Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Smelly Halloween

Our water is out, again. We have drinking water, that's not the problem. What we don't have is that liquidy-goodness that's supposed to flow from the faucet when I turn the handle. I turn it... and... nothing. Earlier there was a tiny drip but now it's completely dry. The containers on the roof are full, we've been told, it's just not getting to us.

Right. I figured that out already.

This has been a problem since we moved in last May. New development, still under construction, you'd be stupid not to expect a few bumps along the way. Our first month in the condo we had water or electricity, never both. So you bathed in the dark or stank in the light. About a month ago the developers said they installed a new pump so this shouldn't happen anymore, yet we've run out of water every four days for the past month.

Things were normal when we left for our morning run, but when we got home I went to wash my face, turned the handle and a teeny drop of water clung to the spout. Not the gush of water I was expecting. Sometimes air gets trapped in the pipes and if we let it run for a bit it fixes itself. Not this time.

That was five hours ago. We've told the developers twice that there's no water, yet I'm still sitting here in my running clothes. Smelling wonderfully. It's supposed to be over 95° today and we don't have air so I'll leave the rest to your imagination. To answer your question, Yes, I can bathe with the drinking water but it brings to mind the richies who wash with Evian and it just feels so wrong. I did break down and washed my face, but I draw the line there.

Update: Apparently, ahem, la bomba no esta funcionando y necesita cambiar con la otra. No habia agua hasta manana. No water until tomorrow. Fantastic.

I did finally bathe around 3pm when Ibis got home and filled up a couple buckets downstairs. Phew!

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Daylight Savings was Sunday

But we didn't find out until Monday night. Yep, we went two whole days not knowing the time had changed. I'm thinking we should start watching the local news every now and then.

Ibis came home from class last night upset because I'd made him leave an hour early. More like shoved him out the door, but whatever. He was supposed to meet with the Canadian woman at 4pm to go over the lessson plans and that's when he found out. I was oblivious for another five hours. This has never happened to me before and I'm still a little off-kilter.

(She ended up not teaching the class and they said it was fine, they had someone else who could do it. Tormenting me was just a fun pasttime.)

In other news, we both got sick at 5am this morning. I feel fine now so whatever it was went right through me, but I was having flashbacks to last month when I had a really nasty virus that ended with an evil injection. The first time I got sick, we'd eaten at our favorite fonda at the mercado the day before and while I thought too much time passed for that to be the cause, we haven't gone back. Until yesterday. Hmm... another lesson learned?

Monday, October 29, 2007

Fancy Meeting You Here

As I posted earlier, Friday I was 'told' I'd be teaching an English class starting today. The more I thought about it the more my nerves took over and by Sunday night I could barely hold my food down. I know this isn't a huge deal, but the thought of walking into a classroom full of teenagers that speak a language I only half understand makes me a tad, ahem, witchy.

The teacher's guidebook was no help. One example of possessive pronouns stated: this is my parrot and that cage is its. And we wonder why kids don't learn to speak proper English in school.

By the time we went out I'd flat out told him I wouldn't do it. Something about me taking a stand against him making committments for me without discussing it first. As soon as I said 'No' the nausea was gone and I felt more like myself, but that didn't mean we'd resolved our problem.

Anyways, last night we tried a new bar to watch Game 4 and while we were chatting with the owner, in walked his Candian wife. Blond hair, blue eyes, my color skin. I leaned over to Ibis, "She could teach the class." I meant it as a joke, but we started talking with her and before long Ibis popped the question.

Turns out she's lived here five years and has taught English all over town. She seemed almost happy to help, just like that. Go figure. We chatted during the game, even watched the last couple innings on her cell phone (being Mexico, they turned the channel for a futbol game) and I think I can say we have new friends.


So I Married a ... Translator?

Today we went to the market for lunch... mmm, mole... and as we walked back to the car we encountered a man selling small plants. From a wheelbarrow. Several months ago we visited a local nursery to get an idea of the type of plants we want and while we've yet to purchase anything, we know we need something to liven up the joint.

These plants we cute - less than a foot tall in round clay pots with white stones to make them purty. One looked like a bonsai tree, there were a couple spider-plants and one could only be described as a psuedo-palm tree. Very cute, but I had doubts as to how long they'd survive once we rescued them from the street and brought them home. Something about roots needing space to grow...

The man said the price, 140 pesos. Ibis laughed at him and said he's not a tourist, that he lives right here.

"Oh, yo sé, tu eres el traductor. Cien pesos." Oh, I know, you're her translator. 100 pesos.

Ibis clarified, said that I'm his wife, but the joke was born. Apparently this isn't the first time this has happened and it almost makes up for me constantly being mistaken for being a tourist.

We didn't buy any plants but I plan to take my translator to the nursery again soon.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Close Encounter with a Questionable Tourist

Last night we had a big night out - pizza then off to a bar to watch Game 3 of the World Series. (We don't go out much these days so a restaurant AND a bar is a big deal). I spent as much time watching the game as I did watching the people, mostly tourists with a few locals sprinkled in. One couple sat between us and the TV and I assumed they were from the US because he had the typical American-man-on-vacation uniform: button down shirt & loose khaki pants. I made a couple comments about them, wondering where they were from, that sort of thing, when Ibis informed me he was probably a drug dealer.

Um, okay? Yes, apparently men from the various drug cartels dress like him and I should avoid making eye contact because he's probably carrying a gun. What? He's going to shoot me for accidentally looking at him? In the middle of a crowded bar? Then why did he sit underneath the largest TV in the place? And since when is he an expert on Mexican drug cartels anyways?

I laughed it off and continued watching the game, but I could not stop looking at them. Being told to ignore them made me want to stare and find out everything I could. Are they married? Are they on vacation? Is she with him for his drug money? He only caught me looking at him once and I pretended my contact was flipping inside out to make up for the social slip. I think he would've bought, too, it if I hadn't been wearing my glasses.

By the time they left I decided they're harmless and my husband needs to put a muzzle on his imagination. At least when it comes to drug dealers masquerading as tourists.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

Here We Go

I wasn't kidding about something happening every day. An hour after I posted last night, while I was still playing around with the design here, my husband, Ibis, came home and announced I have a job. Now, I didn't ask for a job. I'm quite content to sit in front of my computer, writing my book and chatting with friends online, but he seems to think we need money to survive.

A couple weeks ago he came home from his night class and declared he found me a job teaching English at a high school. Yes, I speak English, have all my life, but I don't know the first thing about teaching it. After a mild panic attack I told him I didn't think I was ready for something like that and please tell the director thanks, but no thanks.

He arranged for us to give two private lessons last week, but the students never showed. I was panicked about the private lessons but at least the lessons would be one-on-one, not me standing in front of a roomful of angsty teens.

Cut to last night. He came home and announced the director of his school handed him a book and told him I start teaching class on Monday. Apparently my sweet husband never actually spoke to the director. Ibis says he tried, but the director was always busy. So, now I'm teaching a class of thirty-odd students. At least I have a lesson plan/book. No interview, no idea what to wear, not sure what I'm getting paid. Oh, and no work permit, but I'm sure that'll get sorted out.

It's a two-week class, they devote that amount of time to each topic, so at least I know there's an end in sight. I originally thought I'd be teaching at a regular high school but now I find out it's the class across the hall from Ibis' class, so I can already imagine them asking me to teach his class next. At least I'll be able to get him back for throwing me into this completely unprepared.

I'm not panicking as much as I expected but I'm sure by Monday afternoon I'll be a nervous wreck. I'll be sure to let you know how it goes.


Friday, October 26, 2007

Introductions, blah blah

I'm new to the blogging game, so bear with me. I decided to start a blog because I can't put all my ideas in my book. Yeah, my book. I'm writing a memoir about my experiences here in Mexico and since I first put pen to paper (er, fingers to keyboard) things just keep on happening. So many things that if I don't put a leash on my cute little memoir it will soon rival War and Peace. I have no war, and only a little peace, so I'm sparing the unsuspecting agents who might receive my manuscript and putting my thoughts here instead.

I've read that a non-fiction writer needs a platform, something to back up the declaration that I am worthy to write this book. Memoir is a little different since I doubt anyone could argue I'm not qualified to write about my life, but here it is anyway: platform, platform, platform.

Something bizarre is bound to happen before long, so I'll be posting again soon. I already have a couple stories lined up for those days I don't leave the house.

Thanks for dropping by.