Blast from the Past - My Arrival In Mexico

Due to my gypsy nature, I tend to take risk, risk that involved accepting random jobs in random places. Therefore, to ease the mind(s) of my loved ones at home, during my randomness I would send email updates to let them know about life in, wherever I was. This is an email from my arrival to  host beach activities in Los Cabo, Mexico. ..

Well, where do i begin...customs I suppose?  Let's just say I was sweating a bit, partly due to the 87 degree weather, but mainly due to the fact that I knew here, I had to straight face lie. So I did, when asked how long I would be in Mexico I replied for a few weeks, shockingly he replied why  - to travel - he then questioned my being alone, a young senorita like myself, no family, no boyfriend..no? "No, senor, I am here alone, so I can find a lover and if that fails I will search for tequila, and if I do find either then I will have run out of money and return home." With this he smiled, granted me 30 days and thanked me for choosing Mexico. Bags in hand, I searched for my ride...after denying countless offers and being steered in the wrong direction for my pick-up point, I found him. ...I suppose I stood out a little compared to all the other honeymooners. 

David - my boss, tells me there is an emergency and instead of going right to my apartment we must stop along the way and get food for the turtles; they haven't eating in tres Dias! So we drive, in the third lane of a two way highway to San Jose, yes, I now know my way to San Jose, where amongst many 'adobe shack's (Epcot just doesn't do Mexico justice) the dust clears and a Walmart type shopping center awaits - turtle food, check. We are on our way again.

Twenty minutes later, after some authentic road side tacos, we arrive at my apartment, which according to David is just 'a few blocks' from Everything. In the dark it resembles....well that of a dark mysterious stucco building. Yep, that pretty much sums it up five four story stucco buildings  aside a sand/dirt road. Inside, lovely, all white stucco walls with random cut outs in the walls and white tile. It is all so warming and welcoming. Especially the bathroom where it seem the white tile has taken over everything...and eaten the shower curtain. That's always a fun game to play - where and how do I bath.

Luckily, two of my three roommate's are there and offer to take me out. Jet lagged and in sensory overloaded,  I agree to go out for a Margarita. A three block walk and Lynn (Wisconsin) Lalos and I hit the beach. Billygians, not to be mistaken with Gillians Island...or is it. We walk through the entrance onto the sand to see the perfect Cabo San Luca welcoming. Three forty-something couples on a makeshift beach stage doing congo-ing along to the sounds of a three piece Mexican band...all wasted and remain in their one size to small bikini beach attire. Nice!

We chuckle and choose a low key place next door, for Lalo knows the manager. Tres margaritas, beach side with a full moon setting against the black night, gently lighting the 'Arch' ( famous rock formation in Cabo)...not too shabby. Oh, and I forgot - fireworks approximately 1 mile down the beach, in honor of my first night said the manger (I tell ya these Mexican's have a way with words.) Enticed by the idea of Salsa dancing I continue on the the next bar. Man these Mexican folk can really move those hips. Many stare at me, the new Gringo in town, (although VERY touristy, we had entered local territory) but only one ask me to dance. Politely I try to refuse, but no is not acceptable. So I salsa, I salsa with a 5'2" Mexican man who loves to salsa spin, and spin and spin. A 5'7" pale American girl, being spun by a 5'2" Mexican in a sea of salsa dancers....you do the math.  After stepping on many toes and nearly being knocked out by my own forearm in mid-spin, I retired to my quarters.

Not bad for a first night in Cabo San Luca.

Needless to say it has been an...experience, interesting is far to subtle a word to describe the people I've met.  Wow.

Tomorrow, I will lead my first day of work, a 10am walk on the beach in Los Cabos.

With that, I must go...I'm out of peso's,

I hope this finds you all well!

La nueva gringa

Living the Dream (pt 2): It's All About The Ride

Well here I am again, on my own, going down the only road I've only known, with my trusty pal and partner in crime, Grandpa 'The Shark' Ford Taurus. Otherwise known as 'Ooh Grandpa....fine, ok I'll drive' to friends and family.

Why devote an entire blog post to one Ford Taurus? Simply because the importance of having a dependable, good looking, well running car in LA is just as important, if not more, than lying about your age and sleeping your way to the top...and well, I was at a lack of other things to talk about. Right, so moving on, my car.

As I previously stated, a car in LA is a life or death situation and I don't mean because of the horrid drivers that hog the road throwing all basic driving 'rules' out the window (Did you know turn signals are no longer a must?); but rather a life or death of 'social status.' I remember my first year out here, watching as BMWs' and Mercedes Benz lined the drive ways of run down one bedroom apartments. Clearly, what you're arriving in is much more important that what you're sleeping in (unless of course you're one of those die hard actors that deem sleeping in their car will give them that extra advantage since they have 'struggled and therefore will prevail'). 

Time after time I receive looks of disgust and unruly comments regarding my 'representation on wheels', I however, just never really gave a shit. Even when a former boss (or two) called me into their office to tell that 'maybe it was time I thought about upgrading my car' or when a friend gasped in shock when I replied 'No, I wouldn't buy a new car if I won the lottery'.  Judge me all you want but where I come from, if its runs, it works. And while it may not run as well as it used to, 'The Shark' is still holding strong-ish. Emphasis on the 'ish'.

Which brings me to exhibit A-C. As you can imagine the interior of your car is just as important as the exterior, for you never know who may be hoping in for a ride. And while I try to keep it so fresh and so clean on the inside (only because I'm good enough, smart enough and doggone it, people like me), it is slowly becoming harder and harder to do so. For certain parts of Grandpa 'The Shark' Ford Taurus, are breaking down...and while this gives snot nosed passengers even more leverage to suggest a new car purchase, I rebut with 'What ever happened to appreciating art? To an item being original? Having character?' ...because Grandpa has it all.

Exhibit A: The Pliers: The pliers play an important role in assisting the 'turning on and off' of the A/C, Vent, Heat, Defrost, for as you'll see in exhibit B, the knob is no longer present.



Exhibit B: The Knob: Or shall I say, the extremely sharp worn down to a point from over grabbing nub formerly know as the Knob. What once was an easy to reach and twist plastic knob has now turned into a MacGyver manoeuvring experience, with formerly mentioned pliers. Also note the 'Hi-Lo Knob' control has also been added to the 'character' list as someone thought they would improve my situation by replacing 'The Knob' with the 'Hi-Lo Knob'...they were wrong.

Exhibit C: The Tape Deck: Honestly, I just threw this one in for good measure, I mean who doesn't love a good old 'miss you mix' tape in midday traffic. Sooths my soul every time.


So folks, that's the tale of my ride. It's not pimped out nor is it considered special to anyone else but me, well maybe it is, but most likely in the 'short bus' special sense. But again, I don't give a rats ass, this 1996 family sedan has been all over the country with me and honestly between you and I, (I believe) gave me the edge on a production job when I held the task of driving an Executive to set and he was forced to talk to me when Grandpa blew hot dust on him after I MacGyvered the air on (unfortunately for him the passengers side window was also out of order at the time). Nothing strikes up a conversation about needed more work like a old car spewing its history at you. Ooh Grandpa.

Side note - To all of you that have had the PRIVELEDGE of riding in my one and only Grandpa 'The Shark' Ford Taurus, I would like to take this time to say, YOU ARE MOST WELCOME. I mean, in many ways he is my claim fame.

Camouflaging Clumsy

Ever since birth I was, what 'they' call, a clumsy child. On most occasions, walking, not just running, lead to catastrophe. Whether it tripping over the side walk and scraping on my knees, over my two feet and allowing the scoring run to rush by or just blindly walking into a parking meter, I was always one small step away from wearing a helmet. Hell, I wasn't even safe at home, as I used to walk into our dinning room wall, which according to the four other family members that lived their, never moved (I still beg to differ). 

As if that wasn't embarrassing enough, my clumsiness didn't stop at tripping. It 'spilled' over into dropping fragile items...and have them shatter in my knee (therefore needing stitches), knocking over freshly poured bowls of cereal (the dog always loved that one) wasting my breakfast and of course ruining every light colored shirt that graced by boddess...especially the time I looked up to the sky while holding a (without a top) cup of coca-cola in my mouth (apparently my brain didn't process long enough to think of removing the cup I was biting onto before lifting my chin to chase the glimpse of a balloon) ...my white shirt quickly transformed into tan and I walked around the rest of the day sporting a sticky go tee. The bees loved it.

But that was years ago! Surely my childhood clumsiness would be outgrown by now...at the ripe age of 30. Sadly that's not the case. Just ask my former roommate why she started with a delightfully expensive set of 12 wine glasses and ended up with a mere 3 of them. (Apparently washing dishes also equals crushing dishes in my book.) Oops. And take a look at my hands on any given day and you'll be sure to find a random, scrap, cut, scratch, bump, bruise or burn upon them. Or sometimes even my face for that matter, as just last month I walked the earth with a black eye I gave myself while doing laundry. Impossible....one would think.

In a New Years resolution effort to mask my clumsiness, since clearly I can't control it, I have been focusing on properly caring for my injuries in attempt to hide and rapidly heal them (and to avoid too many 'what happen now?!).  So when I received a slice to my thumb while at work today (handing out samples of free food...not sure how that happen...the job or the cut...) I quickly removed myself from the scene and looked for a band-aid. Of course, as my luck would have it, the only band-aids available were 'camouflage' color; and not a 'skin tone camouflage' color, but rather 'I'm fighting a war in the middle of a damp jungle camouflage'. So to add insult to injury, I spent the rest of my shift providing information about how I sliced the side of my thumb open while opening a thin cardboard box of plastic gloves (safe for children ages 3+), rather than pulling focus to my the task at hand, the free food. Pretty sure my boss was pleased.

Needless to say, yes, I am still clumsy. However, in a effort to continue on my new positive thinking path (another New Years resolution), its nice to know some things never change. Ever.