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.