Monday, 21 June 2010

Dear Cancun Stadium, I'm really sorry about your bathroom, really..

The Fab Husband knows what he likes, and for him, music mostly stopped in the 80's. There's a few acceptions,most notably Amy Winehouse and Miguel Bose.

After 12 years together, I don't really have much choice in loving Miguel Bose, do I? It's not really that hard though, the guy is super eye candy, and he's still pretty much rocking out. Which was why I was so happy when I found out he was coming to Cancun for a concert.

It was actually a perfect evening, we checked into a only moderatly cheesy AI in Cancun, had a few drinks, ate dinner, and met Fab's cousin, Nancy, for the concert. I should have known there would be something that would go wildly wrong, since, when entering the stadium, a purse search turned up a camera that I didn't even know I had with me. They originally didn't want to let me in at all, but, well, we all know how persuasive the Fabster can be when he wants to be.

Basically, what that meant was that he was now responsible for the beer tab for us, Cousin Nancy, and two security guards.

The concert took place at the brand new stadium where Cancun's brand new futbol/soccer team plays. The concert was superb. There was the perfect blend of his old stuff and his new material (which, don't tell anyone else, but I actually like better!)

Anyhow, great concert aside, there's no negating the call of nature, especially if you've been guzzling beer for the past two hours. Cousin Nancy, who, poor thing, had been plied with unacustomed booze for the past two hours, entered the large (and suprisingly clean) staduim bathroom with me.

This is a giant bathroom with two sections of probably about 20 stalls on each side. When I attempted to flush, the entire metal mechanism of the industrial toilet literally fell off and landed on the floor with a loud clank.

A huge fountain, of thankfully clean water came shooting up out of the hole, taller than the actual stall wall, and doused the entire left side of my body.

I ran screaching out of the stall, where Nancy is washing her hands. I'm wild eyed, wet, and screaching at her for help. Girlfriend looks at me deadfaced, and literally says,"Do I know you?"

We both go running out of the now flooding bathroom, dodging women who are now trying to ford what amounts to an open firehose. As we gathered up Fabs, and ran away, I looked back and saw the water running out under the door.

I'm really sorry about your bathroom, Cancun, I swear!

Sunday, 13 June 2010

Ive heard of people dropping their basket, and losing their basket, but what happens if someone steals it?

The (somewhat) rainy season is upon us, which really only means that I no longer have to water my grass and postage-stamp size garden daily. Now I have to do it every other day. On a positive note, the rain we've had so far hasn't created "Lake Fabs" in the potholes in front of our house, as it generally does.

Another interesting developement of the rain, is that the laundry mat around the corner stole my basket.

I don't own a dryer. I find it senseless to purchase a device that creates heat, while living in Cozumel. The backyard is essentially full sun all day (hence the obsessive watering) and clothes dry in less than an hour. There are approximately three times a year when I need/want a dryer, and up until now that hasn't been an issue, since there was, what I thought to be, a quality lavanderia, two blocks away.

One rainy day last week, I dropped off a load of freshly washed, wet clothes to be dried and folded. They were in my trusty laundry basket. Let me tell you that this basket was nothing special, in fact, it even had a hole in the side. It was white, plastic and tall. I had it for years, and it was mine. To the right you can see a photo of the basket in happier days. (No cats were harmed during the taking of this photo, FYI)

Anyhow, I returned a few hours later, collected my folded clothes, and asked for my basket back.

"Oh, that basket was yours?" asked the girl behind the counter, "well the other girl that works here took your basket full of wet clothes to the other location, and I'm sure she'll return it shortly.

"Not a problem at all," I snarkilly replied, "I'll just take my clothes and when you give me back my basket, I'll pay you."

No one has 20/20 hindsight like I do, and as the afternoon wore on I began to feel a little guilty about not paying. What if the girl got in trouble with the owners? Was I over the top bitchy? I discussed this with the Fabster, who is the level-headed voice of reason in the family. We agreed that I should go back tommorrow and pay and collect the basket.

When I arrived, the other girl, told me that she did indeed return my basket, however, the first girl loaned my basket to a woman who lived around here, and had alot of clothes to take home. Second girl felt confident that in the next few days, neighbor woman would return with my basket. It simply wasn't her fault, but the first girl, who caused the entire situation. She then asked me if I was going to pay my bill.

End of story, I now have a new white laundry basket, that I don't like nearly as much (not that any sane person would get attached to a laundry basket, mind you) I can never ever go back to the laundry-mat on the corner, since I still owe then $47 peos, and, frankly, I'm not really sure what I'm going to do when it rains again.

Monday, 1 February 2010

So is it the full moon, or what?

Generally speaking, I'm a fairly reliable person. I go to bed at a reasonable hour, try to eat green leafy veggies, drink lots of water, and not trash-talk to many people. It's a pretty stable, yet fun life.

Which is why it's been so weird that it's all gone completely off kilter since Wednesday. The Fab man's favorite cousin, who was only 46 years old, slipped into a coma and wasn't expected to make it. After long discussions and heart to hearts, the adorable husband opted NOT to go to Mexico City and say goodbye.

Enter newsletter Thursday. That's the day I send out "Cozumel 4 You" and there's no telling what can happen. At times it's the easiest send in the world, and other weeks I'm crying in frustration, still in my PJs at 3 p.m. Ironically enough, this week was easy, in fact, almost too easy. It made me question myself, wondering what I missed. Anyhow after that my friend, Bianca and her mother wanted to take me out to lunch for my birthday (it was last week, you missed it!) We go to Guido's. I love Guido's; they're right on the waterfront, they have a brick oven and make some really good calzones and pizzas. I have a spinach and salmon carpachio, garlic bread and a green salad.

Later in the day, our dearest friends come into town, and they're tired but hungry. "Where would you like to eat,?" I ask. "Well, Guido's is yummy and fast..." Upon arrival I'm giving the very suprised waiter the stink eye so he doesn't tell everyone that I was there a mere 3 hours ago. What do I eat? spinach and salmon carpacho, garlic bread and a green salad.

Friday my father and his wife arrive on a cruise ship. This has been a much awaited event and the Fabster and I have done our best to clear our schedules for the entire day. We shop we visit the other side of the island, we're having a great time, until Fab's cell phone rings....

Fabian's much beloved cousin has died, which in itself is horribly upsetting and sad, however, the other 25 phone calls from friends and family urging him to "come home" for the funeral are just nerve-wracking. Adorable husband is doing his best to make small, pleasant chatter with his father in law, in between hysterical calls from bereaved loved ones, to the point where we finally walked down to the corner for ice cream, while Fabs frantically tried to get on the next plane to D.F. The day culminated in me dropping my father, and his very understanding wife off at the cruise ship pier, turning around, collecting husband and dropping him off at the ferry, all within the same hour.

Saturday was uneventful, execpt for the unaccustomed hangover from the self-medication of liberal amounts of red wine after yesterday's trauma.

Sunday I planned on going to an additional yoga class, since I missed Friday's. My friend Desiree asked if I would pick her up since her scooter was acting funny. Desiree lives right on 5th Av, and there was a funeral blocking the traffic, so we actually arrived at the yoga studio about 10 minutes late. This actually didn't matter, as there was, in fact, no yoga class. We return to my green 80's Ford Escort station wagon, only to discover that the Mimi-mobile won't start. Not only that, but the two of us, both college graduates are incapable of getting the hood open, since something is stuck.

Later that day, I take the Snoopy-mobile, Fab's beloved 1972 VW thing all the way out halfway across the island. That wasn't an issue at all, until it was time to come home, and it started to rain.

The Fabster, after the last re-paint of the car, had never gotten around to re-installing the windshield wipers (they're a seperate stand-alone motor attached to the windshield) I survive "Death Ride 2010" by using my arm as sort of a human wiper blade at periodic intervals as I drive home.

Upon arrival, I'm walking up the stairs, at a reasonable pace, not carrying anything, and my back makes this horrible pop. I now fully understand the meaning of "throwing your back out," since I have apparently lost a very important part.

Today I've been rolling around with a tennis ball under my back, trying to get the green car started (jumper cables: fail) stuck at home (rain again) and to top it off, the Fabster is staying a "few more days" in D.F. Luckilly, I'm so doped up because of the back that I can only really process the "wow, this is weird," aspect of it all.

I will, however, be going to bed early and praying for an end to all of this....