Well, it's been a few days, and I need to be doing Spanish homework, so I'll go ahead and update instead.

Things that happened since the last post:

I got home from Mexico and went to the Frio.

I got a new car (still haven't sold Velveeta.  Contact me if you want to roll in somethin' tight like that!)

We went to Disney World!

We went to Georgia!

Then grad school started.  I don't want to talk about it.

The good news is I will be out of Baton Rouge next May, and then I can go jump into the Real World wherever I end up.  I don't want to talk about that either.

I'd like to end with a very important announcement:

I am in love!

Yes, it's true.  It's been a long time coming, and now is that time.  So I'm going to tell you, oh beloved, how I feel, in prose:

Aloha Breeze, my tower fan,
who rests beside my bed, 
chilling buttons, like many jewels,
adorn your breezy head

neath which your twisting blowing waist,
with modest plastic grill,
produces gentle frosty air;
you cool me when I will.

The sun outside and horrid drape
of harsh humidity
Stand no chance 'gainst you, my love,
who live to comfort me.

When central air and ceiling fans
Fail to meet my needs,
I know I can rely on you,
my love, Aloha Breeze.

Currently Listening N Sync By *NSYNC (God Must Have Spent) A Little More Time On You see related

An update of mourning and loss.

When I woke up this morning, the sun was shining bright.  The birds were chirping, the children were screaming, and a gentle breeze wafted through my windows.  I got up ready to face the day.  I brushed my teeth and washed my face and then started to get dressed.

"What should I wear today?"  I asked myself as I scratched my head in a manner that is characteristic of one asking oneself a question.

"How about your holey jeans, which you have had for nearly three years now.  They've been with you all over the north-western hemisphere of the globe!  They've been a mainstay of comfort and stability in your life.  Certainly they'll bring you nothing but happiness again today," I said back to myself.

Before I got ready to head out the door, I did a pre-flight check, if you will.  Twin comfy holes below the pockets, which allow gentle breezes to circulate my pants?

Check!

Soft, weathered thigh jean material, ending with a comfort breathing hole at the knee?

Check!

"Man, these pants sure are comfortable" I said to myself, again.  They allow me to recline comfortably with my hand in them while I eat honey!

"They're so comfortable," I continued, "that I could sit here and watch Teen Wolf in Spanish for hours on end in the utmost of comfort!"

"I think I'll go for a stroll," I said as los creditos rolled and I wiped honey residue off my face.  I set off happily on my journey, cheerfully singing to myself.

Then a dirty Mexican whistled.  "Shut your dirty Mexican boca!" I shouted in his direction.  To make my point clear, I threw a roundhouse kick at him, like Chuck taught me to do.

But then I heard a sound, and felt an extra breeze.  "Uh oh!" I thought.

I went home and checked out the sitch'.  To my complete heartbreaking dismay, there was a hole in an extremely inappropriate place.

"NOOOOOOO!"

"How can this be happening to me?" 

I knew that my three years with my favorite jeans had come to an end.

It's like losing a three year old child to a sudden tragic accident.  Except these pants were far superior to any three year old living human being.  Three year old jeans don't pee on you, or get their sticky chocolatey hands all over your clothes, or throw temper tantrums in stores.  All three year old jeans can do is love you quietly. 

As I gently laid these jeans to rest in the trashcan,

I could not help but gently weep at my loss.  I felt like Jackie O., except with less blood on me.

If anyone has any kind parting words to commemorate my jeans, please leave them in the comments section, or send an email.

I know for me, the mourning process will be long and arduous.  Finding the perfect jeans that will love you unconditionally is, some have said, a once in a lifetime thing.  Please pray for me as I struggle with my loss.

A VERY MEXICAN GRADUATION

I've gone back to this font because the other one is so painful, I think even Jesus wants me to come back to this one.  

Before we start things off, I'd like to state that I fell out of bed the night before last and busted my lip on a glass.  In my defense, I was having another skating dream, to which I attribute the flopping around.

Now down to the more important issues.  Monica had her graduation from her university last night.  Why it was in March, I'll never know.  I will say that graduations here are far superior to those in the states.  Instead of a ceremony in the college gym (or "PMAC" as we call it at LSU), complete with speeches, right-over-left handshake while receiving the diploma, sitting in metal folding chairs in an itchy cap and gown, they just throw a massive party.  And I mean massive.

The party was held at a salon, decorated with white lights everywhere, pillars, round tables set with fine linens and china, napkins folded like swans, rose and lily centerpieces hovering three feet above each table, a main stage, side stages, a fountain...it was insane.  Everyone who was graduating was dressed up like it was prom.  The "ceremony" consisted of the graduates being named and walking to the bar one at a time.  After that, they brought out course after course of really delicious food, bottles of champagne, brandy, vodka (basically everything but whiskey), and desserts with dulce de leche.  In my opinion, you could put dulce de leche on raw cat meat, and it would automatically make it the most delicious food in the world.

The whole event reminded me of an extremely expensive, over the top sort of wedding.  There were three different musical groups that played, plus a DJ.  While we ate, we were treated to a string quartet accompanied by an amazing pianist.  Directly afterwards, a mariachi group came in.  Mexicans LOVE mariachis.  Love them.  Finally, a live cover band hit the stage.  I think I should add here that in between these different musical groups, I was overcome by fits of laughter which I had to bite my cheeks to contain, because they kept playing "All For One" by Bryan Adams, the hit song from The Three Musketeers, as an interlude.  I die in a fit of hysterics every time I hear that song, but this setting made it that much more hilarious. 

I also had to literally cover my face with my napkin throughout nearly the entire set of the cover band.  They played a few Juanes hits, some Shakira, some Celia Cruz (they were amazing at that stuff, by the way), some Jaguares.  But then they played some kind of American mega-mix they had concocted.  Here's a little sampler of some the of lyrics as I remember them:

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

Start spreading the ne-oows
I'm giving the days
To make it very part of it
New York, New York
Start making my shoes
To get in the days
I make it to my heart of it
New York, New York... 

YMCA

Young man for a night on the town
I said young man, make it night on the town
You can stay there, there's no need for the frown
Or to make it be unhappy
Young man, in the place you can go
I said young man, makes the night on the town
Oh yes, young man, it's the place you can go
If you want to feel unhappy...

STAYIN' ALIVE

Well you can tell if you makes me use the walk
It's a woman's man this time I talk
Making love for an easy woman gets time to go 'cause it's the go
Well that's alright, it's ok, you can look the other way
Make it time, for making stands, making time for making mans...

All of this excitement was followed up by "Achy Breaky Heart," but in Spanish, and they were all doing the line dance.  I think I may have torn part of my intestines from trying to keep from exploding into hysterical laughter. 

I also had to fight very hard not to hang my spoon from my nose.  I mean, VERY hard.  I actually sat on my hands at one point.  What the hell is wrong with me?

I got to put my salsa lessons to good use, as I danced with Monica's dad half the night.  He also takes Pedro's classes, but at a different hour, and the man LOVES to dance.  We had a good time, but I am still very, very white.

At 3 AM, the band said, "Alright, thanks for coming out!  We're done, time to go home," or something to that effect.  I was relieved, because I was extraordinarily tired.  But no one left.  They kept the lights off and the beer coming and the reggaeton pumping.  Finally Lety got tired and so I rode with her, David, and his girlfriend, thinking we were going home, while everybody else stayed.  My main reason for leaving was that I had to tutor Oriana at noon on Sunday, and I wanted to be able to get up and plan a lesson in time.

We got in the car and headed off into the night.  An interesting phenomenon here is that stop signs are all apparently optional.  Anyway, instead of going home, we went to David and Erica's house, which takes twice as long to get to as our actual house.  I had no idea why we were there.  It took ten minutes to get into the house, because Lety's leg acts up when it's really cold.  Inside, we all used the bathroom, and then we all got back in the car.  I have no idea why all of this happened.  Anyway, I got home at 4 and happily passed out.

I also slept until 2:30 this afternoon, and thus completely missed Oriana.  I am a jerk and a bad teacher :(

Anyhooey, I'm off to do some dictation.  It's going to be hard to concentrate when there is a three year old in staunch need of a whippin' downstairs.   I be missin' and lovin' all you.

Currently Listening Masters of Chant Chapter V.2 By Gregorian see related

Well, the first day of Lent has come and gone.  In light of this time of sacrifice and repentance for all martyrious Catholics, I will be abandoning the fancy schmancy colorful typeface I've been using up to now.  Until Easter, posts will be in Times New Roman so we can all focus on the larger issue at hand, which is sacrifice and repentance, not laughing or smiling and enjoying ourselves. 

In light of yesterday's Holy Day of Obligation (Ash Wednesday), I of course went to mass to get smudged.  I almost died seven times.

I got there about ten minutes early, and there was ample pew room around the church.  I picked a spot in the middle of one pew so that people could come in from either side and sit down without having to climb over me.  I'm so considerate.

Apparently in the ten minutes before mass began, the Big Tortilla and Bean Bakeoff of Xalapa or some other Mexican festivity ended, and all nine million participants flooded into the church.  I literally had a little girl of about seven half sitting on my lap and half on her mother's lap next to me, our pew became so crowded.  I didn't mind too much, though, because we were all there for Jesus.  The Church was a place of healing, repentance, and mercy.  That is until the time came to get our ashes.

In America, when it's time for ashes, or communion, or anything that requires every person in the church having an interaction with the one or two priests assigned to that mass, first the front row files out, followed by the second, third, etc., so that in an orderly and timely fashion, everyone receives the sacrament/blessing and can safely return to their seats.  It looks something like this:

Since this system is too rational and, dare I say it, clean, Mexicans do it another way. 

Once the priest stands at the foot of the altar, a free for all ensues.  People standing in the back start madly rushing to the front of the church.  No form of line is to be seen anywhere.  People standing on the side rush to the center.  People in pews all over the church push and climb over other people to get into the mad herd of Mexicans headed to the altar to receive their ashes to remind them to be humbly aware that from dust they came and to dust they shall return.  Young men shove old ladies out of the way to be first.  As I stood at the end of my pew waiting for a break in the mosh pit to step in and get ashed, the little girl behind me was pushing me forward.  I ended up being shoved directly into an old man, who glared at me, then pushed back to get back in front of me, ensuring that he would get his ashes at least 0.5 seconds before I did. 

The way back to the pew is just as treacherous.  In the side aisles, I was met with a mob of Mexicans pushing their way to the front, as well.  People were standing outside in the square and were shoving their way into the church from all sides to get to the front and get ashes.  I had to walk outside the church and then come back in, where I decided it might just be safer to stand at the back.  I have never felt such immediate danger in the house of God.

Anyway, I went to tutor Oriana again last night.  She is a really nice girl, and I find that sometimes trying to explain the intricacies of our language, like when to use however versus although, is really difficult.  We met in Parque Juarez and I helped her fix a paper.  As I was standing at the street corner of Enriquez and the Cathedral waiting to cross, this random extremely tall guy came up to me and speaking really fast.  He wanted to practice English with me, but throughout our 30 minute conversation, he spoke only Spanish, and I only English.  He would not shut up.  He was talking about Resident Evil and books and his wallet and British history, dating back to the Saxons.  He was pretty funny, but really really weird.  I got invited to a costume party with him and some people at the school for foreign students, so I might go dressed as a Canadian and just draw a huge line down the center of my face so I look like a butt (you like that, Dad?).

On the walk home, I saw the most bizarre and most hilarious happening I have ever seen in my life.  Three boys, they looked about ten, were following me really closely up the street.  They were kind of annoying me, but I kept walking.  All of a sudden, they all rushed around me and ran up to this guy and his girlfriend walking in front of me.  One of the kids ran in front of them and punched the guy in the face, while the other two pantsed him.  Then they all just ran off.  Let me recap.

Three kids ran up to the couple in love.

One kid PUNCHED THE GUY IN THE FACE while the other two PULLED HIS PANTS DOWN.

The kids ran off.

I laughed outloud, then pretended I sneezed when the girlfriend turned around to glare at me.

Until next time, I will be vigilantly aware of the punching/pantsing cabbage patch kids gang.

What a fuckin' spectacular day!  I woke up at 11, as usual, by the screaming of Alex and Diego, who apparently have dropped out of school already at the ripe old ages of 3 and 6. 

The sun was shining brightly, a cool breeze was wafting through my windows, and the huge peach sized bruise on my thigh, which miraculously appeared after no trauma whatsoever last week, appeared to be fading to a yellowish nothing.  I checked the movie times, and lucky me, North Country was playing at 1:30!  After a good morning stretch, I got dressed and started to head downstairs when Alejandra came up with THREE THINGS IN THE MAIL FOR ME!!! 

I got a Valentines Day card from Katie Laz, my darling Poopsy, who I adore so much.  I also got a VDay card from my mom, who is the most awesome woman alive, taking the Thibodaux medical field by the balls with her journalism degree.  And in there was MONEY which of course is the gift that keeps on giving, at least until I spend it on beer.  I also got the fabled package Gustavo sent, complete with a deck of Care Bears cards, NASCAR cards (hahaha, that's awesome), and some mothafuckin Tony Chachere's!!! WHOOOOP!  What a great day!

So then I cheerfully started walking to Las Animas.  All I could hear in my head was a song of only tambourines, just like the guy Dane Cook talks about who got hit by the car.  Nobody was really playing a tambourine, but I could just hear it - jingle SMACK jingle SMACK jingle SMACK as I walked down Lucio.  Man, what a great morning! 

I decided to do a little bit of statistical analysis of the attention I get when I walk down the street.  My calculations, of course, have a huge margin of error because of how I gathered my data, but because I didn't have any way to physically record the data I was collecting, I had to use the way there to collect one set of data and the way back to collect another, which I later combined as if they had happened congruently. 

On the way there, I counted how many cars I passed on the road.  I did not count vans or motorcycles, just cars.   I also only counted those cars on my side of the road, as counting across the street would have been too much confusion. The total number, from the time I hit Enriquez to the time I hit the parking lot of Las Animas, was 846. 

Santa Anna cat called at San Jacinto.  Look where that got him.

On the way home, I counted the times I got honked at, whistled at, hissed at, or yelled at from passing cars only on my side of the street.  This number was a staggering 87 times in a forty-nine minute walk from the parking lot of Las Animas to the intersection of Enriquez and Lucio.

                                              Pancho Villa raped the cattle and stampeded the women. 

                                                    He also trimmed the hedges of many small villages.

I thought that number was really high, so I generously pretended that one third of the honks/calls/whistles/hisses were traffic-related and had nothing to do with me, even though a majority of these incidents occurred during the jungle shanty stretch of the road where there is little opportunity for traffic annoyance.  Anyway, that eliminates 29 incidents, leaving 56 attempts to seriously perturb me.

                                          Vicente Fox wants to know where all da white women at?

I was bugged at least 56 times in a 49 minute time period.  That's an astonishing 1.14 honks per minute.  However, taking into consideration, however, that an average of 17.27 cars passed me per minute, that means I was only taunted by about 6.6% of the cars that passed me per minute.  Of course, many of these cars were driven by women, or by men with their wives or girlfriends in the car who they were probably making out with at the time, as well know how in love everyone here is.

I know that when I return to the states and fade back into the crowd, some attention-craving part of me will miss looking like ass on a stick and still be honked and cat called at.  But not a large part of me.

Well I got to Las Animas, and the theater was closed.  I was really put out by this, so I sat down and had three micheladas (beer with lime, salt, and chili powder and salsa.  Delish).  Then something miraculous happened - they opened!  It was great!  Unfortunately, the movie I'd come to see, North Country, was not playing until three hours later.  My only other option which I had not seen was March of the Penguins, dubbed.  "Why the hell not?" I thought in my optimistic buzz.  After thirty minutes of watching the most boring shit I had ever seen in my life, I walked out, but not before I had some serious thoughts about penguins.

                          A terrified young penguin cries out in fear as another huge penguin

                                  prepares to eat it alive.  I didn't see that part of the movie, but I bet

                                   that's what happened.  Penguins are evil.  Doesn't anyone remember

                                                      Danny DeVito's performance in Batman?

Why do we think penguins are so cute?  Is it because of the way they walk, moving their knee-less stubby little clawed feet like the joint-free little freaks that they are?  Is it because sometimes they fall down and slide on their fat little white bellies all over the icy desert that is Antarctica?  Is it because their "love dance" was backed up by a song I'm pretty sure I've heard in a porn on Golden Dos before?  These are questions we may never be able to answer.  Maybe I'd have a more definite opinion on this had I stayed longer than half an hour. 

Lent begins tomorrow.  I'm afraid how much I'm going to owe the Baby Jesus at the end of this go round.  Last year was something around $180.  Let's hope I can control my fuckin' potty mouth for forty days. 

Anyway, I'm off to MY JOB.  YES.  I HAVE A JOB!!  Kind of.  Roman hooked me up tutoring a girl in English every night until I leave so she can pass the TOEFL in a month.  I hope I don't fuck this up.  Pray for both of us.

Can you imagine a Care Bear driving in NASCAR?  Even if that happened, I still wouldn't watch it.

GREAT LINK!!!  http://www.quailhuntingschool.com/flash.php  Don't thank me; thank him