Mi Vieja, Atotonilco, y Los Vampiros (Now edited w/ correct spelling of Suzie)

Mark me down for another successful weekend. Unfortunately, we didn't end up going to Mexico City for the Chivas game. Apparently I fell for the legendary "Mexican Lie." Mexican people, instead of telling the truth, prefer to tell you what they think you want to hear. This is, of course, stupid. The recipient of the lie ends up disappointed either way, but initial honesty at least allows said recipient to make other plans. Anyway something else came up so it was all gravy.

MI VIEJA y ATOTONILCO

As promised, I spent Saturday with Suzie. First she took me to Alma, a retirement home, where once a month they have a giant garage sale for all of their donated items. They had some cool art and decent clothes, but all I got were books... 17 of them I think. After that we went to Atotonilco, a famous church 10 or 15 minutes outside of town. On the way there she told me about life in Austin, Texas. It sounds pretty great. They call Austin "the blueberry in the tomato soup" because of its political preference. Anyway, every square inch of the walls and ceiling at Atotonilco is covered with paintings. They also have some impressive gold and silver art as well as some statues that they dress in different clothing every week or so... just like that sculpture in Fremont, only less fun. At certain times of the year people make pilgrimages to Atotonilco, commonly flogging themselves en route. Suzie cursed organized religion almost the entire time and we both had a good laugh over it. After indulging in a couple ice cream bars we checked out the vendors outside so Suzie could purchase her obligatory kitch. She wouldn't let me leave without a few pieces myself so she bought me two tiny little keychains depicting Jesus or saints or something looking like they came straight out of a South Park episodes. One of the keychains has a poorly translated sentence on the back (courtesy of the Chinese manufacturer) that says to not set the keychain down in the vicinity of thieves. I'll try.

After that we went to Suzie's house so I could borrow the ATV. Sadly there wasn't as much gas as we all thought left in the tank so I only road around for a couple hours. Aside from the fact that quatrimotos are a blast to ride, it was a really good experience. I was able to see parts of town I hadn't seen before and might not have otherwise seen at all. I got a jacket-full of dust, a face-full of bugs, and an Alex-full of enjoyment.

All the roomies were off in Guadalajara so after returning the quad I hung out at Suzie and Randy's for a few hours while they packed. Back at Atotonilco Suzie had inquired about the name of one of my keychain saints who looks more like an ancient samurai master, and while I was gone she looked him up and stumbled across some Catholic Online website that listed every saint ever. They also had some links to political videos... anti-Obama, pro-McCain, pro-life. She concluded that the only people who would ever stumble across those videos are "dumb fucks" like the two of us. As she and her husband got to packing I settled into a comfortable seat with the computer on my lap and was treated to beer and freshly baked cookies. She also sent me home with a full bottle of tequila and an unopened jar of extra crunchy peanut butter. I'm going to miss Suzie.

LOS VAMPIROS

On Friday night Michael, Ozvanny, Poppy and I stayed out until an ungodly hour of the morning.. the norm in Mexico despite the prevalence of god-fearing Christians. The night would not have been complete with out a Miguelito (Michael's Mexiname) dance exhibition. At a bar called Mama Mia's, while Michael was putting on a show, some tall Dutch-looking fellow decided to step up. He and Michael "battled" back and forth (flailed) for a good 20 minutes while onlookers cheered and laughed. One audience member, a gothy-looking overweight woman who I took for a Mexican at the time, jumped into the center of the circle during one song and gyrated ferociously. We didn't think much of it at the time... noted that she was probably 40 years old and drunk, commented on the impressive tattoo on her back, and gawked at the hypnotizing Jello-like jigglation of the fleshy parts protruding from her constrictive black tanktop. The dance contest continued, Michael was the unanimous favorite, and we moved on. Saturday night, after Suzie's, we all met at a sports bar, Manolo's, to watch the Ohio State-Penn State football game. Michael and Poppy arrived first and when I showed up they were shooting the shit with a group of Americans that included the owner of Manolo's, the crazy dancing woman, and the crazy dancing woman's friend. The crazy dancing woman has quite a life story... though none of it came as a shock. Her name is Hidalo... or something... and she grew up on a boat somewhere near Miami. We speculated that her name maybe comes from the rising and falling tide (High-to-low) but we didn't ask. Now she lives off in the country side in a small group of four or five self-sufficient houses. They collect (most of) their own electricity through solar panels, water from rain, and they compost all their sewage. She's the classic free-spirit, wild-living, boisterous neo-hippie type who is so formulaic in that sense that you can more or less predict everything she's going to say. Things like "I just want to live the way I want to live," and "those people just don't know how to live, man." At any rate, she invited us to her weekly lunch party the following day, Sunday. I was visibly uninterested until she mentioned garlic mashed potatoes... then it was on. She gave us some really sketchy directions to her secluded ranch community and we realized that in all likelihood, she and her friends were all vampires inviting us to an eating party. Like an orgy where group sex is subsituted for group human blood chugging. All signs pointed to them being vampires. Nothing on the menu (stew, mashed potatoes, bread, key lime pie) required a knife (stake), and she clearly only mentioned garlic mashed potatoes to throw us off.

We finally arrived, nervously, at around 4pm and were relieved to see them all sitting out in the sunlight without melting. Her friends were equally predictable... a couple were adorned in full-body tie-dye, and every single one was either already stoned or just absent minded. They were the type who, when asked what they do, tell you all the stuff they enjoy doing with a spacy smile on their face like life is just so great to them. They list off 10-15 earth/spirit-friendly hobbies that they probably aren't any good at, and leave you wanting to respond with something along the lines of "so what you're saying is you don't do jack shit." They would also constantly say something cryptic/idiotic and give each other those inside joke smiles that might usually make me feel left out, but in this case just made me feel thankful for my intelligence. One woman asked me if a ladybug had landed on me recently. I said that I didn't think so, and another woman (who said she has survived three strokes which is why she still doesn't know any Spanish after living here for four years) asked me if I know what a ladybug is. It was a humorous experience that I don't regret for a second. The food turned out to be amazing. Instead of stew (which we figured was actually some guy named Stu, the main course), we had salmon, garlic mashed potatoes that were muddy with cream, carmelized carrots, broccoli, garlic bread, and blackberry cheesecake and key lime pie for dessert. Hidalo's house and property were extremely cool and the company was pleasant enough. My favorite moment came when Ben, an Israeli-born American who sells solar energy systems in San Miguel, brought up the election and upon learning of Michael's Texan origins, called him a "lost fucking cause."

Hasta Luego