Juggling

Sorry for the radio silence, I've been a touch overwhelmed. Yesterday my dear uncle and godfather offered me a part time position as a real estate agent. It's a hell of an offer, seeing that he runs one of the biggest brokerages in Cabo, so why did I feel like he just signed my life away? Perhaps it's because this would be job number 3, and I have no intention of quitting #1 or #2. Part of me wants to bury my head in the sand (conveniently located right outside my door), but mostly I just want to talk about it.

Even after years of sociology describing the different ways men and women handle stress or conflict, I can't seem to rise above the need to just vent, aimlessly. Supposedly, in American culture at least, women tend to feel better about problems by talking about them, going over the events, venting. Men feel better when the problems are getting solved. So you have a situation where a woman comes home and wants to talk about how awful her day was, and her husband (trying to help) starts to tell her what she should do to fix it. She doesn't want instructions, she wants to "talk about it". He might not see the point in just postulating, let's solve things damn it!

Ok, the woman part of me wants to be acknowledged for my effort, someone just tell me that it's pretty cool that I'm not dropping the ball on these three, rather consuming, jobs. I'm juggling them all, and not one of them has complained. My masculine side says, none of these jobs are what you went to school for. Keep only the real estate job, make enough money to start my gender institute, and stop whining.

That would be too simple wouldn't it? I believe it's the same part of me that loves the jerk guys which finds comfort in chaos. This part of me will slowly kill me, but I believe the reasoning goes something like, the highs are higher and the lows are lower when there's more at stake, which is better than melancholy. The more things I have on my plate, the more full I feel, like I'm actually doing something. Which is better? To be partially fulfilled but never devastated? Or to constantly love/hate your life or lover, peaks and valleys included?

We need to talk...

I'm finding how hard it is to choose a location for "a talk". I'm guessing the talk will be about repairing an irreparable relationship. The perfect spot would be in public (to avoid scenes, but in the land of squabbling couples, you never know), it would have food or drinks to fiddle with to avoid eye contact when needed, and it would have an easy escape route.

I'm not quite sure how The Talk was planned, but now there's no avoiding it. I believe I asked a series of difficult questions like, 'are you seeing other people', and 'do you plan to continue seeing other people'. The only answer I got was, 'puedemos hablar de eso en person'. I translated that one loud and clear- We need to talk.

Chicago's sociology of sexuality, albeit a bit wacky, divulged into my generation's dating habits, and apparently The Talk is very common. Hooking up first, then hooking up again, perhaps an actual date, then the talk, then a relationship. It's almost completely backwards from earlier conceptions of dating. So why am I dreading it so much? Maybe it has to do with my complete disillusion with the dating culture in Mexico. I just don't believe a word that comes out of the mens' mouths. My aunt assures me that they really do mean that they love me to pieces and that I am the stars and the moon to them, but that doesn't mean I'm the only one. Hmm. The thing is, as my first sociology professor taught me, relationships don't have to look like the cookie cutter chick flick version of love. I'm very interested in polyamory. But as any poly will tell you, honesty is crucial. Which is why, with much grumbling, I'm walking into this Talk with all 3 verbs that I know in Spanish, prepared to lay it all on the line.

Travel Snob

Meh.

I just received the generous offer to return to Nicaragua... and I said no. Now, that might sound insane, seeing as it would be an adventure to an amazing country, but I'm kind of a snob. I don't know what it is about new places that draws me in the way it does, but once I've been to a place, it's hard for me to go back. The only way I would return, as in the case of Cabo, is if I'm living there. The stupid part is, it's all about sound bites. It's one thing to say, "I've been to Nicaragua", or "I lived in Mexico for 2 years" but beyond that, my interest wanes. I want to go somewhere new. I want to find that new experience, the new place that I'm going to fall in love with.

I don't know what makes some people fall ill with the travel bug, but I have it bad. The idea of buying a house both terrifies and titillates me. On the one hand, I can't imagine anchoring myself to one place. Even leases longer than 3 months make me itch. On the other hand, the idea of making a life for myself sounds so cozy.

It's the same with dogs. I would love a gigantic dog; just a monster of a beast. But how to I justify putting my great dane/ rottweiler mix in the cargo pit of a plane? Someday, I'm going to have to decide if I will settle down or stay nomadic, but for now, I would rather try to negotiate a new vacation location in the least snobby way possible.

You Win Some, You Lose Losers

Another month long relationship comes to an end. For me it was a dramatic end, the discovery of multiple other women, for him, I think it was pretty run of the mill. The cultural differences regarding cheating are something I would love to write an entire thesis about, but for now, let's just say it's not that big of a deal here. My aunt even defended him saying, 'maybe he doesn't like them as much as he likes you'. Somehow, that did not send me running back to him. Her one piece of advice that I liked was that I'm at least getting closer to finding what I want. Him- except with a respect for fidelity- scratch that- a respect for honesty.

In most cases I'm fine with multiple partners as long as we both know that's what's going on; it depends on what i'm looking for at the moment. It's the lying that pisses me off! It leads to doubt, which will drive a person insane. If someone comes to me and says, "Look, I slipped. I diddled some girl last night. I'm really sorry and it will never happen again", if I believe their sincerity, 90% chance I'll let it go. At least I know they're going to tell me no matter what. Regardless, it's over between he and I.

On the bright side, the picture is after I went on a 3 day backpacking trip with 30 middle schoolers this last weekend. It was one of the harder challenges of my life, second to the GRE test. Apparently I've had a pretty easy life. It felt good to accomplish something, and left me knowing that Mr. 3 at a time had to go. I can do better. I'm a warrior woman for goodness sake!

Phone Peeking and Sexting

Have you ever had the fight where you say something, then the person says their bit which does not address your comment in the least, so you say your point again, which doesn’t address their point, so they repeat theirs and it’s a circle of death and hatred and everything that makes you want to pull your eyebrows out? Yeah so, I had a bad day. To top it off, this fight was in Spanish, so there’s a very good chance that I was completely misunderstanding what his or my point actually was.

I THINK it went something like this:

Me- What I’m saying is, flirting is not fucking. (which actually sound quite similar in Spanish) I was flirting with him, and that’s it. I’m a flirt, it means nothing.

Him- Donde esta el baño?

Me- What does that have to do with the fact that I had no intention of hooking up with him?

Him- El pinche baño- donde esta!?

Actually he said something else in Spanish which I ignored because it didn’t sound like, ‘You’re so right!’ Then after listening to a 20 minute diatribe about the building of trust and past wrongs done to him, I come to find out that he’s actually a big fat hypocrite.

On a very related side note, what is the proper etiquette these days for cell phone privacy between romantic partners? My stance is, if there’s nothing to hide, then why hide it? I mean, do married couples really have locked cell phones? To me, (and this is coming from the cynic of all that is fidelity) if you say your partner can’t see your phone, you are absolutely, 100%, without a doubt- cheating. Sexting is cheating too. Besides, who actually sex texts with no intention of fulfillment? Maybe long distance relationships, but even there, they’re going to actually do it at some point.

To be fair, I have to say that there is some validity in the basis of the opposing view point’s arguments. Those who refuse to share phone viewing privileges often say, there are personal boundaries even within a relationship, that must be respected. I agree about boundaries, and those boundaries are- 1: Never talk about/watch/ imply knowledge of me going to the bathroom. Girls don’t poo, that’s just a known fact. 2: No vomiting in front of the other person until 2 years have passed in the relationship. That’s it. Those are my boundaries. Notice the glaring lack of text message holiness. If there is nothing juicy, then there wouldn’t be any reason to keep it to yourself.

The only other defensive argument to protect phone rights is that if you’re snooping, then you don’t trust your partner, and how can you have a relationship without trust? (Usually said with a pouting puppy face) My response? Fuck no I don’t trust you. I barely know you. But believe me, after about 4 times of reading your text messages to your bros where you talk about futbol and who’s penis is bigger, I’m not going to want to look anymore. I’m just checking to see if all your BS about me being the only one is actually true. Once I confirm that you’re not, in fact diddling the girl that I’ve had my suspicions about, then I’ll stop looking. I really don’t care about your bromance with Billy, and I’m not trying to micromanage your life, I just want to know if when the time comes, if I should actually fall for you or not.

I’ve been on both sides of the cheating equation many, many times. I know all the lines that people use to cover their tracks. If you’re hanging out with your family 3 nights a week and I can’t come, you’re either a momma’s boy or, more likely, you’re hooking up with someone else. My favorite, which I used frequently in “caught red handed” moments is, “Tell me what you’re referring to so I can understand/explain/ know what the heck you’re talking about.” Translation- tell me how much you know so I know how big a lie I’m going to have to tell. It’s classic. If they have 3 or more pieces of evidence, then you’re screwed. Either walk away or cry, there’s no other options. Less than three, you need to find out very specifically what they found before uttering a single word of explanation. So when this boy is pulling this very same shit on me after I found some very incriminating texts messages, I knew how to play the game. All I said was, “I know.” Wh-wh-whaaaat? “I know about her.” There’s no battling that. Never give up ground, never say what you found, just pull the omniscient card. They’ll return with, “you’re paranoid”. You can tell them you have proof, even exaggerate the amount, but never specify what tipped you off. Then they can either admit or turn the blame on you and say you’re making things up. If you have to provide one element of proof, do so, but keep one card up the river for safe keeping.

OR, I could just stop dating cheating assholes. When I meet a boy that I trust, I know right away that I’ll never even need to peek at his phone. It’s built in intuition. In sociology of sexuality (although it’s more psychology) we learned that it’s instinctual for humans to detect cheating, we look for the signs of lying in romantic situations. It protects men from raising children that aren’t theirs and women from fleeing men. We can literally sense it. The trick is knowing the difference between jealousy and the cheating alarm. Jealousy is you defending your place in the food chain, but if you were to have the gut feeling that someone is cheating, then all my money is on the fact that you’re right. So why, instincts, am I so attracted to the assholes? Riddle me that.

Oops, my bad.... I mean, mi mal.

Naturally, living in a foreign country, there will be social faux pas. I forget to look the person I'm cheers-ing in the eyes. I forget to kiss on the right cheek (or is it my left?) and I bump heads. I have no idea what to put in a day of the dead cross. (Salt by the way.) These are just a few of the things that make me look like a tourist. Which I really hate. Tourists get ripped off, talked down to, and ignored. So I do my best to blend. But at what point does my identity need to bend for the sake of fitting in? I mean, it doesn't matter if I wear the right clothes (not too fancy for a soccer game, but heels are mandatory for all events), and speak perfect spanish, I'm still going to be white and born in America. The American woman in me screams, "I can open my own door!" but that would make me so rude here. So do I conform to the best of my abilities or just accept that I will always stick out like a sore thumb? Finally, after being escorted to and from the bathroom- twice, I reminded my chivalrous companion that I am, in fact, American underneath it all. I'm sure he was shocked. It might have cost me a date in the future, but I felt good for speaking up. I'm a big girl. I can pee pee on the potty all by myself.

No Days at All

There's a bumper sticker that every white person living in Cabo has, which says, No Bad Days. I've hated it since the first time I saw it. Something about it irked me. What does that even mean? That there's no bad weather? Because apparently those people go to their New Hampshire house for hurricane season. Does it mean that you can't be sad here? Don't they watch Fox or read the local newspaper? There is plenty to be sad about.
This sticker that might ring more true if it said, "Few rainy days" or "Deceiving monotony". Not as cheery, granted, but less annoying. I've found that the sun, and the constant cycling of tourist seasons (and tourists) can turn this place into a black hole. When you see sun and surf and tan people floating by, time slips away from you. Every one experiences "vacation time" where the week in Cabo goes by in the blink of an eye. It has something to do with the relaxing atmosphere and the lack of schedule. Well, I live in vacation time.

The thing about Mexico and time is, they don't get along very well. Not in the conventional sense anyway. If you ever try to set an actual time for something (a date, an arrival, a bikini wax) you will see how fruitless it really is. Half an hour late is on time, and the same day is perfectly acceptable. This is perfect if you're on vacation, tanning and napping the day away. It gets harder when people are counting on you, but here, the expectations of promptness are very low. It's something that I'm struggling with, but in the end, it makes time fly. You never think about 3:00, you think about the delicious lunch you're eating. You never think about 7 pm dinner, you think about if you are rested or not. It snowballs until a week has gone by, and you only know that it has passed because it's ladies night again.

Windy days stand out now. It's a breeze of 70 degrees which has me shivering. That can only mean it's the winter here, which means I've been here for 6 months. HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?
There was the sunny month, the hurricane month, the boy numbers 1, 2 and 3 month, and then there's this month. I haven't even unpacked all the way. The bad days got swallowed up in the sun and the work and the romance. I could see myself getting lost here. But lost from what reality? Where is found? End point- I'm boycotting that sticker, because bad days help to delinate the time, otherwise it's just a timewarp of tanning and napping.

They call me the wanderer

I've mastered the art of flirting in Spanish. That is only possible because flirting takes place in the present tense. You don't talk about how cute that bejazzeled button up shirt looked last week, it's all about the now. The tricky part, I've found, is actually following up with those flirtations. How do you plan the course of a relationship, or fight about past flirting at the bar, if you don't understand the future or past tenses? You don't. Hmm. I might be liking these Spanish relationships.

On a different note, my teaching job asked me to commit for more hours. That's both exciting, and finalizing. With my family back in Colorado, my dog in Chicago, and my heart somewhere in outer space, I just don't know where to be. With out the nagging draw of a terminal relationship in Denver, I have to look at what my anchor is. What keeps me in a place, or what should be keeping me in a place?

People that have this figured out have easy answers when people ask, 'why do you live in ____?'. Well my family is here. My job is here. I love it here. And just what are you supposed to do when you have different locations for all of those items? If I only loved one place, it would be simple. But every place has it's pros and cons. Chicago was huge and I never felt like I could grasp what it was. But I find myself missing the night drive home where I would drive north east on unknown streets until finding my main cross streets. It was nice to get lost. Now I'm down the rabbit hole, and I don't know which way is home.

Skanky skunk

Someday I will post wonderfully beautiful pictures of my children. Until then...

All Hookers Eve

Happy halloween! Or rather, the day before, which will be the true halloween to all those who are concerned with partying. My friends and I have made the perfect mix of costume with sexiness, and we will proceed to go down town and judge everyone around us on either being too sexy or totally creative and amazing. Underpants and wings does not an angel make, my friend.

I have a serious beef with bought costumes. (and I'm not the only one) Sure, they look great, but there are a few major flaws. For one, there's no possible way for them to be unique, because they are made in bulk, and usually sold as such. If you're wearing an amazing bought costume that has 20 copies running around town, you might get a compliment, but it's sure to go something like, "Hey, great transformer costume, I saw that earlier on a hotter/skinnier/stronger person." Then you will feel like someone crushed your little halloween spirit. If you go as a collection of homemade items, no one can ever replicate it.

Also, there is no heart to these costumes. You made no sacrifice (besides the 100 freaking dollars) and therefore, the pride is minimized. If you were making your zombie princess costume, and stapled your thumb to your tiara, creating real blood to boot, you will rock that costume like it's in a thriller video.

I am going as a skunk. I made the costume, and will post pictures shortly. If there happens to be some other brilliant woman out there that decided a skanky skunk just HAD to be her frock tonight, then I will give her props. And then I will spray her with my homemade smelly spray.

Never Quit Quitting

He’s so much like smoking that it’s scary. I’ve quit him a million times, and yet, all it takes is one moment of stress, one memory of happiness, and I’m off the wagon. I call him, and then I’m stuck calling him. His easy jokes, his shared memory of the past 5 years, it's instantly addicting. I know, with every warning label reinforcing it, that he is bad for me. Warning: Will prioritize everything else in his life before you. Warning: You’re his first love and he will never fully let you go. Warning: This ex boyfriend will be the death of you. But I just read these warnings, fully understood by myself, and keep puffing away.

Maybe, this time, we will have grown up enough to know our limits. Maybe this time I can just call him once a week, as a reward for working two jobs. It will only be this one call to tell him something funny that reminded me of him. But it's never just one.

But tonight, after slowly weaning myself, I quit cold turkey. I told him, "look, you're no good for me. If we're not going to be in a relationship, then we're friends, and I don't need a friend like you." I'm proud of myself, but I can't help but wonder if this will be the end of my nasty habit, or if, in some time of stress or sadness, I'll end up caving- once again looking for my crutch.

Do you have egg cartons in your ears?

I'll start by saying that things with the surfer are done. I know, we're all shocked. When he asked me to move in, I started to think we were on different wavelengths. I actually studied the physics of sound and music in college (so I didn't have to take chemistry) and wavelengths are exactly what went wrong with this guy. In physics, waves of sound will keep bouncing around as long as they find good bouncing surfaces. (Very technical, I know) That's why in sound studios, the walls have bumpy surfaces, to trap the waves and stop them from traveling back around the room. There was no way the waves I was putting out were coming anywhere near this guy's comprehension. He must have had very bumpy ear drums.

I would say, "Let's take this slow", and he would whisper"Te quiero" (I love you).

I would say, "Maybe we should take the weekend off to think about things", and he would hear "I really want you to text me 3 times a day about how much you miss me".

Me- "It's not working out. I'm overwhelmed with how much you like me."

Him- "But I love you!".

Etcetera.

Finally, I said, "Maybe we can be friends, but that's all. Do You Understand? Say it back to me." It seemed to get through- kind of.

The crappy part of breaking things off early in a relationship is that the beginning is when people do most of their fantastical planning. I really hoped that we would surf every morning at 5 am, and I would get super ripped and become and amazing surfer chick, and suddenly become a morning person (who didn't need to "bake out" for 30 minutes before biting off the heads of anyone who spoke to her). We were supposed to go to this amazing private beach and according to him- we were supposed to live happily ever after. Besides that last part, I was really looking forward to how things might have been. I just wasn't ready for full speed ahead yet. Maybe it's being in Mexico, too close to The Heartbreaker. Maybe it's me knowing that my true person is still in formation and I'm weary of anyone who loves someone with out knowing who they even are. Whatever the reason, I'm officially single again.

Cheetos, a hot tub filled with oatmeal, and vanilla haagen dazs with chocolate syrup are who I'm currently seeing. They are nice guys, and I'm very happy with them. For now.

"The New One"

Ok, I'll admit it, I have an addiction. I'm addicted to falling in love. I just love falling in love. Being in a latin american country, there is no dearth of candidates. The men I have met are some of the most affectionate, handsome and loving men in the world. I am just coming from a place which gives me a handicap for interacting with such men. Women from the states are told that if a man brings you flowers, tells you every five minutes how beautiful you are and how much he adores you- then you probably have him on the hook (and to yourself). What a silly notion that is. Ahh, the tourists never had a chance. What amazes me, are the women here, who have been taught since puberty how to cipher through bullshit and find someone genuine. Well, that's a little harsh. The Latin men I have known, in my very limited experience, actually are in love when they say they are. No bullshit. They just allow themselves to be in love with multiple women, and for no set amount of time.

Back to my addiction- I have officially fallen in love 3 times in the last 2 months. There was the club manager, the artist and now the surfer. (Notice "accountant" or "auditor" are never on my lists. What does that say about me?) When the surfer walked into my office this morning bearing gifts, he was affectionately referred to as "the new one" by my coworkers. Everything always starts out perfect. After the heart break of 2009 however, I have trouble maturing these infatuations into meaningful relationships. I adore them... for a few weeks. Then my internal cynic tells me there's really no future with them, they like me to much for things to actually be real, and points out all the similarities between these guys, and the before mentioned heart breaker. So, I end it. You would think that I'm better at ending things since I've had so much practice. Not so much. It all comes off as a variation of "it's not you, it's me", which is not comforting to either party. Even though it is the honest to god truth, it is me, there is always strings left uncut due to the highly unsatisfactory reasons that I give them. How can I convince someone who has fallen in love (along with myself) that the object of their desire is actually a broken toy who doesn't want to be played with anymore. Furthermore, that I don't believe their strong and supposedly undying love is actually anything more than a figment of their imagination and libido. It doesn't usually go very well.

The solution to this cycle of love/breakups might be to go cold turkey, but something in me keeps telling me to continue looking for... not The One, because I don't think there is just one, but The One For My 20's. Are you out there, Mr. Self sufficient, intelligent, handsome man who is also able to fall for me according to an appropriate time table? I need to stop looking and start teaching English/rebuilding my aunt's company/working out. Even typing that made me laugh, there's no way that will happen- at least the working out part.

Nicaragua and Teaching Prospects

Returned from the Nicaragua trip. It was truly incredible, a place like I've never been before. Rural doesn't begin to describe the places that I stayed. Coming back to Mexico was a trip- I felt very spoiled to have my casita with air conditioning and electric outlets, not to mention hot water. I flew through the states on the way back, and it gave me the familiar ache of homesickness. Eventually, free wifi and pizza hut will lose their luster and I will stop yearning for the states. Meanwhile, here in Cabo, I just had an amazing interview at a private school. I don't know if I will get the job or not, (there seems to be conflict within the school as to whether the current teacher needs to be replaced or not) but it made me excited to think about future possibilities. Sometimes I feel like I'm a spectator in my life, waiting to see which career I end up having. Vamos a ver (we will see)!

Blogging?

Here goes nothing. I have twitter, facebook, and gmail, but I'm sick of writing one or two line blurbs that vaguely disguise what I'm actually feeling or doing. I don't know who my audience is, which makes it hard to write, but I'm going to take it as public diary. Thoughts, questions, picture. Keeping it simple.

I'm in Mexico at the moment, but I have no idea where I should be. The scary truth is, I want to be where I can fall in love. It doesn't just have to be a sexual/romance love, it could be with an idea. I want to be where I'm consumed with a man, or a job or a purpose greater than myself. Sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions; doing things that I think are going to be cool or fulfilling or an adventure. But I've yet to be captivated by a place.

Today is a perfect example. I'm on the beach, with a private pool, two great dogs, a healthy body and music playing out of little speakers that look like rocks. Technically, I should be ecstatic. But there's no passion. How can I make passion happen?

Also, there's this nagging theory that has dominated my life, which is people wanting what they can't have. My friend K is going through it right now. Great, nice guy who is crazy about her on the one hand, and numerous assholes on the other. I just can't convince her that nice is better. It's completely hypocritical of course, because I'm chasing some clubber who has a mental trophy case that he replenishes regularly. How can there be a happy medium? When will there be two people who are happy to have each other and never question what the greener grass is doing on Saturday night?