San Marcos, Guatemala – A local area man found himself in for quite a shock last week when he inadvertently stumbled upon his wife engaged in a shameless act of public yoga. Dean Johnston, 39, a strawberry aficionado who can very nearly touch his toes, groggily emerged from his slumber earlier than usual one morning and was alarmed to discover only emptiness on the side of the bed his wife normally retired to between 8:30 and 9:00 pm each evening.
“I didn’t know what to think – kidnappers, aliens, alternate reality? Or was this still part of that dream where I am an internationally renowned soccer player but when I get a chance to score the World Cup winning goal I can’t get my legs to move properly and Lionel Messi is there and he starts laughing at me and pointing at my erection?”
After desperately searching all the most likely places – the bathroom, closet, under the couch cushions, the particularly large spider web up in the corner – he ventured hastily outside despite the fact the clock had yet to strike 8 am. He was reportedly unprepared for the scene that greeted him upon emerging from the stairwell onto the roof, his wife laid out on a green rubber mat engaged in an act of body contortionism he described as “dangerous and unnatural, well, at least with pants on.”
A witness, speaking on condition of anonymity, described the following confrontation as “weird, but pretty mellow”, with the woman explaining that she does an hour of yoga every morning while he sleeps, and that it has been going on for more than a month. Still in shock, Johnston allegedly snorted a couple times, looked perturbed for a bit, then stormed off after issuing the ominous warning, “I’m not waiting to eat my cereal, just so you know.”
These days, a mere twelve minute walk outside San Marcos, our little rural version of Melrose Place has been just a whirlwind of activity with all sorts of new tenants arriving, leaving, lounging, swimming, switching apartments and bellowing out raucous affirmatives during lengthy sessions of old lesbian sex, you know, all the usual stuff (well, except for the stuff about zucchinis). Things do seem to be more or less settling into a pattern now, though, as most of the current group will be around until we leave at the end of November. It’s always nice to know your neighbours, right? Well, unless, of course, we’re talking about home where, due mainly to a debilitating fear of small talk, I have never shown any interest in my neighbours, their families, their hopes and dreams or their strange aversion to having large collections of road kill stacked against their fence. Nonetheless, we now know these ones.
Mind you, a perfect illustration of the dangers of neighbourly fraternization is the fact that I recently found myself guilted into spending my Saturday morning gasping and panting up the side of a volcano despite the fact that there was a perfectly good sports bar back in town willingly to serve beer any time of day even though breakfast isn’t available until 9. Three hours of trudging, plodding, gasping and sweating, with a brief and thrilling rope swing interlude, followed by two hours back down the steep mud trail, leg muscles burning and twitching like your grandpa’s kidneys after three brandies and a large burrito slathered in Mike’s Red Hot. Thankfully the views from the top were fantastic, plus it made us feel a little more athletic when we watched one third of the Village People (the cycling enthusiast and his friend wearing a Texas ball cap and what appeared to be snakeskin cowboy boots) reach the top soon after us and, apparently, drop dead on the spot. We had plans to send a search party once we got back to town but it turned out there was no need since they, like everyone else, passed us on the way down. On the bright side, according to our disturbingly masochistic English companion who was enjoying the summit for the 18th time, it seems that the clear views were a very unusual occurrence. This welcome bit of luck made us feel somewhat less foolish for succumbing to the absurd compulsion to climb really steep things, only to turn around and climb straight back down. As pointless as washing your underwear or bringing your own clown to a rodeo.
On a positive note, it seems like I’m making some real progress with my Spanish again finally, not so much in the areas of vocabulary, grammar, tense or gender, but more in my ability to convincingly engage in a long, detailed Spanish conversation while portraying complete comprehension and studious understanding despite, in reality, having absolutely no idea what is being discussed. That’s right, while my speech is pretty much the same, and I can read the shit out of milk cartons, the areas I’ve really improved in are nodding sagely, replying “Si, si, entiendo” at all the right moments and smiling broadly in a way that assures everyone that I know much about many things, but simply choose to keep them to myself. Sure, there are occasional downsides, like inadvertently agreeing to become a football mascot, or accidentally expressing a desire for far more night time hammering.
Welcome to Smokin’ Joe’s BBQ Meats, the next generation in slightly burnt tasting animal flesh. The best selection on the lake, we have the smoked meat for any occasion! You name something that used to breathe, walk or wag some version of a tail and we can smoke it for you!
This week – take your tongue on a wild ride to through the slaughterhouses and brothels of the Caribbean with our Jamaican Jerk Sausage!
Household Tips with Laynni Locke
Since she finds the special contraption we have that is designed, essentially, to lengthen a common lighter at once baffling and oddly frightening, she opts instead to light the stove and each individual burner with some bargain matches that somehow made it all the way here from Nepal. Thankfully, most are defective, but the others unfailingly smell like burnt ass hair. Sharp, rubbery and unpleasant, yet now sadly Pavlovian in the way in it makes my mouth water.
Frase de Espanol de la Semana (Spanish Phrase of the Week)
“Disculpe, me ordené una cerveza. Pero, lo parece me traer orina del gato por equivocación.”
“Excuse me, I ordered a beer. It seems you bring me cat urine by mistake.”
Weekly “Californication” Quote That Made Me Sit Up and Say “Oh no you di’int”
“You know how I prepared for that? I took a man in my mouth”
Looking ahead to next week…
How far do you think I can spit?