I could not find just where that story all begins

I can't sleep.

I downloaded the Sinful Savage Tigers' album from their website, and I love it. It is called Rain is the Soup of the Dogs in Heaven, and I recommend it.

It's been a hectic weekend, but with a semblance of habit. We worked all week, and then on Friday, we went to the weird patio outside our nearest church, la Soledad, to eat ice cream. For some reason, the patio vendors sell only ice cream in flavors like "burnt milk" (tastes like it sounds) and "corn". Maybe my favorite thing, other than the wide availability of coconut slushy, is that all the individual ice cream vendors have their own furniture that can really only be described as "American Girl Samantha doll Birthday Ice Cream Social". It is fabulous. Also, there happened to be a middle school band contest at la Soledad at this time. This is what living in Mexico is like: you turn around and something is being inaugurated, something is a contest, something is immigration trucks and police officers with bandanas to cover their faces not explaining why they are hanging about in droves.

After ice cream and some sad good-byes with our coworker, Ann (who is headed back to the states to have a baby!), we had our friend Lalo come over and we all went out. Then Lalo and a friend of his and a coworker and I went to some silly bar I can't remember and it had a live reggae band with a trombone and saxophone and an open-air patio/dance floors. A note: generally, I like to say noncommittal things like "oh, I like all music", but I've finally pinpointed the music I am opposed to, and that music is reggae. However, we were joking around and drinking caipirinhas, so it was fine. Then, the band started playing some crazy ska type stuff and I went out on the floor and thrashed around with the kids. I'm pretty sure Ben Jeuck told me that thrashing to ska is called skanking, and thus, I skanked. It was excellent.

Today, we got up super-early and went to the two Pochote markets (used to be one organic market, split in two on different sides of town). I stalked the Italian/Korean bakers, who I usually stalk Sundays at the train station eco-tianguis, so God knows what I'm going to do tomorrow (probably Xiguela and some Llano-wandering or hot chocolate and a new book now that I finished Kavalier & Clay (disappointing ending for the romantics out there)).

And then.

If you are reading this, you probably know that I have a bad habit of waking up one day determined that my hair must get cut that very day, and I spend the day looking for someone willing to do it and get so desperate that it clouds my judgement and the next thing you know, I have weird bangs and eyebrow paint and four different kinds of smelly hair product and a 1950s housewife flip. Not a good look. My mother asks always why I sabotage myself like this, and I don't have an answer to that silly question, but it happened today. The man who cut my hair was really very nice, but nice doesn't get you a good haircut.

After that, I read books and ate french fries for several hours. Then, I came home and made cookies (chocolate peanut-butter pillows, vegan, they are ugly--something went wrong) and my coworkers and I watched youtube videos on the couch. Then, Tony and I went to some place that had mulled wine and we spoke in Spanish about Spanish-y things.

I am fooling myself about the sense of routine I am feeling (markets, cookies, etc.), but it's the best kind of fooling right now, and it is warm and happy.