there are some fantastic perks about being a lady of leisure. for instance, i spent the day at the beach. when i got home, i decided it was time for my afternoon siesta but i needed a snack first. i mean, clearly i had a rough day so i was extremely hungry and sleepy. however, when i opened the fridge i found that everything which took more than 2 steps to prepare was going to take too much time and effort. the most logical thing was to simply crack a medalla. they’re super filling and full of carbs, so it’s basically a sandwich. i then curled up on the couch to have my afternoon snack and drift away to the sounds of the caribbean.
however, do you know what i hear from our open window? not the calming lull of the ocean, caribbean birds singing, or peaceful tropical music. i’m serenaded by the constant screech of crowing roosters. all. day. long. and before you think it’s sweet farm-like, island-bungalow sounds; picture talons. that’s right, long, sharp, metal talons. attached to the feet of these caged animals waiting to, wait for it.... COCK FIGHT! is this real? there’s an arena right in the middle of town with ‘cock fights’ advertised in huge letters? this isn’t frowned upon? in order to peacefully nap in the afternoons, something must be done.
forget pork, rooster is going to be the new other white meat.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
how to spot a creep - an introductory course
there are some full-time creepers on this island.
and when i say full-time, i mean it. creeping seems to be their day job. now, they may be moonlighting as, say, a cab driver, street vendor, or parking attendant to pay the bills. but do not be fooled. their career is creeping.
first let me discuss the starring. i have heard that this is common in most latin american cultures, and is somehow genetic and/or socially acceptable. however, in an attempt not to further generalize a topic that is going to be grossly overgeneralized, i’ll limit my opinion to puerto rican men. they stare. and not the flattering ‘oh, i must be looking damn good today’ bashful sort of starring. i’m talking full on, dramatically-perverted-new york city-construction-worker-recently-released-from-prison, i-wish-i-were-wearing-something-amish type of starring. this is not in my head and certainly not a reflection of my personal narcissism because it happens to everyone. and i do mean everyone. last week i saw a women in her 70’s get whistled at. it did not appear to be a joke. this is just to give you an idea of what goes on here.
because a certain degree of creepyness (re:starring) is common, it is sometimes difficult to differentiate a harmless beach goer from the real deal. i will share a few encounters so perhaps you can learn from my experiences and better distinguish a safe starer from a potentially dangerous, however later good for humorous anecdotes, full-timer.
the first is more gross and scarring than funny, but without this incident my attitude may have remained naive and the occurrences that followed may not have happened in the same way.
i was laying on the beach reading ‘the hunger games,’ having an innocent day hanging in district 12 and catching some ryes. all of a sudden, something pulls my attention from panem and i feel like i’m being watched (not so uncommon. in puerto rico and in the novel). but when i look up, i see a man i had barely noticed and previously written off as normal-looking glaring at me with a strange look on his face. at second glance i realize he is completely exposed and touching himself. he was not giving himself a foot massage, i’ll tell you that. GROSS. i reached for my bow and arrow, quickly remembered i’m not actually katniss everdeen, screamed, scooped up my beach things, and got the hell out of there! i moved about 50 feet directly right and plopped myself down in the middle of the beach at the ritz carton. i’m no fool, 5 star hotels don’t stand for shit like that.
in retrospect i should have called the police or hotel security because that. is. not. ok. but to tell you the truth, if i could do it again, i would have pepper sprayed the freak.
honestly, that kept me off the beach for about a week. i just didn’t want to go alone after that. but, as they say, time heals all wounds and eventually i returned to my shady spot under the palm trees. i had a number of successfully peaceful afternoons alone with my kindle and was able to begin to relax.
about 2 weeks later i encountered another, not quite as perverse, creepy guy. but this time i was alert and prepared. also - this guy was from the 80’s. not totally relevant, but entertaining none-the-less. he was wearing tight, multi-colored, florescent shorts complete with matching florescent tennis shoes. and - wait for it - he had a mullet. a real business-in-the-front, party-in-the-back, curly mullet. obviously his appearance caught my attention. (also, i was interested in possibly using his time machine.) as i read, i kept an eye on him. i was wearing my big, audrey hepburn sunglasses, so i was able to be super stealth. i certainly wasn’t going to get caught by surprised again. he paced up and down the beach in my general vicinity, sitting occasionally on the sand to sun bathe. this went on for a while. pace, sit, pace, sit, pace, sit. until finally, he sat on a rock about 10 feet from my shady oasis. where he promptly began to stare directly at me. he was way too close to think i couldn’t see him or wasn’t paying attention, and yet he stared on. i continued trying to read my book, constantly glancing up to check on the status of this full-time creepy guy. honestly, i don’t think he blinked his eyes once in the 10 minutes it took me to get fed up with him. finally, i stood up, took one step toward him and said, ‘is there something i can help you with, SIR?!’ his gaze suddenly turned innocent and questioning, as if saying ‘....what’s you’re problem? i was just looking....’ and he slowly shook his head ‘no.’ i then told him that he’d better ‘move the fuck on.’ and don’t worry. he totally did. you can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl.
the very next day i saw a, clearly, homeless man wandering on the beach. this normally wouldn’t bother me, but i was on guard because of my previous experiences. so i obviously went straight for my pepper spray and put it directly in my pocket. you know, just in case. he walked around for awhile, talking to some of the local vendors he seemed to know, and occasionally to himself. eventually he left the beach. by the time i packed up my beach things and began to head home, i had completely forgotten about him. i turned the corner that leads to our street and just as i was passing a dumpster, i heard a rustling coming from inside. as there are stray gatos y perros all over the island, i assumed it was one of our neighborhood ‘pets.’ turns out, it was our neighborhood homeless guy who was passing the afternoon hanging out in the dumpster. not digging through it, standing in it. now this is a fairly large dumpster. and it has, what appears to be, a window. so there he was, hands gripping the bottom of the ‘window frame,’ smiling a toothless grin and pushing back dirty, seemingly unintentional dreadlocks. as i walked by my new neighbor, the following conversation took place.
homeless guy: ‘hiiiiiiiiii’
me: (withering scowl that should have implied, ‘don’t mess with me, buddy.’)
i began to walk a little quicker.
homeless guy: ‘excuse me, miss. do you, please, have the time?’
me: ‘ummm, i think it’s about 12’
homeless guy: (leaning further out of his dumpster paradise) ‘i’m sorry, what?’
me: (a bit louder) ‘about 12 or 12:30’
homeless guy: ‘oh, thank you. thank you very much.’
as i walked away, slightly puzzled by his politeness, i realized something that really disturbed me. this guy has about 3 teeth, carries his belongings on his back, and hangs out in a dumpster. but, he can speak english! this guy is bi-lingual and i, a college graduate, am not.
so, maybe i shouldn’t judge the creepers of this island too harshly.
except for someone who whips it out on the beach. next time that happens, it’s on bitch.
and when i say full-time, i mean it. creeping seems to be their day job. now, they may be moonlighting as, say, a cab driver, street vendor, or parking attendant to pay the bills. but do not be fooled. their career is creeping.
first let me discuss the starring. i have heard that this is common in most latin american cultures, and is somehow genetic and/or socially acceptable. however, in an attempt not to further generalize a topic that is going to be grossly overgeneralized, i’ll limit my opinion to puerto rican men. they stare. and not the flattering ‘oh, i must be looking damn good today’ bashful sort of starring. i’m talking full on, dramatically-perverted-new york city-construction-worker-recently-released-from-prison, i-wish-i-were-wearing-something-amish type of starring. this is not in my head and certainly not a reflection of my personal narcissism because it happens to everyone. and i do mean everyone. last week i saw a women in her 70’s get whistled at. it did not appear to be a joke. this is just to give you an idea of what goes on here.
because a certain degree of creepyness (re:starring) is common, it is sometimes difficult to differentiate a harmless beach goer from the real deal. i will share a few encounters so perhaps you can learn from my experiences and better distinguish a safe starer from a potentially dangerous, however later good for humorous anecdotes, full-timer.
the first is more gross and scarring than funny, but without this incident my attitude may have remained naive and the occurrences that followed may not have happened in the same way.
i was laying on the beach reading ‘the hunger games,’ having an innocent day hanging in district 12 and catching some ryes. all of a sudden, something pulls my attention from panem and i feel like i’m being watched (not so uncommon. in puerto rico and in the novel). but when i look up, i see a man i had barely noticed and previously written off as normal-looking glaring at me with a strange look on his face. at second glance i realize he is completely exposed and touching himself. he was not giving himself a foot massage, i’ll tell you that. GROSS. i reached for my bow and arrow, quickly remembered i’m not actually katniss everdeen, screamed, scooped up my beach things, and got the hell out of there! i moved about 50 feet directly right and plopped myself down in the middle of the beach at the ritz carton. i’m no fool, 5 star hotels don’t stand for shit like that.
in retrospect i should have called the police or hotel security because that. is. not. ok. but to tell you the truth, if i could do it again, i would have pepper sprayed the freak.
honestly, that kept me off the beach for about a week. i just didn’t want to go alone after that. but, as they say, time heals all wounds and eventually i returned to my shady spot under the palm trees. i had a number of successfully peaceful afternoons alone with my kindle and was able to begin to relax.
about 2 weeks later i encountered another, not quite as perverse, creepy guy. but this time i was alert and prepared. also - this guy was from the 80’s. not totally relevant, but entertaining none-the-less. he was wearing tight, multi-colored, florescent shorts complete with matching florescent tennis shoes. and - wait for it - he had a mullet. a real business-in-the-front, party-in-the-back, curly mullet. obviously his appearance caught my attention. (also, i was interested in possibly using his time machine.) as i read, i kept an eye on him. i was wearing my big, audrey hepburn sunglasses, so i was able to be super stealth. i certainly wasn’t going to get caught by surprised again. he paced up and down the beach in my general vicinity, sitting occasionally on the sand to sun bathe. this went on for a while. pace, sit, pace, sit, pace, sit. until finally, he sat on a rock about 10 feet from my shady oasis. where he promptly began to stare directly at me. he was way too close to think i couldn’t see him or wasn’t paying attention, and yet he stared on. i continued trying to read my book, constantly glancing up to check on the status of this full-time creepy guy. honestly, i don’t think he blinked his eyes once in the 10 minutes it took me to get fed up with him. finally, i stood up, took one step toward him and said, ‘is there something i can help you with, SIR?!’ his gaze suddenly turned innocent and questioning, as if saying ‘....what’s you’re problem? i was just looking....’ and he slowly shook his head ‘no.’ i then told him that he’d better ‘move the fuck on.’ and don’t worry. he totally did. you can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl.
the very next day i saw a, clearly, homeless man wandering on the beach. this normally wouldn’t bother me, but i was on guard because of my previous experiences. so i obviously went straight for my pepper spray and put it directly in my pocket. you know, just in case. he walked around for awhile, talking to some of the local vendors he seemed to know, and occasionally to himself. eventually he left the beach. by the time i packed up my beach things and began to head home, i had completely forgotten about him. i turned the corner that leads to our street and just as i was passing a dumpster, i heard a rustling coming from inside. as there are stray gatos y perros all over the island, i assumed it was one of our neighborhood ‘pets.’ turns out, it was our neighborhood homeless guy who was passing the afternoon hanging out in the dumpster. not digging through it, standing in it. now this is a fairly large dumpster. and it has, what appears to be, a window. so there he was, hands gripping the bottom of the ‘window frame,’ smiling a toothless grin and pushing back dirty, seemingly unintentional dreadlocks. as i walked by my new neighbor, the following conversation took place.
homeless guy: ‘hiiiiiiiiii’
me: (withering scowl that should have implied, ‘don’t mess with me, buddy.’)
i began to walk a little quicker.
homeless guy: ‘excuse me, miss. do you, please, have the time?’
me: ‘ummm, i think it’s about 12’
homeless guy: (leaning further out of his dumpster paradise) ‘i’m sorry, what?’
me: (a bit louder) ‘about 12 or 12:30’
homeless guy: ‘oh, thank you. thank you very much.’
as i walked away, slightly puzzled by his politeness, i realized something that really disturbed me. this guy has about 3 teeth, carries his belongings on his back, and hangs out in a dumpster. but, he can speak english! this guy is bi-lingual and i, a college graduate, am not.
so, maybe i shouldn’t judge the creepers of this island too harshly.
except for someone who whips it out on the beach. next time that happens, it’s on bitch.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
drinking: the anti-job
i quit my job.
i’m unemployed and could not be any happier about it. should this make me nervous? maybe. but mostly i just feel extremely happy and completely liberated.
about a month ago i picked up and moved to puerto rico. ‘woo hoo!’ i thought. how exciting my life will be! how wrong. i. was. but lets rewind for a moment.
i choose to defer beginning my career as a teacher for a number of reasons. the economy wasn’t great with teachers being laid off in order for districts to work within shrinking budget. (excellent moves made by various aspects of local and national governments, by the way, because obviously educating our youth should take a back seat to other more pressing issues - but i digress.) all in all, not the best time to be starting out. and honestly, what’s the rush? i mean, you’re only young once - right? i decided to ‘dance’ around a bit before becoming a grown-up. so i packed my bags and moved to boulder. i started waiting tables and making excellent money. (another travesty with education in this country - i was making more money working a 25 hour week as a server than i made working close to 60 hours a week as a teacher. not. good. for education.) i worked at an amazing restaurant, had excellent hours, an awesome boss, and became good friends with my co-workers - often hitting the waterloo for a delicious ipa after a quick and lucrative evening of ‘work.’ not to mention that i was nannying during the day for 2 of the cutest, most well behaved twin boys ever. talk about a care-free life. but after awhile a person with a (almost) masters degree wants to use her brain, you know? you can only say ‘and would you like to add bacon to that popeye pizza?’ and read ‘green eggs and ham’ so many times before you begin to crave some sort of intellectual challenge. or really, a challenge of any sort. so, i began to plan my embarkment on adulthood.
although i knew this particular lifestyle needed to come to a close, i was genuinely enjoying the carelessness of it all. and if i learned one thing from the hippies in boulder - it is to enjoy life, do what you love, and don’t stress. so i as i started thinking about the steps i needed to take to start my big-girl life i decided i needed to find something to act as a climax to this wandering chapter of my life. also i was struggling with where i wanted to live next, as i imagined that wherever it was is where i’d stay long term. you know, build a life and such.
i wanted to go somewhere temporary; put all my things in storage and just go. partially, because moving is such a pain - i was worried i’d plant my self in colorado or move back to chicago just because it was easy. if i did decided to move back to one of those places i wanted to take comfort in the fact that it was a deliberate decision and not simply ‘what makes sense.’ i often feel acting and relying too much on sense leads me down a boring and sometimes bitter path. but where should i go to gain this much needed perspective?
fast forward to puerto rico. my mom moved down here a few years ago because her husband is a professor and works at a university on the island. um, spending a few months in the caribbean rent free? yes please!
i quickly found a job waiting tables at a fairly busy restaurant (more stories about that place to come) and began working on my spanish, poco a poco. however, i quickly learned that this was a full-time job. i’m talking an average of 50 hours a week. and let me tell you, i’ve worked 40+ hours at a number of different jobs over the last 10 years and nothing was quite like what i experienced at this place. i realize that i’m essentially in another country and i need to take cultural differences into consideration. but, working until past 2am and sleeping away the beautiful tropical days was not what i had in mind when i left my happy life in colorado.
it did not take long before i was very lonely and unhappy. again, many things contributed to these feelings. i did not have friends and not speaking the native language made it difficult to meet any, i missed the friends i had in colorado and chicago, my hours made it difficult to spend any time with my mother - part of the allure of this particular relocation, serving wasn’t fun as it had been at my last job, but most of all i longed for a love i’d left behind. as it turned out, i couldn’t see past my optimistic, rose colored glasses about people and my love was totally misplaced on an undeserving person. BUT one good thing has come from the severing of that relationship (and many more to come, i’m sure, as time passes). i realize that certain things, like break ups, are part of life and sometimes aspects of life are out of your direct control. you know, there’s a reason that certain sayings are repeated over and over to generations of people, ‘that’s life’ ‘them’s the breaks’ ‘you win some, you loose some’, have a lot of validity. however, there are parts of life that are totally in your control.
i did not have to continue working a job i hated. once i realized i was irritated by the happy people simply trying to enjoy their vacation and bitterly saying things like, ‘welcome to the island’ to explain why their food was taking so long or why they had to pay for a soda refill, i knew it was time to end it. this was something i had control over.
the bonus of working those long hours is that i had absolutely no time to spend any of my earnings and therefore have saved some money to live on. (i guess i’m living with my mom and have almost no bills, so i should probably call it money to ‘play’ on - which sounds more fun anyway, right?) so, i’ve decided to enjoy my time on the island in any and every way i know how. reading on the beach, learning spanish and guitar, practicing yoga, and playing tennis with my mom. but most of all i’m getting back to writing. this time my handicap isn’t a broken foot, but a broken heart and a place i don’t belong. as my mom says, ‘there are worse places to be miserable.’ i know she’s right and even more, i refuse to be unhappy in the caribbean in the winter. after i quit, my mom’s husband, marty, promptly said ‘don’t worry about money, we won’t let you go sober.’
so instead of being on what i used to refer to as ‘the extended vacation from hell,’ i resolve to take advantage of this as a truly extended vacation. because real life will start soon enough.
until then i plan to follow this motto - ‘drinking: the anti job’.
i’m unemployed and could not be any happier about it. should this make me nervous? maybe. but mostly i just feel extremely happy and completely liberated.
about a month ago i picked up and moved to puerto rico. ‘woo hoo!’ i thought. how exciting my life will be! how wrong. i. was. but lets rewind for a moment.
i choose to defer beginning my career as a teacher for a number of reasons. the economy wasn’t great with teachers being laid off in order for districts to work within shrinking budget. (excellent moves made by various aspects of local and national governments, by the way, because obviously educating our youth should take a back seat to other more pressing issues - but i digress.) all in all, not the best time to be starting out. and honestly, what’s the rush? i mean, you’re only young once - right? i decided to ‘dance’ around a bit before becoming a grown-up. so i packed my bags and moved to boulder. i started waiting tables and making excellent money. (another travesty with education in this country - i was making more money working a 25 hour week as a server than i made working close to 60 hours a week as a teacher. not. good. for education.) i worked at an amazing restaurant, had excellent hours, an awesome boss, and became good friends with my co-workers - often hitting the waterloo for a delicious ipa after a quick and lucrative evening of ‘work.’ not to mention that i was nannying during the day for 2 of the cutest, most well behaved twin boys ever. talk about a care-free life. but after awhile a person with a (almost) masters degree wants to use her brain, you know? you can only say ‘and would you like to add bacon to that popeye pizza?’ and read ‘green eggs and ham’ so many times before you begin to crave some sort of intellectual challenge. or really, a challenge of any sort. so, i began to plan my embarkment on adulthood.
although i knew this particular lifestyle needed to come to a close, i was genuinely enjoying the carelessness of it all. and if i learned one thing from the hippies in boulder - it is to enjoy life, do what you love, and don’t stress. so i as i started thinking about the steps i needed to take to start my big-girl life i decided i needed to find something to act as a climax to this wandering chapter of my life. also i was struggling with where i wanted to live next, as i imagined that wherever it was is where i’d stay long term. you know, build a life and such.
i wanted to go somewhere temporary; put all my things in storage and just go. partially, because moving is such a pain - i was worried i’d plant my self in colorado or move back to chicago just because it was easy. if i did decided to move back to one of those places i wanted to take comfort in the fact that it was a deliberate decision and not simply ‘what makes sense.’ i often feel acting and relying too much on sense leads me down a boring and sometimes bitter path. but where should i go to gain this much needed perspective?
fast forward to puerto rico. my mom moved down here a few years ago because her husband is a professor and works at a university on the island. um, spending a few months in the caribbean rent free? yes please!
i quickly found a job waiting tables at a fairly busy restaurant (more stories about that place to come) and began working on my spanish, poco a poco. however, i quickly learned that this was a full-time job. i’m talking an average of 50 hours a week. and let me tell you, i’ve worked 40+ hours at a number of different jobs over the last 10 years and nothing was quite like what i experienced at this place. i realize that i’m essentially in another country and i need to take cultural differences into consideration. but, working until past 2am and sleeping away the beautiful tropical days was not what i had in mind when i left my happy life in colorado.
it did not take long before i was very lonely and unhappy. again, many things contributed to these feelings. i did not have friends and not speaking the native language made it difficult to meet any, i missed the friends i had in colorado and chicago, my hours made it difficult to spend any time with my mother - part of the allure of this particular relocation, serving wasn’t fun as it had been at my last job, but most of all i longed for a love i’d left behind. as it turned out, i couldn’t see past my optimistic, rose colored glasses about people and my love was totally misplaced on an undeserving person. BUT one good thing has come from the severing of that relationship (and many more to come, i’m sure, as time passes). i realize that certain things, like break ups, are part of life and sometimes aspects of life are out of your direct control. you know, there’s a reason that certain sayings are repeated over and over to generations of people, ‘that’s life’ ‘them’s the breaks’ ‘you win some, you loose some’, have a lot of validity. however, there are parts of life that are totally in your control.
i did not have to continue working a job i hated. once i realized i was irritated by the happy people simply trying to enjoy their vacation and bitterly saying things like, ‘welcome to the island’ to explain why their food was taking so long or why they had to pay for a soda refill, i knew it was time to end it. this was something i had control over.
the bonus of working those long hours is that i had absolutely no time to spend any of my earnings and therefore have saved some money to live on. (i guess i’m living with my mom and have almost no bills, so i should probably call it money to ‘play’ on - which sounds more fun anyway, right?) so, i’ve decided to enjoy my time on the island in any and every way i know how. reading on the beach, learning spanish and guitar, practicing yoga, and playing tennis with my mom. but most of all i’m getting back to writing. this time my handicap isn’t a broken foot, but a broken heart and a place i don’t belong. as my mom says, ‘there are worse places to be miserable.’ i know she’s right and even more, i refuse to be unhappy in the caribbean in the winter. after i quit, my mom’s husband, marty, promptly said ‘don’t worry about money, we won’t let you go sober.’
so instead of being on what i used to refer to as ‘the extended vacation from hell,’ i resolve to take advantage of this as a truly extended vacation. because real life will start soon enough.
until then i plan to follow this motto - ‘drinking: the anti job’.
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