"Was that a case of tourette syndrome with my name attached?"

And the quotable for Neil's 26th proved to be the gentleman at the bar who had a severe case of tourette syndrome. The key word? Neil.

Every five seconds...his name was shouted. And the more we laughed.

And, we had glo bracelets, margaritas and Annie Lenox...and Wyclef Jean.

Happy Birthday Old Man. (Those are actual balloons en route to Neil's office.)

my day was green and full of happiness

Once a month, in an effort to be environmentally friendly and save some money, our office provides us with a "green day," in which we can all work remotely from our homes. It's so fantastic, I can't even express the happiness it brings me.

And in the midst of working from Neil's green velvet-ish couch, Kate sent me this fantastic article -

Here it is - enjoy.

http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/the-different-kinds-ofpeople-that-there-are/Content?oid=1206006

The slacking MUST stop

Yesterday morning, as I opened my eyes to the bright Arizona sun on Neil's fake velveteen couch, which has become my bed for the past month, I was immediately unhappy...very unhappy. I scrunched my eyes back closed. Owwww, that didn't help. Open them again. Owwwwwwwwww. I was ill.

My head was pounding from the front forehead area straight through to the back of my skull where the nape of my neck connects. My chin burned. My teeth and jaw ached - my ears and nose stung, like brutally so. This was miserable. What was this?

I proceeded to be completely worthless all day long, gruntng and rolling from side to side in pain while Neil waited on me, then laughed at me, poked me, snapped pictures and subsequently posted them on facebook (one picture of which, I've included for entertainment purposes)- capturing my misery every step of the way. Seinfeld provided a steady background noise. Was it a hangover? I think not, as I only had a few beers the night before - no more than usual, at least. Was it a 24 hour spell of every terrible feeling of sickness compounded into one? Meah.

It's over now. I woke this morning, my head still hurt, but significantly less so and enough which I can blog, drink coffee and later, lay out with Meggie at the pool.

I am still baffled, however. By far, in the top 5 sickest ever.

Today will be spent apartment shopping with Neil (we've found several month-to-month that will enable a quick move, say - to Panama - if necessary), poolside lounging and possibly shopping for a new purse...also with Neil.

And tomorrow - green day! Also known as - working from home. Yesssss! So far, 24 has been interesting.

Chronicles of a Homeless Bag Lady. Peculiar Neighbors and Epicurean Delights

I've been back for a little over a week from Panama and I honestly, can't wait to return. Without going into gory detail, work has been busier and simulatenously less engaging than ever. However, while here I have found a way to find joy with my new neighbors.

For starters, there's a blind woman who lives next door to Neil. I find it appropriately intriguing that when she comes home at night, she skillfully slides her key into the lock and marches full speed into her house without turning on the lights. Granted, she doesn't need the lights, but it still strikes me as crazy. She lives her life, literally, in the dark. Fortunately/unfortunately, you can always hear her coming by her belching and determined stomps. Approximately every ten stomp, this woman burps and then chuckles in the direction of her guide dog, as if to blame the dog for the burp. As described by Neil this woman "burps her way to success." The success story, has yet to be determined.

There's also a cave man who lives across the courtyard. He emerges weekly with an unbuttoned flannel shirt, hair to the floor and a bag of trash to take to the dumpster. I'm assuming he's living off of social security?

The most perplexing neighbor, however, is one we lovingly and insultingly call "Slow Mover." I am, every day, more spylike and perplexed by this 200 lb. + African American woman in her mid 50's. It takes her, and I kid you not, approximately ten to 15 minutes to cross her living room. And it's PAINFUL to watch. She has a driver who comes to get her several times a week. It takes no less than an hour for her journey of 100 to 150 feet from her door to the parking lot. I mean, I've run to the store and come back and she's still in transit. All the while, the driver waits by the van with the sliding door open and ready... notably frustrated by the speed.

The other day as Neil was balancing boxes and obviously packing the place up, the Slow Mover popped up behind him and asked in a southern drawl, "Are you moooooovin'?" The first thing about this is that it was obvious Neil was moving and the question was just plain stupid. But the second oddity is that the Slow Mover QUICKLY appeared. Based on previous stalking of the Slow Mover, it would take her at least half an hour to travel the distance she had managed to come towards Neil's door. So it's just perplexing. How did she suddenly speed up?

Surprised, Neil quickly muttered, "yeah," and ducked into his apartment. For the next half hour, Slow Mover made her way back across the courtyard and into her apartment. More to come on the beloved SM.

To top things off, three stray cats reside in the courtyard. One is the size of a lion and hideously orange. Yesterday, it managed to dart into Neil's apartment as we were carrying groceries in. I immediately leaped onto a chair and commanded that Neil kick it out. To my surprise and delight, Neil was eager to kick the monster cat out and in the process, insulted and shook his first at the feline.

So I guess it's bearable. Doesn't hurt that I'm being cooked gourmet meals each night and nutritious breakfasts each morning. Tonight - an incredible southwest salad complete with roasted jalepenos, peppercinis, kidney beans and seasoned chicken. And yes, that's a bottle of Chianti in the background. :)

Tegucigalpa, Honduras: A Land of Extremities

For three days, April and I journeyed to the capital city of Honduras, Tegucigalpa - a place known most for its gang violence, petty theft and poverty (according to what we read prior, at least). And the moment we landed, it was very evident that we were all of the sudden, very far from home. We had arrived in Central America…finally.
Subsequent activities led us to believe that although unique and thrilling, we would never want to reside in this Honduran capital, locally referred to as “Tegus.”

Aside from the surplus of shabby and underfed dogs, you had to watch your step in the streets to avoid monster sized chickens and roosters. And the driving – it’s like nothing I could have even imagined. And I have an active imagination.

“Tegus” is made up of tiny, curvy and mountainous cobblestone and dirt streets – one might even call them alleys. All of which, are filled with thousands of crazed Honduran drivers with places to go, situated in derelict cars with remarkably functional horns. In fact, we learned that the horn (a very popular commodity in Honduras) or, “El Pito,” has a multitude of meanings. One beep can mean anything from “Do you need a taxi?” to “I’m about to cut you off dangerously” to “Hola” to “Go ahead, cross the street you American” to “Thank you.” Two or three brief honks warns intersections or pedestrians that the car is approaching rapidly and will not be slowing for any reasons (despite red lights, stop signs or tight fits). And the long, steady beep signifies that you really fucked up (just as it is anywhere else), and the driver truly, wants you dead.

Single lane, one-way streets remain unmarked. The few that are randomly marked, occupy mad cars driving the opposite direction of the cited regulation. The rule as to which street goes which direction seemed to reside only in the memory of the Hondurans. As if one day, the crazies decided to change the direction of certain streets, and so, they did.

So why not rent a car?

After speeding the wrong way down my third or fourth one-way street while being dodged by oncoming traffic by the hundreds, and failing to hop a curb (which was April’s solution for an exit strategy), one might argue it wasn’t the best of ideas. And while Hondurans used the long, steady beep to let me know they wanted me dead, I calmly reversed off the curb, avoiding pedestrians and autobuses and turning into “safety.” And just as we managed to get in the right direction of traffic, we approached a Honduran road block. The young cop flagged us to the side and spouted off something about the danger of having our hair blow in the wind, and the steering wheel being off center. I didn’t have my passport on me, and that was also, a problem. After some talking to the cop and his Honduran friend who approached us for a second opinion, we were released. Actually, in fewer words, he told us to get the hell out of there.

Maybe the driving wasn’t such a great idea.

Nonetheless, we made it out alive. By the time we returned the white Mitsubishi to the airport, I was fluent in Honduran Driving: honking at just the right time, passing confidently on blind curves, ignoring road signals and managing to drive, for the most part, with the flow of traffic.

And this was only the beginning of our trip. The extremities in “Tegus” – they’re for real. Some worth noting:

- The Most Conservative Man in Honduras. He was a pastor and this man believed movies were evil. He also believed, that when God called him to do things, he could negotiate with him.

- The Creepiest Taxi Driver. An alleged “Douglas” slipped me his number while being uber-creepy and sloth-like. Never in my life had I been more confident that my next stop was a Honduran brothel, than that ride.

- The Craziest Woman After an Accident. This chica ripped a man out of his vehicle, possibly with a gun (it was too tough to tell for sure), and proceeded to go ballistic over an accident in which the damage could not be found.

- The Softest Spoken Waiter. It was just random. Cultures have unspoken disconnects too.

- The Most Prostitutes on One Corner. Actually really concerning and sad, but one of the most public displays of prostitution I’ve ever seen.

- The BEST Hotel for $20. I recommend Hotel Granada 2 as solidly as I recommend anything else. For a poverty-ridden country, our iPods and computers in the room remained untouched.

- The Woman with the Most Obscure Hair Growth. A perfect horizontal line of curly hair was found on the sweet Spanish woman’s neck who served as one of our guides from Compassion International. I’m forever perplexed.

- The Most Cultured Establishment in Tegus. A garden, an art gallery, a restaurant, a hostel. It was all of these and more.

- Most Inventive Law Enforcement Officer. “You can’t drive with your hair in the wind. It’s dangerous and I should give you a ticket.”

- The Whitest Latino. Apparently, albinos exist in every race. Only the look - much more drastic.

- The Lamest Airport Scam. If you want to play off of Latinos’ fear that their bags will get robbed in transit, why not offer plastic bag wrapping for $7.50? Like lemmings, one Latino after the other forked over the Lempira to have their suitcase wrapped in saran wrap. They felt much more safe.

- Widest Discrepancy of Gender Attractiveness. The men – hot. The women – not.


We’re now back in Panama - where the roads are safe and the chickens don’t cross the roads (I couldn’t resist). More soon.