Mexico is so Mexican

I read somewhere that Mexico City appears as if its hurling from one disaster to the next. Which, in my experience, is a fairly astute observation and actually sums up the city quite well. Example: the ubiquitous motorcycles that drive (or bob and weave) at death defying speeds that I am fairly convinced are meant to put hair on the drivers' pre-pubescent chests. Oh and did I mention there's usually at least three or four people on them? And when I said motorcycle, I should have used the word scooter, because it's a more accurate term given the size of these bikes, particularly relative to the number of people squeezed onto them.

Yet the writer who described Mexico City this way also points out that this sprawling, logic-defying city of over 20 million people (that's about 9 1/2 Portlands in an area that is just less than 4 times as big...) also manages to reach beyond mere survival; it thrives. I don't know how to explain this, because truly, the entire city is completely illogical. I mean, I could understand a city of 20,000 or maybe even 200,000 being completely disorganized, inefficient and chaotic and yet somehow managing to get itself together enough to have businesses and a bank and roads and taxis and all the little details that make a city run. But 20 million??!! I am 100% convinced that there is absolutely nowhere else in the world that a city like Mexico City could function successfully. But those Mexicans have figured it out. The city reminds me of this guy that I went to school with, who lived in my building my freshman year, directly above me. Among other endearing habits that made him a less than ideal upstairs neighbor was the way he studied (which was not often... I will give him that much). For starters, the Cranberries would be playing at a volume that could be heard within at least a three dorm range. Usually he was a few beers deep as well, and I could always hear him with 3 or 4 pens or God knows what other "instrument" keeping beat to the music and tapping them on chairs and desks and beds and anything else that was readily available. And this was his 'zone'. I absolutely didn't believe he was studying the first time I saw it, and I still do not really understand how anyone could absorb any kind of academic information (he studied Spanish this way....seriously) in these surroundings. But it was what worked for him and looking back, I'm sure he had some (or every) form of ADD so badly that he needed all the chaos and the distractions just to keep his mind somewhat occupied. So maybe Mexico City just has a really severe, incurable form of ADD. All I know is that every time I am here I marvel a little bit at all the little crazy, every day things going on around me. Here are some examples:

*Propane (for houses... you buy your own tanks instead of getting billed) is sold on Thursday and Saturday mornings at 8am. A man walks through the street and buzzes every apartment yelling "BEEELLLLLAAAHHHRRRR... gaasssssssss..... BEEELLLLLAAAARRRR..... gaaassssss" over and over and over loud enough that it has woken me up every week. This is a perfectly normal occasion and when you are running low on gas for the apartment, you call down to him (through the apt buzzer) and go down and pay him for a new tank of gas. At which point he continues his yelling as he proceeds down the street.

*Traffic salesmen are the most amazing thing I've ever seen. At stop lights, men, women and yes children of all ages walk through the lanes selling EVERYTHING. And I really mean everything. For example, yesterday the following things were being offered to us while we were in our car: Bart Simpson dolls, cell phone chargers, cell phone cases, fresh fruit, water, newspapers, a dozen roses, tray tables (for breakfast in bed), lollipops and cheese made by the Mexican equivalent of Mennonites. Oh also, while you are waiting at these stop lights, kids walk through with water bottles filled with soapy water and will squirt your wind shield and clean it (like at a gas station) for change unless you say emphatically tell them no.

*Everyone here honks. At everything. Pedestrians, other drivers, the police, dogs, cats, traffic salesmen, the rain, everything. I think it is the Mexican version of comparing penis sizes. Except women participate too.

*I have been lectured about my frivolous use of electricity here. And I don't mean that I leave lights on or anything. I mean that I have been so neglectful as to leave the fridge plugged in while I use the espresso machine. Or heaven forbid that I forgot the washing machine was running while I was foaming milk. Yes, this is how horribly shitty the circuits in the apartment buildings are. One appliance at a time or lights out. Speaking of lights out (and as an Oregonian this especially drives me nuts), this city is completely incapable of handling rain. Power outages are common, businesses close, parking lots flood (7 feet of water-- seriously, this happened 3 days ago), streets become rivers, and people absolutely cannot drive in the stuff. We're talking about a thunderstorms here. They last an hour, maybe, and are done. Like the type of rain that lasts for 48 hours in Oregon. But I suppose Oregonians don't know what to do when the weather gets above 90℉. I actually received an email from my mother complaining about the inadequacy of the air conditioning in my car since the temperature had finally risen about 70 degrees....

*Now, I don't want to sound racist or anything, but I swear that for every one task or job, there are about 3 or 4 Mexicans employed to do it. In parking lots, it is completely common to see at least five people on your way to a parking spot that are all carrying whistles and ready to help you park. They are called viene vienes (come come) and from what I am told, they are not only completely necessary as Mexicans apparently struggle with the whole parking thing (these are regular spots, not even parallel), but they are often not even employed by the company that owns the lot. Most times they just show up there and what they make is what you tip them, and if they help you, you have to tip them or they will scratch your car. Wow.

My friend Hallie, who has lived here for three years now, tells me that the novelty of these oddities has worn off to the point that they are essentially normal. I imagine that three years would do that, but for me these will always be the wonderful little things that make Mexico so fabulously Mexican.

Casa Blanca

Aaaariba, Jamaica, oooh i want to take you to.... Acapulco!

Pie de la Cuesta to be precise. Which is about 45 times better than Acapulco actually. It is this amazing and beautiful and pristine and not-at-all crowded beach on Mexico's West Coast where the water makes a bathtub look chilly and the most difficult decision you have to make is Pacifico or Corona; Mojito or Margarita.

Now, normally i am not really a beach girl. There's just not a lot to do but lay around in the sun. Which wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that I am pretty much incapable of focusing on only one thing at a time. I am a busy-body. I prefer to have multiple projects going at once-- say, cookies in the oven while I'm doing laundry while I'm talking on the phone while something is cooking on the stove while a movie is on. For example. But this was an absolutely fabulous mini-vacation. For starters, it was hot and humid enough that I always had at least one thing I could be thinking about. And the setting was unbeatable: the pool looked out over the ocean, with nothing but some palm trees, hammocks and big comfy lounge chairs between poolside and toes in the ocean. It was the most serene, naturally beautiful setting. Since it was rainy season the tides were quite high and the water was fairly rough so the waves were absolutely mesmerizing. We spent our morning walking Xoco (the sweetest one-year-old chocolate lab) along the beach and trying to keep her from a) being lost at sea and b) eating horse poop....don't ask me why dogs do this... and then would spend our afternoons swimming, reading, tanning, napping, and trying to decide which variety of fresh squeezed juice was our favorite that day. We even fit in some time for a few extreme watersports aka handstand competitions, somersaults underwater, and backflips until our ears were so clogged with water we could barely hear one another. I am proud to say that I can still do seven somersaults in a row before coming up for air. And that I have not lost my childhood desire to be a synchronized swimmer. Although that might have to wait for the next life...

The pool was essentially where I lived during our stay. The only thing I had to get out of the water for was the occasional bite to eat. And seeing that my stomach had shrunk to about 1/3 of its usual size due to the 12 hours I spent sick and vomiting on the couch the day before we left (no mas chicharones!), I did not have to do this often. I did make sure that I was out and lounging often enough to a) completely engross myself it some fabulous literature that the wonderful Sylla (yay for Third Street Books) recommended and b) freckle myself to the point that I am almost, practically, one large, brown spot. Except for the parts where I am one large, red spot. But what does mamma always say? No pain, no gain. Beauty has a price, people.

I am in Mexico for a grand total of 22 days and so far, besides the whole vomiting thing, it has started off quite well. I mean, who can argue with being swept away to a beach-side resort with a swim up bar and fresh, drink out of the shell, coconuts? Not I! Here though, I do need to make a little footnote: I don't know who you are, Mr. Inventor of the Swim Up Bar, but let me just tell you that I am raising my glass and toasting your ingenious, fortuitous, carpe diem attitude towards life. The only person who could possibly rival your invention is the man that decided bar stools should also be in the pool. Budweiser, take note: These people need to be the subjects of your next 'this Bud's for you' campaign. And I want at least a ten percent cut. But I digress. I am in Mexico two more weeks now and it should prove to be a busy and blustery two weeks. My fabulous friend Hallie and her equally fabulous husband are moving back to Oregon, he for the first time and her after 3 years being here in Mexico City. The task at hand to to dismantle their last three years and somehow fit it into 5 meters squared. Right. I'm glad I'm in charge of organizing and the power drill. That I can handle. In the meantime, I will be consuming a lifetime supply of tacos and tequila because with my favorite Mexicans moving back to the states, I just do not know when the next opportunity will be. Although I'll be keeping my distance from the pesky chicharones....

teacups and toasts

Here, there and everywhere. This is essentially what the last few weeks or months or whatever they are have felt like. But it's been a fantastic whirlwind of cities and people and hugs and family and friends and so so so so so much happening. Like a flipbook kind of (i love those things), but not quite that fast. More like the teacup ride at Disneyland... it was always my favorite. Everything just spinning around you and the wind whirling and you can't really see anything because it's all a big fuzzy wonderful mess of colors and sounds and laughing till your stomach aches. That is basically what the past months have been like.

And today I am turning 25. It feels like a bookmark of sorts. It's not so much an important age but a good place to mark a spot. I have the advantage of having all of my friends turn these ages before I do, so I get a good while to test it out and see how it feels, get accustomed to it, you know. This birthday I decided long ago that I wanted to spend outside of the country because...well, I can. If you're going to be unemployed and homeless, you should take advantage of its blessing if you ask me. So forty five minutes into my 26th year of life, I am sitting on a comfortable, quiet couch in Mexico City with a laptop and a cup of tea and a surprising amount of peace about the previous 25 years and the (hopefully) next 25 to come.

This is not to say that I have any kind of inkling or notion about what even the next 25 months will bring. But that's ok. I mean, I've made it this far, right? And really, the likelihood of screwing up the first 25 years is probably a lot higher than screwing up the second. Plus, I've decided about a few things, both long term and short term; silly and perhaps less silly. Firstly, there is no time like the present (that's why they call it a present!) and why not use my birthday as a good excuse to start blogging again. Yes, some may tease me about it and yes, it is possible that I have been called "Rose glasses" a time or two, but whatever. I like it. And I feel like this may be a year that needs documenting.

Secondly, my present state of unemployment (I have put myself in this situation so please don't think there is any self-pity or wallowing happening here) is leading me to think about careers and jobs and what I really want to be doing. And I think writer may be making it onto that list. I am not really sure if I am good at writing or not, but I surely cannot get any better if I do not practice and work at it and well, write. If I were considering whether or not to go on a date with writing, this is what I would put on the 'pros' list:
flexible hours
flexible location
can be applied to a variety of subjects and interests
is a creative process
i like it.

Other things that have made it onto my mental, 'Potential Careers/Next Step' list are:
lawyer
law school
lobbyist
beauty school?
more wine industry (production or sales?)
Import/Export wine
travel industry
curator in an art museum
masters in art history
restoration
move to new zealand
move to france

Needless to say, I think I have some options. Which I guess is all you can ask for at any age. So to celebrate, I think I will pour myself a large glass of champagne and toast all the good, all the bad, and all the confusing things that have dropped me off at this point in my life. Happy birthday to me!