Coming to You Live From the Corner of My Couch

More failed endeavors:

• a change purse

Inspired by Sunday's Target ad featuring a $135 sewing machine, and resisting the obvious temptation to buy said item, I opened the closet and dusted off Ye Old Singer. "What should I make?" "Uh." "...Wallet?" "Sure." "Or...." "Hey, Drumline's on TBS." "Ooh!"
My project sits abandoned on the kitchen table.

• artichoke pasta

This was a particularly stinky adventure, on account of the minced garlic. I sought guidance from allrecipes.com. I entered my ingredients and loosely followed the instructions. The breakdown occured around the cooking time: noodles do not cook correctly "give-or-take a minute."

• fitting into my jeans

Speaking of which, I cannot believe (per Cosita's entry), that someone would knowingly subject their body to the triangulation of skinny jeans. When did "taper" become a selling point?!
Additionally, if it were New Year's, I'd resolve not to buy things that don't fit with the assumption that guilt will move me to work toward them as a goal. Ass! Dammit! Haha. Both of those are appropriate exclamations!

As it stands, my real resolution is still in full effect.
Consider that a successful endeavor.

File under: Humanitarian and Deeds, Good

Hark! The sweet sound of locusts and Craigslist in the summer.
During these last few days of freedom before my regular work resumes, I spend hours surfing over losts and founds, apartments, want ads.
Thought I should pass that along.

Countercultural Cake: Subterfuge

Disclaimer: Matt is Mexico Sick. He and anyone light of stomach should not proceed to the pictures. And happy anniversary, Dear. Hope you're done puking.
Now on to: Poppa's birthday, A Gehry Cake in Pictures
At about 9 am I went for a walk feeling extraordinarily ambitious to be out so early on a Saturday morning.
Ok, it was 9:30.
Ok, it was 10.
Damn!
When I returned home the supplies were laid out before me to make the Most Delicious DadBirthday Birthday Cake Ever. No matter that I couldn't locate the round pans; I laugh in the face of circular confections! I could use a rectangle. And one better: I could sculpt the cake into a new form!
A tower! Yes, a birthday tower!
I cut the cooling cake.









As I piled the pieces, family members began to suspect that I did not have a plan.
The sections got smaller and smaller.
"But there is frosting," I said, "to hold it together. Seriously, I've got an idea."
I did not have an idea. Or rather, this was not it:













Soon and very soon it became this:










By and by, my father stopped checking in on it. Carly's new boyfriend would be coming for the celebration. More shame on the family's tarnished culinary name? She jailed herself in fear:



What now? A new cake? There simply was not time. A time warp? There simply was not a car to get us there and back. A springform pan, some ice cream, and a Cold Stone ambition? It could not fail.










Wait. It could?
But it looks so...










Oh. I see.
But it tastes so...
I could always pitch the idea to Quaker Warmish Oatmeal Packets-of-Sickening-Liquid-y Flavor.
Well. One person's birthday is another person's opportunity to create something disgusting so that in the future they will never be entrusted with important tasks again.

Say You Want a Revolution, Well, You Know

Hey, everybody, it´s time for a meeting!!!
In the town square.
With bats.
What?
Surprise! We´re in a protest zone.
Yeah. Yesterday, Matt was in photojournalist heaven when the crowds in the city center decided to chant and congregate. The video cameras captured speakers pleading with their fellow Oaxacans for non-violence. Matt snuck up there like AP and sniped a couple of shots before he determined his real calling: Latin American Protest Photographer.
Great.
Because my real calling is Professional Worrywart/Professional Bacterial Infected-er.

Poetry Night at La Nueva Babel

By way of an appendage to the last entry, because Matt thinks I misrepresented our conversation a little. I say, poetic license; you say, potahto.
It was not so much, ¨Will you marry me?¨as it was, ¨Should we get married?¨
And the answer was no. For both of us. He reminded me of that as well.
Flare for the dramatic.
Someone should go check on my mom, too, please. Nothing to see here, Mom.
We´re back in Oaxaca now for three days and not ten minutes ago, far away from a nudie beach, we passed a man in the street sleeping pantsless. At 2 pm.
I´m trying to incorporate all of these elements into an appropriately self-effacing, rudimentary Spanish poem for tonight. It´s open mic at the bar down the street. So far I´ve got:

Borracho.
Dos horas de la tarde.
Yo
no
soy.

Thank you, thank you. Buenas noches.

Mexico by the Numb3rs (that one was for my dad who watches that weird show on CBS with the guy who killed Kellie Martin's character on ER)

Today we joined a nudist colony. I will spare you the Sharpie Art.
Just kidding.
I proposed marriage and Matt said no.
Just kidding again.
Wait, that wasn't a joke.
Circumstances change. We find out that people won't be around forever (as if it is some great mystery...What? People will be born and they will die? What is this crap?) And not that it's not crap. It is. It just makes you realize that if you had a year left and you wanted to get some shit done, you do it. And so.
It was the first of what I hope to call My Stream of Marriage Proposal Rejections Parts I-III.
After 3 I'm done being rejected. Third time's a... I'm Not Going To Live Through Another Rejection Even If I Was A Little Sauced, Because I Do Love You and I Don't Care Who Knows It.
Ahem.
In other news, we did go to a nude beach. It was mostly non-nude. But there were a daring five. (That's eight boobies and one...gentleman without trousers, for those of you keeping track). See how I distract you with body parts from the fact that something in my personal life is now public?
Look! Zebras! Mystifying stripes!

Internet Cafe With An Ocean View (If You Bring A Picture Of An Ocean In With You)

While I waited to use the interwebs, here in Huatulco, I picked up a little light reading. The Sports Illustrated College Basketball issue of 1996-97 lists Chauncey Billups as one to watch. So look out for him. 10 years ago.
I imagine that Huatulco is like Myrtle Beach. If in Myrtle Beach people harass you about buying trinkets and local flavor is a guy saying,"Hey, Man. Where you from?"
Uh...shut up.
So instead of sweating out the humidity on beach front property, we called our parents on analog roam (thank you, technology) and decided to see a movie. I chose Pirates of the Carribean, part 2.
Matt chose: Tokyo Sinks.
We will regroup after and write reviews.
In Spanish, of course.

I´ll Take A Beer With My Politics, Please

Old Man in Mitla: Que piensas de la guerra con Israel y...
(hic)
OMIM: Suisse...
(hic)
OMIM: Suisse?
Matt: Lebanon?

Brain: Cerrado For Cleaning

My rate of failed to successful Spanish: 809 to 1.
For shame, for shame.
I walked away from a perfectly lovely though completely unnecessary* top today in the zocalo because Matt wouldn´t help me ask the quiet lady how much it was. She was not impressed.
Or maybe she was irritated to be nursing a child well over two years. Who can say?

*Luggage arrived yesterday late afternoon and as I pulled it up the stairs, ramp, stairs, ramp, stairs into our dwelling I realized I had overzealously overpacked.

Should Have Packed Deodorant In My Carry On

Huevos rancheros, everybody!
We´re here.
Unfortunately, our luggage decided not to join us. Thank you, Continental. You knew it would only spoil us to have toothbrushes.
I´d also like to send a shout out to my man, Seguridad 073422, for offering to send our bags here for free, (if and) when they are found.
If by chance our valises decided to ship themselves back home, let them know that they can find us by using the family whistle.