Classroom English I

This first post contains phrases and vocabulary for classroom English, specifically for communicating with an English speaking Assistant Language Teacher (ALT). It assumes a basic level of English competence.

1. Please pass out the ___A___.
A: handouts, papers, homework, tests, materials

2. Please collect the ___A___.
A: handouts, papers, homework, tests, materials

3. Please read the ___A___ (___B___)
A: sentence, paragraph, page, directions, example, dialogue, story
B: out loud, to the class, to these students

4. Please help them with ___A___.
A: their pronunciation, the activity, the assignment, the vocabulary

5. Have the students ___A___.
A: do this, open their books to page 46, work in their workbooks, work in groups, work independently, repeat after you, form groups of three, write the answers on the board

6. Please ask them to ___A___.
A: answer your questions in English, practice the dialogue, read aloud, use their dictionaries, pay attention, sit down

7. Walk around the room and ___A____.
A: check their work, answer questions, keep the students on task, make sure everyone understands the instructions

8. I want the students to ___A___.
A: complete the test in 10 minutes, start the next exercise now, learn this vocabulary, review the grammar lesson, repeat after you, memorize the dialogue, write the answers on the board, ask each other questions.

9. The point of this exercise if for the students to improve their ___A___.
A: spelling, pronunciation, vocabulary, understanding of grammar, reading abilities, comprehension, listening skills, speaking skills.

10. I would like you to ___A___.
A: give a short speech, prepare some examples, make copies of the materials, brainstorm ideas for next week's lesson

11. The students will need to ___A___.
A: complete the sentences by filling in the blanks, choose the right answer, select one of the following words to complete the sentence, use the right verb form, correct the spelling and punctuation, underline the adjectives, translate the passage, read the paragraph out loud.


NEW!
Additional example sentences from our class.

Please check your answer in the back of the book.
Please check your answer in your workbook.
Please check your answers with a neighbor.
Please check the answers with your partner.
Please trade worksheets with your partner and check the answers.
Please trade worksheets with a neighbor
Please trade worksheets with another student.
Have the students repeat each sentence after you.
Please read each sentence twice.
Please read each sentence to the class twice. Then have the students repeat it after you.
Please read each sentence twice. Then have them repeat after you.
I'd like you to make a worksheet for the class.
I'd like you to create an activity for this topic.
I'd like you make a worksheet for this vocabulary.
I'd like you to create a 20 minute activity about this topic.
I'd like you make some example sentences for this grammar lesson.
Please conjugate the verbs.

Pochos and Gringas

Yesterday I saw some pochos on the beach, some guys that looked like they'd been raised in the States. Maybe it was the style of their tats or their Angels caps. Or the fact that they were playing American football. But they sure looked Mexican-American to me, not Mexican. They certainly weren't locals. But I was in the mood for a little English chit-chattery, so, when I noticed their wives/girlfriends/lady escorts sitting nearby on a blanket I decided to wander over with my adorable baby and try to make friendly.

I'm a little blind, though, so it wasn't until we were within a few feet of the misses that I realized they were giving me some pretty snobby looks. So, Hanix and I toddled over to the surf instead and played the always amusing game of catching Hanix before he was pulled out to sea. And that was that.
Hernan apparently observed the whole scene from where he was in the ocean. He's not blind like me. When he came back to the beach he told me that probably they were looking at me all bitchy because everyone knows that gringas who are with Mexican men either already had kids by someone else, have or had a substance abuse problem, are on the heavy side, or are just psycho crazy somehow. They were probably trying to figure out which one I am.

For real? I'd never heard that before.

Oh, yeah! he said, everyone knows that! Kids by another man, drug problem, extra chubby, or crazy as all hell.

So which one am I? Let's examine the facts. I didn't have any kids for the first six or seven years I was with my husband, and the one I've got now is most definitely his. I'm not a user, and alcohol isn't a problem. Got that? I don't have a problem with alcohol. I could quit at any time. Wait, actually, that's not even a joke. I did quit when I found out I was knocked up, and abstained for over a year. I think that clears me of substance abuse. As for weight, I was going to suggest I resemble Skeletor, until I googled him and was reminded that actually, for a skeleton, Skeletor was extraordinarily ripped. So, that doesn't fit. Shall we just leave off with "scrawny" and move on?



So, I can deduce that I'm a crazy bitch.

Sweet.

I shared my conclusion with Hernan, and he just replied "No, baby, you're great. You're the best," which kind of confirmed it, because why else would he try to placate me so quickly?

Has anyone else heard this before? Hernan assures me it's not his opinion, but that it's an extremely common assumption. All you white women with Mexican men - have you ever heard this? Do you fit the stereotype? I think it only applies to white American women with Mexican men, but I'm not an expert on this.

By the way, I didn't know what a pocho was, either. Hernan supplied the term. That makes it two stereotypes I learned in one day. Yay!

Looking Up In Sayulita

It turns out I like it a hell of a lot more here in Sayulita than in San Juan. Here are some reasons why.

1. Where we are living here doesn’t eternally smell like the raw sewage that runs past the house in San Juan.
2. Instead of the cockroach army pooping all over me baby’s toys, we have adorable geckos, which he goes in search of every evening, to snap at and call “ee-oooo!”
3. We don’t have to live according to the schedule and needs of my husband’s family, who we were living with before. What I do here is not subject to scrutiny and commentary. I can eat whatever I want whenever I want, which is why I enjoyed nachos for dinner, straight out of the nacho pot I made them in. With beer.
4. Hernan has time for me again. It’s nice to remember why the fuck I’m living in Mexico - oh yeah, because of this guy.
5. And he has time for Hanix. He has spent more time caring for Hanix in the last few weeks than in the last six months.
6. The beach. The ocean. There are places to walk that don’t smell like sewer. When I leave the house people don’t stare at me, like in San Juan. I CAN leave the house. I enjoy it again.
7. We no longer live on a dusty highway across from the beer store. We no longer go to sleep lulled by the sound of alcoholics telling stories, breaking bottles, and getting into fights. We no longer awake to the sound of trucks breaking with their motors as they enter town. We don’t have neighbors with a garbage heap and rats and dogs that never stop barking because they’re tied up 24 hours a day in one spot. We don’t get interrupted at 11:30 at night because someone wants my husband to cut his hair, or lend him tools, or fix his car, or whatever, even though we had just told everyone downstairs that we were going to bed and we wanted to be alone, so good night already, thank you very much.
8. It’s green everywhere and jungly, and the town has many trees.
9. We regularly see men and women socializing together.
10. We haven’t seen a single fight or heard a single gunshot.

Things I miss:
1. My in-laws. I love having our own house, but it would be fun to be able to visit. Actually, they all came out a week ago to visit. It was fun. I wish they lived a little closer. Just, you know, not that close.
2. Avocados, that my father-in-law brought home by the bag-full from the ranch where he works.
3. It’s far more expensive here. I miss being able to stretch 50 pesos over a few days.

Also, we went to four places before we found somewhere that would change money with a Mexican passport. All the banks down here wanted a foreign passport. Hernan about flipped out on them, repeating that he IS Mexican, but they wouldn’t accept his passport.

Also, also, I got a really painful ear infection + deafness, and after five days of sweating it out hoping it would heal on it own so we wouldn’t have to spend any more money, which I have been made to understand is not the correct course of action to take with these kinds of matters, I caved. We don’t have insurance, but have been going to private consultorios when the need has arisen. Visits usually cost us 200 to 400 pesos. This guy, after TEN minutes, charged me 900 (NINE HUNDRED!) pesos, plus another 100 for some ear drops. I nearly broke down crying, because that was, really, all the money we had just changed and what we were planning on using for food and everything for the next few weeks. So now, we’ll be eating beans with beans, and I’ll be washing our laundry by hand on the scrub board sink thing because we don’t have a machine and can’t afford the laundromat anymore. Boo.

Cool about the visit, though, was that he “cleaned” my ears by shooting water into them and out came, like, Amelia Earhart and ten kilos of earwax. It was so cool. Apparently I have small ear canals and they become clogged quite easily. Now you know.

When I got swimmer’s ear (also in Mexico) five years ago, the doctor in Jocotepec told me to dig the wax out myself using a hair pin. Really. Yeah, that’s what he wanted me to do. Quack.

The bad thing is that after three days of not-so-magic ear drops, my ear still hurts and now I’m going to have to go back and beg him to fix me for a blow job or something, because we have no more money. Mom, totally just kidding about that, by the way.

Also, also, also, we went to Puerto Vallarta today, just to see what it’s like. And it kind of sucks. Big hotels, pushy vendors. Not so great. Sayulita has better beaches and a lot more trees.

And finally, I’d like to report that things are good.

Party on.

Pests And The Move To Sayulita

Mexico’s got a lot of critters. We had our share in San Juan, and we’ve still got critters here in Sayulita. It’s important, however, to distinguish between particular critter varieties, as some are more obnoxious than others. Here for you, then, I present an easy guide to the most common creatures that have shared my home in San Juan and Sayulita.

San Juan Critters

Ants: In San Juan we always had ants. They lived in the kitchen and formed one trail from the electrical outlet to the sink. They pretty much stuck to this trail, unless I was so negligent as to leave cut fruit on the counter. Because the ants stayed within their predictable trail, I was satisfied to let them be. That is, they were annoying, but just thirsty. Also, they were tiny. Really, really small. And I have bad vision, so I could almost pretend they weren’t there. They didn’t get into my food much, they didn’t wander around anywhere, they left no trails, they harbored no infectious diseases, and they were very small. I did sometimes have to watch out for them, though, while kneading dough on the counter. No ant pizza for me.
Obnoxious Rating: 4

Flies: For some reason we had a crap ton of flies in San Juan. They weren’t too terrible year ‘round, but always in the late spring they suddenly would begin to show up by the scores. We had more trouble with them downstairs than in our casita (where we had window screens), but since we ate nearly all our meals downstairs, we usually had them around. Flies are gross, because they land on your food after probably having spent the morning on a pile of poop or a dog carcass. They might carry some kind of disease, or at the very least cooties. They lay eggs which hatch into larva, which most definitely are nasty. Also, they land on people, which is irritating, and the buzz they make is annoying. When we shoo them away they stubbornly settle right back where they were. Also, they are annoying because my husband has to kill as many as he can before he sits down to eat, and waiting for him tries my patience.
Obnoxious Rating: 6

Scorpions: We haven’t had too many of these show up in our house in San Juan, but we have had a few. Because they are infrequent visitors, I don’t mind them as much. Also, they don’t gross me out. I’m pretty sure they’re not after my food and have no intentions of taking up residence in my tea box. However, I am nearly positive that they could kill me if I were to step on one inadvertently (I would never step on one advertently, it goes without saying.) My in-laws assure me that I wouldn’t die from a scorpion strike, but I know they’re wrong. Perhaps the common person would not die, but I would. Those tiny critters are little death machines. It is always my husband’s job to get rid of them.
Obnoxious Rating: 6

Rats and Mice: Rats and mice are gross. I don’t care if you had one for a pet when you were in middle school. They’re pests. They’re nasty. They chew too much, and poop a lot, and when I held your stupid mouse that one time it peed all over me. They’re not clean. They live in garbage. More specifically, they live in my neighbors’ garbage heap, and then come waltzing in our door. We never had them upstairs in my casita, but we had plenty downstairs and out in the yard. They will go after your food. They will take up residence in your home. They will carry fleas that harbor the bubonic plague. In their defense, they have distinguishable faces and fur. This makes them less yucky than most non-mammalian critters. They should really do something about those tails, though. Also bad about them is that they will surprise you. I don’t care for rat surprises.
Obnoxious Rating: 7

Mosquitoes: Mosquitos are obnoxious for two reasons: the itching and the buzzing. Mosquitos were a constant presence downstairs at our old house. Daytime. Nighttime. They were always there. The welts they leave are mildly irritating, but let's be honest: my legs aren't that pretty to being with, so a dozen or two bites all over doesn't matter much. No, it's the itching that's terrible. I wouldn't mind sharing a little blood here and there, because I have plenty, but why do they have to be such bitches about it and leave me all itchy? Also, their habit of buzzing in my ears at night is really obnoxious. I suppose that also troubling is their ability to spread malaria and dengue fever. We have had some outbreaks of the dengue around here.
Obnoxious Rating: 7

Cockroaches: Cockroaches are nasty, faceless, antennae-y, gross, horrible little creatures. They’re even more awful than earwigs. They have the one-two punch of being both disgusting and scary. Also, they surprise me. A Lot. They take up residence in my home. They eat my food. They are capable of both high-speed scurrying (unnerving) and flying (terrifying). They leave behind cockroach poop. They’re worse than rats because they can live anywhere, like inside my appliances, and they will lay in wait for me in my tea box. They surely carry a plethora of diseases. They make scurrying sounds. They could be anywhere! On the ceiling, in my shoe, hiding behind the shower curtain. They’re nasty. They’re terrible. They have sinister intentions. I hate them.
Obnoxious Rating: 10


Sayulita Pests

Ants: The ants here aren’t omnipresent, like the ones that we had in San Juan, but they are a tad bigger. Still small, but I can’t pretend not to see them by squinting. I don’t notice them much until a crumb of food falls on the floor, which actually is pretty common with my baby around. Within minutes we’ll see about sixty of the little tykes trying to take down the food morsel. I admire their speed. I would prefer it, though, if they didn’t hang around so much. It makes it a challenge to be lazy about cleaning up after meals.
Obnoxious Rating: 3

Geckos: That’s right, our new house is teeming with geckos. They live in the nooks and crannies of the walls and ceiling, and in the palapa roof, but never bother me down here where I live, on the floor, in my bed, on the kitchen counters. They don’t go after my food, but instead eat insects. They eat the other annoying pests! They’re like little, adorable super heroes! They also make cute little clicks and songs at night. They have faces. They have cute lizard tails instead of nasty rat tails. My son enjoys watching them, and will follow them without outstretched fingers. They’re cutes-matoots.
Obnoxious Rating: 0

Mosquitoes: We have mosquitoes here, too. Actually our Sayulita house is even more "open" than our San Juan house. It's just a "come on in!" house, I suppose. So of course we have mosquitoes. And yet, they haven't been too much of a pain so far. They're maybe worse than we had them in our casita upstairs, but not as bad as we had them downstairs in my in-laws' place. So, they're about the same.
Obnoxious Rating: 7

Mysterious Animal: Last night we were visited by a mysterious critter. In came into the house through the gap under the back door at around five A.M. It was black and stripy, and at first Hernan thought it was a skunk. It didn’t have a big bushy tail, though, and was much smaller. It had come in and was making a cute sniffling noise, when we surprised it by turning on the light. It scampered up the stairs and out the door and we haven’t seen it since. I asked Hernan if he was sure it wasn’t a rat, and he said, “No, it was cute!” He has since told me about how cute it was three more times. We’ll see whether it returns, and if so whether it gets into any trouble. For now, though, we refer to it as our “cute visitor”. Still, five A.M. was a little early.
Obnoxious Rating: 2



San Juan Total: 40
Sayulita Total: 12

Clearly, the Sayulita total could increase if we discover more pests or if Mysterious Animal starts to cause trouble. Like if he climbs onto a chair and gets into my gin in the freezer. I won't be pleased. Though, then again, that would be pretty resourceful of the little guy, and probably pretty darn cute, so I might forgive him. Unless he's a mean drunk. Or if he doesn't leave me any. So, my point is that these numbers could change. Still, I think you'll agree that Sayulita is in the clear lead.

If we expanded the category from "household pests" to "animals we encounter in various ways", Sayulita would have an ever bigger lead, since we hear no roosters, hardly any barking dogs, and the woman with the hyena laugh stayed behind in San Juan. Also, Sayulita would get a few bonus points for the cute song birds we have outside our house and (ready for this?!) the iguanas who live in the tree across the street! We are neighbors with iguanas! We can watch them crawling around in the tree!

I'm pleased.

Hey Water, Your Mom Is Ugly!

It's not like we didn't know the rainy season was upon us. Just yesterday I told Hernan that we needed to do a few things to prepare for the next big storm. We needed to reseal the roof over the kitchen, move things in from the living room (which is essentially out of doors), move the couches away from the canvas "walls", figure out a way to prevent water from coming in through the somewhat open window in the bedroom... I've said it before, our house isn't really sealed off from outside so much. We've got cracks and holes and big gaping spaces everywhere. It's why my house fills with dust every day during the dry season and why last night at about 2:00 it became a swimming pool.

The storm was really quite fantastic. There was thunder and lightening and it was raining so hard it felt like a water siege, like someone had done something to really piss water off and now water was getting its revenge. The high winds made me think one of the tiles from the roof was bound to blow off and smack me upside the head, and the overall mood was enhanced by the light show going on across the street, where a transformer was shooting off sparks like one of the toros they have in the plaza during the festivities.

Of course, we didn't do those things on the list. Hernan got "distracted" by some buddies, and I didn't think I should have to do all the work if he wasn't going to. So, I guess I'm saying we kind of deserved what we got.

At about two in the morning I woke up to the sound of torrential rain and thought, "What a lovely sound". A few moments later I thought, "Shit! My laptop!" and leaped out of bed and ran into the living room, dragging Hernan with me.

The casualties were numerous: some books, papers, the clean laundry, a chocolate bar, blankets, shoes. Pretty much every last thing in the living room was soaked. My laptop, though, I rescued just in time and is safe and dry.

The kitchen, too, was hit. One of the walls leaks. The bedroom was almost as bad as the living room because of our new window that doesn't really close all the way. It was a scramble of moving things and throwing towels around and doing whatever we could think of to minimize the soakage.

And the critters were trying to escape the storm, too. There were crickets on the walls, a cockroach in our bed (sob!) and a scorpion over the door.

This morning we found everything covered in mud, and puddles all over the floor. We had about three inches of mud in front of the house.

I appreciate that we get an especially sunny day today. I have all of our stuff hung out on the laundry lines drying.

But the rain cleans up the air and makes the mountain green again, and this morning we had a marching band pass in front of our house, so you know it's a good day.

A Fart Joke

As related to me by my brother-in-law, except in English:
(This is probably funnier if you know that all those words that aren't English are cities in Mexico.)


How do little girls fart?
Tepic.

How do grown women fart?
Torreon!

How do old grandmothers fart?
Oaxaca!!



That's all I've got for today, folks.

The Hell Out Of Dodge

We're moving. We're going to try living in Sayulita, Nayarit for a month. We've rented a little tiny studio-style casita with a palapa (thatched) roof. If we find work, we'll stay. If not... I don't know what we'll do. We move July 1st.

My hopes are high. Friends. Jobs. Community. No more gang bangers pulling guns on my husband.

I'm excited that when we walk around Sayulita no one stares at us. No one pays us any attention. Actually, they're kind of rude, and I prefer that to nosy san juanecos who stare at me every time I step outside my house.

We'll have the beach! Even if we're too poor to afford a coffee or a meal in a restaurant, we can still have somewhere to go. We can sit in the sand and watch the waves, or the surfers, or the sunset. This is way more than there is to do in San Juan. Stupid San Juan.

Mango season. Four kilos for 20 pesos! This is helping my mango-a-day commitment.

Not living with the in-laws. While I think I'm going to miss some of my in-laws quite a lot, I am excited to finally have our own place again. I look forward to being able to operate on my own schedule (well, Hanix's, really) instead of everyone else's. Here, for example, no one eats lunch until the men come home from work (or drinking) and decide they're ready. This could be any time between 1:00 and 4:00. I think that's shitty, because I don't like being kept from my food, and I look forward to eating meals whenever I want. (Of course, without mother-in-law around I'll probably be eating a lot more cereal and a lot less of her good cooking. But we'll see. Maybe I'll surprise us.)

Of course, I'm scared about having no help whatsoever, since I don't know anyone there. Even though I'm with Hanix almost all the time, I do occasionally get a few minutes break here or there from a relative.

I'm scared we'll find no work and won't be able to afford the higher prices.

I'm scared Hernan or Hanix won't handle the heat or the humidity, and Hernan will decide to move back to San Juan.

After almost two years of having no friends, I'm scared that maybe I'm actually some kind of antisocial freak who can't connect with anyone, and I'll find myself in a bush, stalking some nice-looking couple with a toddler. They'll discover me and make a scene, and it will ruin all my chances of ever having friends again. Ever. I'll die soon thereafter from a loneliness explosion.

What I REALLY hope happens is that Hernan and I will both make friends, and some of those friends will even enjoy mixed interactions, you know, men AND women, hanging out TOGETHER. And maybe a few of them will even be atheists like us. And maybe a few of them will play board games. And maybe a few of them will have kids too, and Hanix can have play dates, and we'll swap child care sometimes. And maybe we'll get really great jobs. And maybe I'll win the lottery and take up surfing. And I'll become bff with dolphins and sea turtles. And when we walk to the plaza everyone will break out in song and dance and small children will throw ribbons and flowers in the air, and somehow everyone's wearing matching sequined outfits and headbands and is singing on key and the birds are singing and the street dogs play piccolos and a kindly gentleman offers us lemonade and the sun smiles at us all.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Mastitis and Mexican Health Care

One thing that's great about Mexico is that if all of a sudden you begin to die rapidly, you're not (always) forced to choose between dying and selling off an organ to pay for medical care.

About a week ago, Hanix bit me while nursing, little bastard. Bit me like he thought my nipple was a chicken nugget. Made me bleed. There is still a little open wound bite mark. And now suddenly nursing has become excruciatingly painful. It hurts so much my feet start to kick and I get dizzy and start whisper-yelling "Ow, ow, ow!" and all I want to do is hide from him so he won't try to nurse. And I got really tired and was feeling sick, and pretty much had given up on living.

Going cold turkey (cold chicken nugget?) on nursing, though, would not only be awful on my baby, but would mean a whole lot of pain for me, too. I'd also probably run a fever and would risk developing an infection, so says the doctor. I also find nursing convenient, and I'm happy knowing I'm providing my son with top o' the line nutrition. Plus, it's five billion times cheaper than buying formula. Also, and not least important, to suddenly stop nursing him would almost certainly ruin our trip to the beach that commences tomorrow.

So I went to Ajijic to find a doctor at one of the clinics there.

Now, are you ready for what's really cool? The doctors take walk-ins. Yeah. You just show up and ask if the doctor is there. I sensibly waited until after the Mexico-South Africa match this morning. I took a seat, waited a few minutes, and got seen right then. I didn't have to fill out seven pages of medical history. I didn't have to provide proof of insurance (I don't have any). I didn't have to promise to sell my liver to pay for the treatment. Nothing. Easy.

So the doctor saw me. I flashed him my boob. He looked at it. Told me I would die if I didn't get it treated (sort of) and then had the nurse come in and shoot me in the butt muscle with some kind of anti-inflammatory something or other injection. And that was that.

He also was SHOCKED to discover that I'd never given my baby formula, and he sent me home with a free sample to give him. (It looked like he had just had a visit from the formula reps, as his desk was piled high with pricey little canisters to hook families on. I'm not supposed to nurse him for the next 24 hours, though, and the canister was free, so it looks like my baby will finally experience what all his cousins have been drinking.

At first the doctor said I'd have to go five days without nursing. I told him I didn't like that idea, for the reasons stated above, and he told me if I feel better tomorrow I can go back to nursing.

Anyway, besides my sore butt muscle, I'm feeling better already. The whole visit only cost 104 pesos, about $8.00. Sometimes Mexico really pulls through. I can't imagine this happening in the States.

Now to live through the next 24 hours without nursing... I guess I should find that hiding spot now.

Worse Than Full House

Saturday, my husband's pregnant teenage cousin showed up at our house. This was a shock to all of us. As far as we all knew she was in California, living with her parents, and, uh, not pregnant. Guess what, she needs a place to stay.

I think a roll call is in order.

We've got me. (Hi, how ya doing?)
We've got my hubs.
We've got baby bubs.
Then there's mom-in-law,
Pa-in-Law,
Teenage bro-in-law, too.
96 year old Grandma (who pooped on a plate this morning. Thank you.)
And now preggers Cousin + fetus

AND our part-time residents,
Bro-in-law who has breakfast and lunch here six days a week,
His baby daughter, who's here about sixty hours a week,
Eight-year-old nephew, who's here during the mornings and sometimes at night, too,
and sometimes we get sister-in-law or her boyfriend or the other sister-in-law.

And there are usually some cousins around, especially the weekends.

Nuclear family, we are not. And I guarantee we don't have group hugs at the end of every episode day.

I'm so glad I have my own casita upstairs for the three of us. People still wander up all the time (I've got to remember to keep my pants on), but it's still nice having my own shower.

We'll see what happens with New Cuz. I guess I've got a lot to say, but I'm holding my tongue for now.

Gorilla Caregiver!

Hire me hire me hire me hire me!

GORILLA Caregiver / Research Assistant


!

A Mango A Day...

Eleven months out of the year we are avocado wealthy. My father-in-law brings them home by the bag-full from the various trees on the ranch where he farms. And those are just the ones he picks up off the ground. Occasionally Hernan will go out there and climb up in the trees to bring home a whole box of them. It's almost always season for one variety or another, and we nearly always have avocados on hand for every meal.

This time of year is the one exception. For about a month we don't have any. If we get desperate we could always buy some from a shop, but we're too spoiled most of the year to do that. So we take an avo break.

To make up for this lack, I've decided that the month of June will be dedicated to a different fruit. Mangoes, you see, are in season.

I've resolved to eat mango every day for the month of June. It's my duty, as I see it.

Day four, so far so good.

Living in San Juan isn't all bad, I guess.

We Gotta Get Out Of This Place

It's that time, folks! Who wants to play the Where To Next Game? Will it be San Francisco? Berkeley? Portland? Sayulita? Vancouver? Naha? You want to throw out a suggestion? Lay it on me! Know of a good place to live in Mexico? Have a work hook up for me someplace? Because San Juan Donkey Balls Cosalá is a pit of misery and I'm through.

Last night a group of men in a vehicle pulled a gun on my husband. They weren't trying to rob him, they don't know him, as far as we can figure it was a bunch of guys just looking for some Wednesday night fun. He and his buddy jumped off the malecon into Lake Chapala and fled. Who knows if the little gang bangers would have pulled the trigger, but I'm glad no one found out.

My husband has been in his share of fist fights, but he never looks for trouble. I can say that here in town he's friends with everyone and their mom, and I mean it. He really is friends with their moms. And their dads. And their cousins. And their little brothers. He's not the kind of guy that stirs up trouble. But here in San Juan he's been attacked more than once from behind. It's never been from anyone he had any beef with. It's just stupid San Juanecos who have no prospects in life except to grow up to be the biggest asshole on their block. We've been hollered at and followed and he's been attacked, even when he's been with me. In fact, they use me to try to get him to fight them. If they insult me while we're walking, they hope he'll get mad enough to engage them in a fight. When that doesn't work, they just come up from behind and try to hit him in the head.

Hernan seems sure the assholes last night aren't from here, though. He says he doesn't think they're from El Chante or Ajijic, either. Maybe Jocotepec. He doesn't know. He just knows they pulled up, yelled some obscenities and aimed the gun at him.

We're not telling his family because his mother might die of worry, and his older brother might try to get involved. He is going to have a talk with his teenage brother about staying safe, though. We think they were probably looking for just anyone, and we're not in any danger of these guys stalking us or anything. But shit.

This last week I was already gearing up to make a move. I've been thinking of going back to the Bay Area to look for work. I'm too lonely down here. I'm tired of just killing time. Now I'm wondering if I should pick someplace else so I can drag Hernan with me. We both hate this town.

Now, I do of course realize that there are hoodlums with guns everywhere. I do think that in other places we've lived, though, we could usually avoid violence by minding our own business. In San Juan, that doesn't seem to be true.

I don't know what comes next. I do know I'm ready to move on. I hate this town.

Shark Wrestling

Sometimes when you buy a "brand new" battery, it's actually an old crappy piece of crappity crap, that crappily dies all the time because it's crap. This applies to car batteries as well.

In other news, I've finally gone completely mad. I'm storing the base of my blender in the freezer, just to keep the roaches from taking up residence there a third time. There's no room in the fridge, in case you are wondering. And I open all the kitchen cupboard doors at night in a wretched attempt to make the shelves less desirable as living space. I know. I should really get over the cockroaches, but last night I saw a cockroach the size of a nightstand crawl into the house from outdoors through a crack in the wall (one of many) and that may have been what did me in.

This leads me to update number three. If you reread the last paragraph, you may notice that I casually mentioned kitchen cupboards. What's this? Who's got kitchen cupboards now? Me. That's who. They're kind of not finished, in that they don't have handles and some of the shelves still lack doors. And one of the doors kind of refuses to open. BUT I at least have somewhere to put dishes and food now. The book shelf I'd been using was no longer working out so well, now that my baby can reach the three bottom shelves and delights in (1) climbing, and (2) tossing.

That's really all I have to say for myself. I might take pictures of my cupboards just to prove to you how much I've just moved up in the world. But then again, I might not. I guess I'll liven up this boring post my mentioning that I'm training for a shark wrestling competition. Cool, no?

American Dream

Alright - I'm totally stealing this from Rebecca, but I like it.



This is from PostSecret.

Zombies

I like me a good zombie movie. One thing I wonder about, which I wish a director would address, is where's all the zombie poo? You know, they're all over the place, chowing down on people. That's a lot of people. Why aren't the cities covered in zombie doody? I doubt zombies are toilet trained.

I don't suggest anyone make this a major part of any movie, but I think it's an important issue that needs to be addressed by the film industry.

I asked Hernan about this.

"What do you think the zombies do? Do you think they poop?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"So, do they use the toilets, or what?"
"No. But it doesn't matter?"
"Huh?"
"No. It's not like the zombies are trying to get laid. So it doesn't matter how they do it."

That's all.

In The News

I'm not going to blog much about this, because I'm not interested in getting abducted, but this is an interesting topic.

Regarding the army's involvement - is anyone really surprised?

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=126906809

and

http://www.montrealgazette.com/news/Drug+drug+deal/3058760/story.html

The Beverage

I believe that we all experience certain moments in life, during which we see our lives with exceptional clarity. Suddenly, events will unfold in a certain way, and we're granted a brief opportunity for unclouded reflection on our experiences. It is during these times that we are able to confront ourselves with the honesty of our true desires, and it is with the lingering memory of this realization that we are able to align our behavior with these desires, empowering us to experience greater satisfaction and integrity.

I recently had such an experience. It was while lying in a thick pile of dead leaves and cow manure on top of a mountain, miles from my shower, with my naked ass voiding itself in one direction, and my abused mouth doing the same in the other, and, between the two, my stomach playing some kind of evil game of organ Twister, that I looked up at the stars above and thought, "I could really use a glass of lemonade."

Yesterday morning, barely recovered from the food poisoning activities of the night before, while carrying my backpack and sleeping mat back down the mountain on my wobbly spaghetti-legs, I woozily recalled the epiphany, and since then it hasn't left my thoughts. I would still like a glass of lemonade.

Actually, I very specifically want a glass of Santa Cruz brand lemonade OR the lemonade they serve at a restaurant in Palo Alto, because it is gently flavored with rose water, and roses smell like delicious.

Now, the rose-y lemonade I can't get, but the jar of Santa Cruz lemonade is available at Super Lake, the fancy pants import grocery store out east of Ajijic. I could take the bus over there and buy it, but my innate miser refuses to shell out the money for such an extravagance. Why should I pay all that money that my broke ass doesn't have when I could just stay here in town and make perfectly good limeade?

But here's the beautiful part of my conundrum. So long as I hold out and don't get this glass of delicious, thirst-quenching marvel of a beverage, I've got my life by the balls. You know? If someone asks me what I lack, I don't have to say "a job" or "community" or "the opportunity to live in my own country with my husband" or even something unobtainable, like "a super-sized trampoline" or "my very own velociraptor". See? All I have to say is, "Gosh, I could really use a glass of lemonade."

Macho, Macho Man!

There are many a thing in this world of which I am a fan, such as eating, bicycles, mummies, and shuffleboard. Machismo, though, is not a thing of which I am a fan. Machismo is a thing by which I am frustrated.

Most frustrating is the fighting, but that I'll save for another post. Today you get to read all about housework.

Women love cleaning. It's a fact. We can't get enough of it. It's our instinct. Quitting my job and becoming a housewife and mother has pretty much fulfilled all of my innate desires. Cloud Nine.

The occupation of housewife is made all the more stimulating by the following factors: (1) I up and had a baby. (2) The side of the highway is an incredibly dusty, dirty place. (3) Our house is "open" to the outdoors, and all that dirt and filth just comes sashaying right in, asking for a cocktail and a footstool. (4) Weak washing machine + laundry lines. (5) All meals must be prepared basically from scratch. (6) Men do no housework ever. (7) My mother-in-law and I are far out-numbered.

So, it's the two of us against my father-in-law, his mother, my husband, his two brothers, my eight-year-old nephew, and the two babies (my mother-in-law watches my niece six days a week). Three meals a day for some seriously picky eaters. Laundry. Mopping. Blah, blah, blah. It's really fascinating, isn't it? Shall, I blog more about mopping? I know it's captivating. Shut up, you love it!

Anyway, this wouldn't be so bad, except the men are all macho guys, who need extra special care. As in, they can't serve themselves food. No, really. My father-in-law and brother-in-law can't serve themselves. My mother-in-law has to. And she's not supposed to start eating until she's served them and her mother-in-law their plates. Then, if they want second helpings, she has to jump up and serve them that as well.

My father-in-law is a very traditional man. He's a farmer. He bathes once a week before going to mass. If my mother-in-law is not at home, he doesn't know how to reheat the meal she left for him in the microwave or warm tortillas. He's probably never washed a dish. He taps cigarette ash onto the floor and throws the butts there, too.

My brother-in-law is married, but because his wife isn't home to make him breakfast or lunch, he comes to his mother's house every day. She'll be busy watching his daughter, making lunch, serving her husband, and who knows what all, but he'll still call to her from the table that he wants her to bring him a glass for his soda. He has never changed his own daughter's diaper.

I thought Hernan and I had been making progress when we lived in California. He sometimes helped around the house and occasionally cooked, particularly if friends were over to witness it. But now, living in Macholand, with his mother (no less!) that's all over. Now he can't let anyone witness him cleaning or picking up after himself, because the other men will ridicule him. He can't even carry plates to the sink outside (the kitchen itself has no running water, so the sink is outside). That's women's work. If I don't launder his clothes, he carries them downstairs to his mother.

I don't really care how the other men in the family behave. It's between them and my mother-in-law. They understand that I'm one of those modern women and a bad wife, which is pretty much exactly what I want them to think. It's my husband who's in the doghouse. I feel like the victim of a bait-and-switch, so I call him off all the time. He comes home and says, "Baby, I'm hungry" and then sits down to watch soaps on TV. So I say, "Alright. Well, I'm feeding our baby, and then I'm giving him his bath, and getting him ready for bed, and getting him to sleep, and about a hundred other things, so unless you feel like helping me you can have yogurt for dinner." But this never results in him lending a hand, because by the time I come back downstairs to my in-laws place, I see that his mom has made him dinner and he's already eaten.

So it's me that gets yogurt for dinner.

There are macho things I do like, I suppose, like how my husband can build and fix things and how he's great at killing cockroaches and rats. But mostly macho makes me mad.

The other day, while we were seated for lunch, my mother-in-law came in from the kitchen to ask what is was she'd been yelled at to bring in. Hernan told her, "Forks!" and she went back to the kitchen to get them. I looked at him and said, "What? You don't have any legs or something?" And then immediately realized that he had only been repeating what his brother had said. Naturally, my brother-in-law assumed I was criticizing him, so he got real quiet and confused. Everyone was kind of amazed that I'd just called him off, since nobody calls him off for anything. Ever.

After a few seconds everyone realized what had just happened, and since then the new joke in the family is to ask my brother-in-law whether he has legs or not. I'm glad it didn't cause a family rift, but my inadvertent criticism hasn't effected any changes either.

Ah well. So it goes.

El Lago De Camecuaro

To celebrate my mother-in-law's birthday, I suggested we take a family day trip to El Lago de Camecuaro (Camecuaro Lake), a national park in the neighboring state of Michoacan.

You might wonder why we bothered to drive six hours round trip to go to ... a lake, when we live about 50 feet* from one. But then I would remind you that our lake is super polluted and nasty and that raw sewage runs straight into it, and then you would stop wondering.

Lake Camecuaro, though, is pretty. The water is super clear. I was in deep enough that I couldn't touch the lake bottom, but I could still see every stick and rock down there. I was happy to enjoy the water without worrying about emerging as a mutant.

The trees are beautiful. Their thick trunks grow in twisty turning angles, and the roots are a jumble both on the land and in the water. If anyone knows what those trees are called, please let me know.

The water is cold. Not everyone wanted to get in. I summoned the shreds of my Oregon pride and dove in. The water was delicious.

This was actually my second time there. We went last August, too, while my sister was visiting. I wish we were closer, because it's so nice to get in the water!

I will say that the place is a great deal more park-like than I anticipated. I guess I think of "going to the lake" to be a very natural experience. This place is definitely A Park. If you go, you'll probably encounter gads of people, almost all Mexican, many probably from Morelia. Many will be playing music, quite possibly a certain song you hate. There are vendors that walk around molesting you to buy a statue of Jesus on the cross. Hordes of children will scream as they run right over your picnic blanket. One side of the lake has restaurants. Another corner has a sizable playground.

Speaking of the playground... yours truly got a stern reprimand for playing on the structures. I took Hanix for his first slide ride. Then we got crazy and I sat down on a swing with him in my lap. Well, not five seconds later, a terribly serious-looking guard came over and made me get off the swing. At first, he wouldn't even talk to me. He just wagged his finger at me and looked at me like I had just spit on baby angels with acid monster saliva. So I got up. But I stared at him, because, seriously? I can't take my baby on the swing? But he had been giggling! Who stops a giggling baby?

So then he said (in Spanish) "No, no. No. Only kids. No." Alright. I get it. Bad dog. I'm a sore loser, so I gave him a dirty look and then laughed at him, to show him that, you know, he is without joy in this world, and I took my nephew and my baby and his adorablitude away.

So unless you have your heart set on swings, I recommend the lake for a pleasant afternoon.

True story.


* I'm a terrible judge of distance, so it might be more or less than that, but basically it's right there, you know. So don't mock me if you know that I'm wrong about this.

Beer In A Bag: My Trip To San Luis Soyatlán

In Mexico it's quite common to drink beverages out of clear plastic bags: juice, choco milk, tejuino.

In all cases, the bevvy is poured into a bag, a straw is thrown in, and a rubber band ties the bag closed around the straw.

Never had I had beer out of a bag, though, not until a little trip to San Luis Soyatlán.

San Juan Soyatlán is another town on Lake Chapala, but on the south shore. It's roughly across the lake from us here in San Juan Cosalá.



As you may notice, San Juan Cosalá is not on this map. This is because nobody is interested in coming here. San Juan is between Ajijic and Jocotepec, over on the northwest shore.

Anyway, back to the discussion of beer... there's a quite popular street stand there on the main drag through town. It's popular probably because of the sheer quantity of liquid they dish out.

Alright, so here's how to order, in case you find yourself thirsty in San Luis.

(1) Locate the booth. This should be easy to do. Just look for a long line of well dressed Guadalajara people looking excited.

(2) Get in line and begin contemplating whether you want to drink a "small" or your own weight in liquid.

(3) When a spunky woman approaches you yelling, holler out "chico" or "grande", but don't bother specifying what drink you actually prefer. That comes later. She will hand you a small or large plastic bag, which you should then open and hold out in preparation for step (4).

(4) Someone will walk down the line pouring ice into the plastic bags. Have yours ready, and hold it open with both hands.

(5) When you finally pass by the fifty-odd crates of rotting produce that precede the drink counter, you are ready to order your drink. The Vampiro is a tequila and fruit juice mix. Micheladas are like a Mexican Bloody Mary: beer and clemato and pepper, and whatever else they throw in.

(6) Keep waiting. Yes, step (6) is to keep waiting, because so far they've only given you the mix. You don't yet have any alcohol in your bag, so don't start sipping away yet. Stay in line.

(7) After proceeding past the sliced fruit and about two hundred wasps, you arrive at the other end of the counter. Now you need to hold open your bag again so that the man at the cash box can pour in either tequila or beer. If you order a michelada, as I did, you'll be getting a whole caguama poured in.

(8) Pay. And Enjoy.


And for good measure, here's a picture of my baby admiring his mama's drinking skills.