimmicks and gadgets for losing weight and toning your body. I just saw one for something called the "Diet Ring" -- it is literally just a gold ring you wear on your finger that contains "bio-elements" that help you lose weight -- quickly! WOW! There's also one for a gadget that you attach to your body and it zaps your muscles into contracting (sounds safe!) and magically turns pasty, flabby-assed losers into tan, healthy, ripped supermodels. http://www.solamententv.com/products/fitness/abtronicX2/abtronicX2.php



"Hola, I am Marisol.
I like weather. Don't you?"

The women on the news bring HOOCHIE to a whole new level. The Guatemalan equivalent of NBC or CBS is a station called Guatevision. While female journalists in the US pride themselves on a professional appearance, the rule here is "if you gots da bootie, you gots da job." The gal who does the weather is the queen of hoochie-oochie-oochie. She wears tight skirts and low-cut blouses. It's like she's planning to do the news, then heading to the club to do some pole dancing. Or to her waitressing job at Hooters. But ah, this is Central America and HOOCHIE is what gets viewers. Check this out -- it will make you laugh. And if you are a man, it will make you want to check the weather in Guatemala every day.   http://www.guatevision.com/public_tvn/index.cfm?MainSection=clima&titulo=El%20Clima...%20con%20Marisol%20Padilla&ancho_video=320&alto_video=240&entrevista=TRUE&video=TRUE&programa=noticiero&entrevistavlm=TRUE&ancho_video=320&alto_video=240&clima=TRUE&video=TRUE
 

Oh, that craaaazy Bob!

Joey Stevens and Bob the Parrot

But perhaps the most bizarre thing on TV is a chubby, jolly man named Joey Stevens and his buddy, Bob the Parrot. Joey is the weather man on a station called One Caribbean Weather and I kid you not, he has his hand up a puppet's butt (this would be Bob) while he does the weather. Not only that, but he dresses Bob in Hawaiian shirts (sometimes their shirts match) and makes Bob talk. Yesterday Bob was wearing a tiny neck collar and Joey told the viewers Bob had gotten into a scuffle with the show's producer. He asked Bob  something and Bob replied (in his high-pitched parrot voice), "It hurts when I laugh." Joey is his own biggest fan -- he laughs at his own jokes like they're the funniest things he's ever heard. Joey and Bob also travel to different islands attending festivals and visiting hotels and restaurants and Joey's catch phrase is, "Come to (insert name of festival/hotel/restaurant) where it's always HOT HOT HOT!" It's comical. It's colorful. It's freakin' bizarre. It makes you wonder if Joey has been in the sun too long. Check him out... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AkDtjTFOXL8&NR=1

Alrighty then! Now you have a better idea of what to expect should you ever come here and turn on the TV. And I didn't even cover the dramatic dialog, the lusty glances, the intensely sexual meaty muchachos or the cleavage-enhancing women's attire (they are training to be newscasters) on the TV novellas -- that would take up an entire blog of it's own.

Stay thirsty, my friends!





E a R t H q U a K e ! e A r T h Q u A k E !

There is really no "good" place do be during an earthquake. Well, maybe in a big open field full of soft green grass... But that's not where most people hang out on a daily basis.

SO! The other afternoon we were in the market. Not the supermarket (and I use the term "super" loosely -- it's more like a funky two-story 7-11 on steroids) but the grungy open-air-maze-of-veggies-and-fruits-and-eggs-and-baby-chickens-and-bootlegged-DVDs-and-watch-your-purse-and-don't-step-on-the-drunk-guy-passed-out-on-the-floor... Yes, THAT market. 

"Toto, I don't think we're in Walmart anymore..."

Aaaanyway. So there was an earthquake. Is it wrong to say that I LIKE them? Well if it's wrong, then I don't want to be right. I like 'em. I really, really like 'em. I think they are exciting. If you were here, you'd like them, too. (Or you'd lie and say you don't like them, when really deep down you do.)

So we were inside the market, which is a deathtrap under normal circumstances, since it is basically a hodgepodge of pieces of corrugated metal, tarps, random scraps of wood and   electric wires zig-zagging over your head...you get the picture. The earthquake hit and it was fun to see the looks on people's faces as they realized what was going on. I think in the past I've usually been sitting down when they hit, but this time I was standing. I could actually FEEL THE GROUND MOVING UNDER MY FEET.

It.

Was.

So.

COOL.

And yes, my Spanish is still bad, but I am multi-lingual when it comes to reading people's faces. The guy tending his little booth near me was dodging packages of napkins as they fell off the shelf. And we were both staring wide-eyed at the orange soda sloshing around in the 3-liter bottles on his counter. It was AWESOME! Anyway, it lasted about 15 seconds. But it was fifteen seconds of waaaay coolishness!

So come, my friends. Come to Guatemala. See the volcanoes. Feel the earthquakes. Hear me squeal with delight whenever there's an eruption or an earthquake.

Have a great day -- and until we meet again, stay thirsty, my friends!

How to take a shower in Guatemala without getting fried...



The shower head of DEATH!
Mwah-ha-haaa!


Hello!

And now a little advice on how to take a shower without being electrocuted. They aren't called "suicide showers" for nothing! 

First, there are no fancy "Hot" and "Cold" faucets in the showers here. Maybe if you're staying in one of the swanky hotels, but in 99% of the hotels and houses here, the water in the shower is either ON or OFF. Our shower has an especially fancy handle -- similar to those you'd see attached to an outside faucet.





See those wires coming out of the wall and going into the shower head? Those aren't for decoration. They are electric wires. Safe, huh?

Water + Electricity = DEATH


Our fancy on/off handle



..what could be a more natural combination? As tempted as you may be to adjust the aim of the shower head, DO NOT TOUCH IT WHILE THE WATER IS FLOWING! You will get zapped. It's not enough to kill you, but enough to get your attention. Besides, these shower heads point one way -- DOWN. They aren't on hinges, they aren't flexible, they only point down. They don't move. So don't bother touching them, ever.



One thing to keep in mind is the more water pressure going through the shower head, the colder the water coming out will be. It will zip through the shower head quickly, not giving it a lot of time to heat up. If you are like me and prefer a warm or hot shower (how silly of me) you turn the water on very slightly so it sloooowly oozes it way out of the shower head and comes out nice and toasty.


If you are staying at a low-end hotel or a hostel, I highly recommend wearing flip-flops in the shower. I'm not saying the cleaning crews at these places are lacking sanitary skills... Ok, yes. Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. Don't ever go barefoot in a shower here unless you are in a NICE hotel or staying at a house where you trust the host's cleanliness. Otherwise you run the risk of getting a fungus among us.

Oh, and there's no heat in the homes and hotels here. None. Nunca. Nada. Zilch. Zippo. It will be cold when you exit the shower. And all of the floors here are cold, hard tile. (Stress on the COLD part.) There's not a carpeted floor to be found. SO! Prepare to dry off quickly so ice doesn't form on your nether regions.

 

Another rainy day in Antigua Guatemala.

Agua Volcano in background

 

Ok, and other than that, it's been raining raining raining here. IT. RAINED. ALL. DAMN. DAY. YESTERDAY. It is miiiiiiiserable.



If this weather keeps up, I will certainly be blogging more since there's nothing else for me to do!

Stay thirsty my friends! And if you're thirsty for rainwater, come on down -- we have plenty to share! 









Beaches, beer, and bootie sand...



"This beach brought to you by Gallo Beer..."

 Hello again!
 

Our cute $12.50/night hotel. Nice, eh? 



A few weekends ago, Joel was blessed with TWO DAYS OFF IN A ROW. WOW! Rather than sticking around here we decided to go crazy and take a mini road trip. We drove about an hour away to a town called Puerto San Jose. I needed sand between my toes and this was the closest place to Antigua. It's a small, grungy beach town where a lot of people from Guatemala City go for the weekend. We planned on saving money by camping in the car but every time we mentioned our idea to someone, they looked at us like, "Do you WANT to be murdered in your sleep?" (Guatemala is not the safest place to car camp, evidently.) We were also told over and over to NOT walk on the beach at night. The only people who told us "oh yes, yes it's fine to walk on the beach at night" was a group of shady guys who ran a quad rental business.




Me and the beach dogs at sunrise

Luckily, Joel The Master Negotiator, spoke to a nice man at a small hotel and got him to lower the price from $50 to $12.50 per night. YES! So we stayed one night in a little cabana. The hotel had a pool and it was sooo niiice swimming there at night, where the only thing we needed to fear was chlorine in our eyes.

The next morning we got up WAAAY early, due to the chirping of unidentified insects living in the thatched roof and small creatures crawling up the wall outside. Eeeek! How can you sleep with crawly things like that so close to your head?

We got up and walked on the beach. At that time of morning, it was just us, the friendly beach dogs (similar to Antigua's street dogs, but these guys have sand in their paws) and the litter cleaning crew. Unfortunately, our phone was taken from our beach bag by a cleaning guy or a beach dog. (My money is on the cleaning crew -- I mean, how many dogs do YOU know that can dial a cell phone?) Aaaanyway, other than that minor mishap it was a great trip. We drank some Gallos, ate seafood, walked on the beach, swung in hammocks, swam in the pool and in the Pacific ocean.


Joel and the giant driftwood



OH! Something you should know about the beaches here. First, they have black sand. And yes, it gets very very very hot in the sun when you're not wearing shoes. Second, and perhaps most importantly, the waves will kill you. Noooo kidding! I'm not saying they'll knock you  unconscious, but the undertow will pull you down, swish you around, and by the time you surface you will be in China. Many many MANY times while Joel and I were out splashing around, I got pummeled by waves and ended up on my butt, being rolled over by waves that were doing their best to suck me out to sea. Luckily, Joel knew death was imminent and grabbed me under my arms and pulled me up to the surface. (Thank you, Joel.) Not only is being dragged underwater along the sand an excellent way to drown, it's also a great exfoliator. And what's more fun than reaching into your bikini bottom and scooping handfuls of sand out of your bootie -- in public??? Nothing, that's what! Yeaaaah. Parts of me were exfoliated that really didn't WANT to be exfoliated.

Ay-yi-yiiiiii... Always an adventure!

Stay thirsty, my friends!

Swinging in the hammock by the pool -- weeeee!

This is my way of helping Joel put on sunscreen.

Gallo beer in soccer ball glasses... Is anything classier? No way, Jose.

Holy rusted metal, Batman! A rusty pier on the beach.
Mildy dangerous in an "I need a tetanus shot" kind of way, but very photogenic.



Guatemala has never won a single Olympic medal...

...I mean, no medals at all -- no Bronze, no Silver, and no GOLD in either the Summer or Winter Olympics. I mean, you'd think they might have a medal in a summer sport (since winter is a joke here -- no snow -- and how can you practice skiing on moguls when there's no snow? The mountains here are lava-spewing volcanoes -- hence, NO SNOW) but nope, they got nada. This is really only important in the gold medal category.

And I know why Guatemala has no gold medals. It's not that they lack talent or ambition. It's due to time constraints.

Let me 'splain. Guatemala celebrated their Independence Day earlier this week. (Independence from Spain, that is.) Ok, I gotta be honest -- I didn't know from whom they gained independence from, either -- from the Aztecs? From Mexico? From Jamaica? -- until I asked Joel. He was nice about it and didn't make me feel stooopid when he said, "Oh, from Spain. Like the U.S. got their independence from England." So, not only does he know the details on his country's independence, he knows mine, too. 

Duuuh.

...Ah, but I digress.

So! As we were driving the other day, the Guatemalan National Anthem came on the radio. (The Subaru has a radio -- no A/C, no CD player, no decent transmission -- but by golly it has a radio.) Joel was singing along like a good Guatemala and I was sitting there, taking it in, without a clue as to what the words were. And it went on. And on. And onnnnn... No kidding, that song lasted at least 4 minutes. ('Quatro minutos! Mas tiempo!' for my Spanish-speaking amigos.)

I've counted -- the U.S. National Anthem has a mere 16 lines. Sixteen! Short and sweet. Basically ours says, "The U.S. is awesome. Our flag stands through it all. 'Nuff said."

According to Joel, the Guatemalan National Anthem is 48 lines long. ('Quatro y ocho' for my Spanish-speaking amigos/) FORTY-EIGHT long, painstaking lines saying things like, "May your altars never never be profaned by cruel men" (whaaaat?) and "people would prefer death to slavery" and something about plows fertilizing the soil and honor and thrones of love and the native bird flying around... On and on it goes. I think it repeats itself. I mean, who wouldn't want to hear about the "thrones of love" more than once? Bring on the thrones of love! ('Silla de amore' for my Spanish-speaking amigos.) Soon, every living room in the free world will have a throne of love. Mark my words.

Okaaay. So the lyrics are bold and brave and -- dare I say it? -- macho, but the song goes on and on. I took a nap halfway through and woke up to find it was still not finished. Wow. ('Que paso!' for my Spanish-speaking amigos.)

I think the folks at the Olympics throw off the results whenever a Guatemalan is competing ONLY because they think no one (but the Guatemalans) will want to sit through a four-minute-long anthem. And that is my theory on why Guatemala has never won an Olympic Gold Medal.

Yes, I've been drinking. (Something with rum... and lime -- every drink here has a lime in it somehow. Beer with lime. Coke with lime. Water with lime. Milk with lime. Coffee with lime... I won't get scurvy!) And yes, these are my deepest thoughts at the moment. That and the fact I need to floss. ('Mi dientes estoy malo' for my Spanish-speaking amigos.)

Hope you are having a great day. And I hope you enjoyed my Spanish lesson. I am so bilingual. Si.

Yep, I'm a writer

These masks caught my eye

Ok, it's so cool to see your name on the title of a magazine article. As I was proofing the articles for the October edition of the REVUE Magazine (Guatemala's biggest English language magazine) I come across not one, but TWO articles I wrote and by golly my name is right there in black and white. Is it ok to say I wet my pants a little? (Just a little.) (Not enough to tie a sweater around my waist.) It was exciting! And it's a little nerve-wracking to know there will be people from Guatemala and visitors from all over the world reading these words (they have a circulation of 20,000). I hope they like me. One article was waaaay more fun and easy to write than the other. See if you can figure out which one when the Oct. edition comes out.   http://revuemag.com/




   

This is not a rescue dog. This is Sabrina, a cat who lives here.

Other than writing and proofing, I've been helping Terry (one of the dog rescue ladies) organize and get a little thrift/resale shop ready for business. Proceeds will benefit the dog rescue group. She said if I work there she will pay me 20% in commission for whatever I sell. And she will install wi-fi there. And provide me with a laptop to use. And it's in the front room of the Puppy Palace, where some of the rescue dogs stay. The Puppy Palace is a house in central Antigua that has been converted to several rooms and an outside courtyard -- houses here are SO different than in the US. Anyway, the front two rooms will be converted into the store. The front room opens up to a very busy street, so we will get a lot of foot traffic. Even better, I will have rescue dogs around me -- meaning I can bring my dear sweet friend Savannah, Rescue Dog Extraordinaire, to the front room to keep me company. She will be great at luring in shoppers. Those brown puppy dogs eyes would snare me if I were walking by. But I'm a sucker for dogs. (Gee, can you tell?)

Fun? Frisky? Oh yeah, that's me!

I got my hair cut. Yeah. I finally accepted the fact that I will never look good with long hair. NEVER. I have stupidly fine, curly hair -- like that of a curly-haired 3-week-old kitten -- and it looks really bad when it's long. I'm not sure what member of my gene pool made me this kitten-haired freak of nature, but I'd like to examine my DNA and figure out who to blame. Plus, parts of it curl "tighter" than other parts so even when it's down, it's all funky and uneven and frazzled (oh my!). Sooooo I'd rather have short, healthy hair than hang on to snaggly long hair. So, short it is. It makes me feel fun and frisky. Reeeowwwwl! Better yet, it only cost me Q20 -- about $2.50. Suck it, Supercuts!

Nice market lady

I'm attaching a picture I took of a really nice indigenous lady we met at the market. I'd say 98% of the people who have booths in the market are indigenous, and as you know, I love the traditional clothes they wear. (I am actually in awe of it -- I want to hug them and tell them how beautiful they look.) She had the tidiest little booth in the whole place and stacked her fruits and veggies into neat little pyramids. Even though she's not smiling in the picture (no one here smiles for pictures -- it's weeeeeird!) she was really nice and let me take pictures of her booth. No kidding -- there are people who act very strange when you photograph their veggies. Again, weeeird. I usually just click away, acting like a completely oblivious tourist. I once had a lady shoo me away and give me the evil eye. We decided we would never buy anything from her booth. She is now known as "Mean Market Lady."

More later! Adios and stay thirsty, my friends!

G-U-A-T-E-M-A-L-A

In case you are planning a trip, here a few details to keep in mind. 

G = Green. Everything is green. From the crazy prehistoric-looking trees, to the bushes, the vines, the grass, the coffee plants, the flowers... It's all green from all of the rain. Rumor has it, it ain't easy being green, but with this much rain, it's hard not to be green.

U = Umbrella. Bring one. Or two, just to be safe. It rains here. A LOT. And while you're at it, bring some rain boots, too. I love mine. They make me fearless.

A = Agua. Water. Unless you have a really good book and want to spend lots of time sitting on the toilet reading, DO NOT drink the water that comes out of the faucet. The funny thing is it's the same water you use to shower, wash your dishes and brush your teeth... Just don't DRINK it. All drinking water must be bottled or boiled.

T = Toilets. Speaking of being in the bathroom... Yes, the toilets flush the same as in the US, but the plumbing systems are old and horrible... Soooooo, you can't toss your toilet paper in there. There will always be a trash can, box, or other receptacle next to the toilet for you to throw it away. Don't think too hard about this. Just do it. And don't look. EVER.

E = Earthquakes and Eruptions. I've experienced both. Earthquakes are really exciting -- the ground shakes, the windows rattle, and everything sways. It. Is. So. Cooool! Pacaya Volcano, which we've climbed twice, erupted and is due to erupt again, according to the experts. Again, cooool!

M = Market. Going to the market is a whole new experience. It's like a game -- work your way through the maze of vendors selling everything from fruits and veggies to underwear to candles to raw meat to used blenders. You can find produce here that you can't pronounce or recognize. Things get more exciting due to the mud, pickpockets, and stray dogs running about. Anyone who comes out alive with their purchases/wallet intact WINS!

A = Automobiles. Oooh boy. People will drive anything that runs. Even if it doesn't have tail lights, brake lights, head lights, windows, a bumper and/or is being held together with duct tape and/or twine. And OMG -- they do not use car seats here for children. The mothers hold them in their laps. Seeing this makes me want to throw up with anxiety.

L = Language. DAAAAAMN, why did I take German in high school? Sprechen Sie Deutsch does me no good here. I highly recommend taking some classes before visiting. The people here will be patient even if you talk like a two-year-old -- they just appreciate the fact that you're trying. Or even better, if you have some time and money, take classes HERE. There are a ton of Spanish schools for you to choose from.

A = Alcohol. I'm not talking about beer or wine or margaritas. There are some die-hard alcoholics here and they drink ALCOHOL -- the kind you buy in the drug store to clean wounds. Yes, straight out of the bottle. Can you say naaaaasty? And after they get a good buzz, they fall asleep wherever they are -- on the sidewalk, in the market, in a park... I've been really tempted to start taking a series of pictures called "Too Drunk to Stand." My original inspiration came when I saw a man walking his bike down the road. He was too drunk to ride it but smiled and waved happily as we drove past him.

Ok, it's actually quite an adventure being here. I'm just pointing out some of the quirkier things about living in Guatemala. And really -- I'm not kidding about the cars! I can't believe some of them are still running! It's too bad there's no "C" in Guatemala -- I'd love to comment on the Chicken Busses!

Feeding frenzy!

Let the feeding frenzy begin!

Bread goes bad here -- fast. Especially bread that you buy at the bakery. We bought dinner rolls because, well, I was craving dinner rolls with beans. I know, I know -- it sounds weird but people eat a lot of black beans here. And black beans with dinner rolls is really pretty tasty. Anyhooo, there was no way we were able to eat all of the rolls and within a day or two, they were moldy. Eeew.

Chicken or turkey? Does anyone know for sure?

On my way to walk the rescue dogs one day, I stopped at a yard on my street where I know chickens live. I started tossing them bits of bread thinking they might run away in fear. Oh, nooo -- it was just the opposite. Chickens, I discovered, are actually small pigs dressed up in feathers. They heard there was bread being tossed and they came from everywhere. At first, it was just a few chickens. Then a couple of Mallard ducks joined in. Pretty soon, a mother hen (possibly a turkey? Look at the picture and tell me what you think) and her chicks came to the feast. There was even a weenie dog in the mix. It was a feeding frenzy. They came from all around -- up until that day, I had never seen a chicken or a duck run, but now I can say that I have. And yeah, it looks as funny as you'd think. I also got to see a baby chick fight with a full-grown bad ass rooster for a piece of bread. I was surrounded. And outnumbered. At one point, there were probably 35 little creatures eating from the Moldy Bread Feast of 2010. Lucky for me, none of them were carnivores (except maybe the weenie dog).

He's saying, "Feeeed meeee" with his eyes...

I wish I had taken pictures as the buffet was taking place, but didn't realize I had my camera in my pocket until I was out of bread. &*%$@! When I ran out of food, the animals who had once been singing (clucking) my praises left me like I was yesterday's dirty socks. I took pictures of the mother (turkey?) and her chicks (turklettes?) as they ran away. And yes, they RAN. The weenie dog sat patiently at my feet waiting for me to find that ONE LAST piece of bread and give it to him. (Sorry dude, I got nothin'!)

Anyway, I look forward to the next feeding frenzy -- and maybe next time I'll have my camera ready.