A weekend in (cloudy and rainy) Puerto Rico was a good little stepping stone to returning back to los Estados Unidos...

It is cold in this country! (I can't wait to go to "summer" in Norway and Iceland in a few weeks, where it's barely above freezing.) And everyone speaks English and follows rules, such as traffic laws. Do I miss the DR? For all its issues, at least it feels very alive there - American suburbia is kind of freaking me out.

It took a while to fall asleep last night... it was so quiet! And so dark! I almost had to find a fan to turn on full blast next to a radio on one of the Spanish language stations to lull me to sleep. Plus I didn't have to douse myself in insect repellant or lie in a very specific position to minimize contact with the sheet and avoid rolling into one of the depressions in the high quality mattress.

I did get to eat Chipotle right after getting off the plane, so points for the US. And tonight I am looking forward to salad that doesn't smell faintly of bleach and isn't totally wilted. And it is nice to have reliable electricity and running water (that I can even drink from the tap).

Must go finish that pesky little report... so it was supposed to be done last Friday. Eh, I'm on Dominican time now.

I am leaving La República Dominicana in less than 24 hours. Having resigned myself to finishing my project report when I get home, because I will apparently be spending the entire day chit chatting and saying goodbye to people, I have decided to reflect on how I have changed as a result of my time here. I've acquired some new habits, and reinforced some old ones. Pa' que sepas, here we go...

New habits -

- mixing equal parts sugar and coffee

- mixing equal parts coffee and water (to avoid heart palpitations from excessive caffeine)

- only ever reaching for the cold water tap

- showering twice a day

- preferring beer so cold it has ice flakes in it

- making lots of noise and turning on all the lights before entering the kitchen at night (to shoo away vermin)

- being unable to sleep without a lullaby of colmado music, honking, car alarms and random people shouting

- playing into the machismo

- getting my nails done on a regular basis

Back (or amplified) with a vengance -

- talking with my hands

- speaking in Spanglish

- listening to (and singing along badly with) Spanish pop

- not bothering to keep my temper in check

- collecting large earrings

- finding low necklines and tight pants completely appropriate for all occasions

And then when I get home, I will probably develop a keen sense of outrage at the price and quality of fruit. And the lack of Coca Cola Light. And the price of manicures/pedicures.

Something strange is going on here. Either I have started to adapt to the heat, or the temperature has plummeted to 80 degrees. But for the past two mornings, I have woken up chilly enough to turn off my fan and turn on the hot water heater to take a warmer-than-frigid shower.

I will take this change as proof that I am becoming more Dominican. Which means I am going to get my nails done today with some ridiculous design on them. A flower? Some sort of stripes or other pattern? So many options...

Really it is no wonder that I spent my last weekend in the Dominican Republic recovering from a fun little bout of giardia. You would think that public health and medical professionals would do things like wash their hands after using the bathroom. This is not so much the case and I can't help making a face every time I witness this practice (or lack thereof). I do not even want to think about what this means for people who handle the food I eat. At least the cooks do not give lectures on the importance of hygiene in your local clinic. Where is my Purell? Oh that's right, it (okay, Manitos Limpias, the local version) fell off my table two weeks ago and the high-quality plastic bottle broke and leaked it all over my floor, making the floor next to my bed by far the cleanest spot in the house.

At least I didn't get dengue or malaria. Oh wait, there's still five days left for that!

Maybe I have been acting sassier recently or maybe it's because I bought some new large hoop earrings or because I acquired a pair of very snug jeans, but lately my friends and coworkers have been informing me they can see I have sangre latina. (This may also be a reference to the demise of my Spanish skills as I start chopping off syllables and slurring my words together.) When the boricua roots are revealed everyone says "I knew it!" and tells me they can see it in my face or behavior or attitude. Then this weekend it transformed to "you know, you could be Dominican" but maybe if I dyed my hair darker because you know, there are some white Dominicans. But apparently not with brown hair like mine. I would also have to shun the sun and get as pale as possible, because as I was asked yesterday, why do the gringos like the sun so much? And then I was told that we all look alike, in reference to two my fairer skinned, blonde, blue eyed roommates and me. Well, everyone thought Katie and I were sisters when she was here. Maybe I'll dye my hair blonde too and then they really won't be able to tell us apart - or maybe with blonde hair and darker roots I can really pass as one of the white dominicanas.

I was too cranky this morning to deal with public transportation (aka small sketchy cars with 7-8 people crammed inside, but a bargain at 30 cents per ride) so I called a cab. Lucky me, I got one of the cabbies who thinks gringas require two things. One, air conditioning. Fine, just don't try and charge me extra for it when I didn't tell you to put it on in the first place. Two, "classical" music, which is really elevator smooth jazz muzak. Put some Spanish pop on already, perhaps from my favorite radio station, Radio Disney. At least he wasn't one of the evangelicals who tries to save you in the 10-15 minutes you are a captive audience.

Why can't they all be like mi amigo Luis who drove me home last week? Our conversation started slowly but eventually Luis got around to telling me about his pending visa application to go to Italy. Then he flexed his biceps and announced he's working out because when he gets to Italy on his tourist visa, he intends to find work and stay there - did I mention he intends to be a stripper. I cracked up at first - and then realized he was serious. Well at least he didn't mind that I kept laughing. Especially as he continued to tell me about his plans to find a wife - a wife who can be no younger than 72 years old. "I will marry for love!" he kept telling me, and I guess his version of amor is a bank account and a pension, and he was quite convinced he will meet his future missus in an Italian disco. Overall it was the best cab ride I have ever had - his car was nice and appeared to have all its parts in working order, he didn't charge me for AC, he let me underpay him by 10 pesos because I didn't have enough cash, and he provided the highlight of my day. I wonder where I put his card with his cell number on it, I might have to call him to get me this afternoon.

Yesterday, the Dominicans went on strike to protest all sorts of things, including the water and elecricity supply. However, it has not occurred to many of them to try paying for their utilities and see what happens to the continuity of services. There were some warnings of the strike getting violent, but in the end it just meant serious disruptions in public transporation (thank goodness for my carpool) and lighter traffic on the roads.

This weekend of course had its own transporation adventures for me and the verdadera rubia visiting me. Katie and I managed to have a good weekend down in the southwest of the country despite communication issues and problems with the bus system, but yelling at taxi drivers was kept to a minimum.

Now it's serious crunch time at work, and I have to somehow fabricate a project experience report out of interviews with staff and clients I couldn't understand a good quarter of the time, and they couldn't understand my questions sometimes either. Really, I thought I was going to be in a country where I would understand the language/be understood... I give up. Mi esfuerza está de huelga.

I have had it with this country's obsession with Pepsi. I don't care if Daddy Yankee tells them to drink it. Everyone knows that Coca Cola makes vastly superior beverages, from the original cola to all the delicious Fanta flavors and more. I wanted a Fanta Naranja this weekend and got some disgusting peach colored bubblegum flavored drink because the establishment served Pepsi products. (Yes, that establishment was KFC but don't judge.) And let's be honest, Coca Cola Light is one of man's greatest inventions, right up there with cheese, guacamole, Reese's, and mojitos. The next time I am informed that Pepsi Light is my only option, I may pitch one of my newly perfected temper tantrums.

The weekend began with my roommates' despedida, which was a good six or so hours of slowly taking over the downstairs bar. Most of the gringos played along well with the theme of the party, which was to come in your best Dominican mami or papi outfit. Eventually pictures will get posted somewhere. However, the night didn't quite finish like a normal serious party should have (with much sleep) because the glorious heat, humidity, and sun woke us up about 3 hours after we made it to bed. Oh well.

The rest of the weekend was spent wandering around the Zona Colonial playing turista. This is an activity that is good for the unpaid intern budget, as it is free to go into churches and the entrance fee for one of the major landmarks in the area is about 30 cents. Really the biggest expense is the constant water and juice one must buy to replace the gallons of sweat.

Saturday night was a throwback to study abroad. We got a "grande" (those are the large 40-ounce-esque beers shared between friends) and went to the drinking park, where everyone sits outside in this square - yes, in front of a church - with their beverages and friends. Excellent people watching. I'm sure it would have gotten better if we had been able to stay awake longer but we could not do another rager until the wee hours.

I'm trying to wean myself off the coffee here, but I think I will start that tomorrow.

Work took me up to Dajabón in the northwest of the country for the past two days. It's a few hours' drive through the interior of the country where, between the trees and buildings lining the highway, you can catch glimpses of almost neon green rice fields in stark contrast to the dark green mountains with rainclouds stuck to them. The land changes more towards the north to this interesting combination of marsh and desert - the land is still pretty wet but growing out of the soggy ground are cacti. Go figure. The ride meant many hours of listening to the radio, which provided the entertainment of a commercial for a cold medicine using Ace of Base's "Don't Turn Around" as its jingle and Beyoncé singing the Spanish-only version of "Beautiful Liar" without Shakira - I don't understand either, but don't ever listen if you can avoid it, your ears will bleed.

When we arrived to visit the clinic in the border town, I realized just how border town it was - there at the end of the block was literally a doorway to Haiti. Crossing the border was much debated, and my coworkers' concerns for my safety and my concern for what the current bribe rate is for the border guards led to merely observing the people going back and forth and staring at the country on the other side. I was just now informed that I could have paid "a few gourds" to be physically carried across the river that divides the two countries. Unfortunately I did not have extra cash or food on me, and I don't think the border patrol or the locals would have found a Cliff Bar to be a sufficient reward. Maybe next time, if I point out how much fiber, protein, and vitamins they have...

Unfortunately we were not there on a mercado day, when Dominicans flood the town to buy anything and everything from the Haitians who cross over for the market - clothing, rice, food, whatever they get in aid from various foreign governments. Apparently you can get some good stuff there for nice and cheap. We did purchse some fresh garlic and mangos from the campo, though. So for the whole ride back yesterday, the car stank with the bizarre combination of the two - they are some of my favorite things, but really, not at the same time.

Last weekend, three amigos came to experience the joys of the Dominican Republic. Basically this involves going to the lovely beach and watching me pitch a fit (or sweet talk, depending on which is appropriate for the situation) if I don't get my way with the taxi driver, bartender, hotel desk clerk, whoever. I mean really, I refuse to pay an extra 20 pesos for a cab ride - yes, it's less than a dollar, but it's the principle. Just because I am with some very white friends doesn't mean they should jack up the price or refuse us some kind of service - and really, they should have much vergüenza, trying to take advantage of or cheat a (temporary) cripple.

Today has been full of ups and downs. Let's be positive and focus on the ups, or at least the good things and making light of some ridiculousness. This morning, I paid a ridiculous amount of money to see an orthopedist. It was kind of awkward, I showed up and got to cut in line in front of an entire waiting room of people... I guess because I am a rich gringa. Anyway, I had selected this doctor from the Embassy's list of local physicians for one reason. He had a very American name and his only language was listed as English. Hallelujah! Hallelujah indeed. After about five minutes in the room with him and a few medical students (who also only spoke English, I wonder what the quality of care is like for their patients) I realize that he is some sort of medical missionary type. They asked me about what I was doing in the DR and I made extra special care to avoid specifics, lest I have to tell them I am working with something related to - gasp! a mortal sin! - sex. After promising to avoid heels and any form of physical activity, I was allowed to remove the full leg brace - I can take it easy until I start physical therapy and get a new kind of brace back home - or really whatever the UNC docs say. Freedom!!! Clearly they sensed I was launching into a fantastic mood because they immediately started to salivate over my leg brace, ask me how much it cost, etc. They wanted me to leave it with them and I was starting to get uncomfortable, so I was like "I think I will wear it for the rest of today and try tomorrow without it" and strapped it back on and hobbled out as fast as I could, dodging the posters with passages from the Bible and their disapproving "that's not what a good Christian would do" looks.

Later this afternoon, it was time for a different kind of religious man. Yes, the taxi driver taking me and one of my bosses to a hospital in northern Santo Domingo clearly thinks the man upstairs will compensate for his driving skills and hangs a rosary around his rearview window to increase the chances of this happening. Because he definitely accelerated straight into the pickup truck in front of us. Luckily we had only gone a few feet and weren't going very fast, but it was sufficient to knock all our stuff off the seat next to me, smash in his front headlight, and crinkle up the hood of his car. He got out with the other driver to inspect the damage - it was mostly to the taxi, just a few scrapes on the bumper of the pickup. And since nobody has car insurance, that was it. Turn the other cheek I suppose? The cabbie climbed back in and was like "okay where are we going again?" so we rolled up to the hospital in a freshly jacked up taxi.

My coworker just informed me that with my leg brace, I could be either the Terminator or RoboCop. What a compliment! It did such wonders for my self esteem.

Last night I went a show that was a part of the annual international jazz festival in Santo Domingo. The guest musician was French - he later played with some Dominicans - and the music was fantastic. I always find it incredible that musicians can memorize such complex pieces of music. And the talented Frenchman even had carefully practiced notes in Spanish to say to the crowd between songs. Many people in the audience were clearly jazz connoisseurs (connaisseurs? je ne sais pas) and were focused on the music, but I was distracted and entertained by watching the musicians themselves, their facial expressions, their hand movements. And not just because he is French, but when the pianist was really getting into it, he looked like an orgasmic frog. He was joined by two Dominican percussionists who, when really connecting with their music, looked like a monkey on an acid trip and a stoner mouse. I can make these comments without feeling bad because it is well established that I look like a koala.

In addition to playing more traditional pieces, they did mix it up a little. The frog put papers and a book on the piano strings to change the sound, which was really cool. On their first piece together, the mouse was on the conga drums and the monkey sat on what appeared to be a wooden box. (I later asked what this instrument was called, and it is indeed "the box.") The mouse's hands moved so quickly they seemed a blur sometimes and the monkey made the craziest noises come out of la caja. Then it was monkey's turn on the congas while the mouse took up this thing that kind of looks like a large metal beer stein and makes scratchy noises. (Wikipedia is currently failing me on naming the instrument.) Then they improvised - I don't know how all three were just making it up as they went along and it still sounded good. As they say here, fue chulísimo!

I hear a commercial on the radio the other week requesting that people pay their electric bill so we don't all suffer from los apagones, and so funds can be put to better use. Is the government actually paying the power bills of people who just ignore them? I doubt this is the case, because then why do they still keep turning off la luz on us? Then this morning I heard a commercial for a cold medicine that played "Walk Away" by Kelly Clarkson in the background. I am skeptical that they paid her the royalties. And, fellow public health geeks, there was a commercial for the 2007 Endesa (aka DHS) asking Dominicans to please talk to the Endesa people who will be knocking on their door to interview them. Because "programs can help us better if they know the reality."

I know I have been over this before, but is it really so much to ask for both the water and the electricity to work at the same time? Last night I reached the conclusion that if I have to choose between the two, I would rather have running water - and not just because that's what wasn't working at the time. At least on work days, cuando hay agua pero no hay luz, you can't really tell what part of my shirt is wet from my still-dripping hair (let's not get too crazy and think it gets blow-dried when there is luz, though) or from my own sweat, and voila, both freeze and evaporate in the AC within a few minutes of arriving at the office. And I don't smell and my hair is remotely clean. And you can't really cook when there is no water to wash the dishes with - we're all well aware of what creatures will come foraging for leftover crumbs... to say nothing of other hygiene issues.

However, I do feel a little like a movie star when I wash my face with purified water - just splashing a little bit of the precious drinking water on my face from the cup I'm drinking from. To think people use entire bottles of Evian every day...

In addition to speaking Spanglish, when I come home I will also have a habit of answering whenever someone says "Vanessa." Good thing it isn't a horribly common name. "Vanessa" is my new assumed identity since nobody here can say "Heather." My roommates and I consider it fitting since it was on my mother's list of baby names, it goes with sassy hoop earrings, and the Dominicans pick it up quite well. It does get confusing though to remember which name I am supposed to go by depending on the company we are in, but it's a fun game. Oh, and I also have started responding to "Helen" since that is the closest approximation to my actual name that many people can manage.

It has come to my attention that I sound like I am in a miserable torture chamber or something. This is not the case, but would anyone find it nearly as amusing if I wrote about how our building is a cute shade of pink or how while I wait to be picked up in the morning it's fun to watch adorable little children get escorted to school by doting parents? No, the reaction would be like when I am perky and bubbly and everyone asks me what the hell is wrong with me. So back to the usual, letting you know that the pink building was shaking while Aerosmith got cranked up a few times last night and how I'm dripping sweat (and I just showered!) while the babies in their school uniforms stare at my gimpy leg as they walk by. Bitter and sarcastic is clearly more entertaining.

That being said, I am super tired today. Nobody slept well on Sunday night because the electricity went off at some point in the middle of the night which means you're up before the traffic noises start because you're so hot. And last night it was another round of tossing and turning to try and find the position that minimizes your contact with anything (sheets, pillows, other body parts) and maximizes exposure to the open window for that breeze that comes once every few hours. The children who are usually distracted by their luxury of cable tv were out on their balconies screaming about who knows what to be heard over the Titanic theme song. It was so hot that even reading was out of the question - getting enough light to read would mean getting close enough to the candle to feel its heat. (Secret optimistic side: our freezer got defrosted! We've been meaning to do that for a while now.) When my mom told me last night on the phone that it was "finally getting hot" at home, I had to go ahead and change the subject right quick since I could practically hear the cool air blowing out of the vents in the background. And we had to talk about more important things before my phone finished melting and welding itself to my ear.

Pero ha llegado la luz! I will be going to bed in front of the fan at like 8:30 tonight. And let's cross our fingers that the yogurt I ate this morning didn't spoil overnight. But yogurt has the good bacteria, right?

Last night, I went to a black party. How do I even describe the night... let's see. I got home from work and announced I had an invitation to this event, which caused my roommate Christina to scream "go get changed!" and announce she was even going to blow dry her hair. Clearly we were destined for trouble - and good thing the leg brace is the proper color for the dress code.

After bargaining our way into a taxi (but then relenting and giving the driver the amount he originally wanted because he really turned up the schmooze factor and it was like $2 we were talking about here) and getting slightly lost at a plaza where apparently the young Dominicans with money hang out, we arrive at the Key West Bar and because we are two rubias, do not even have to to show our invitation to get beyond the velvet rope. At this point, we realize that despite our best efforts to arrive fashionably late, it is just us, a handful of Dominicanas, some bar and event staff, and 20 or so male models, all wearing matching sheer shirts. Glorious. A few are rocking David Bisbal hair which I really want to touch. Several are butter faces, but what can you do. Again, being rubia pays off - because we are the palest in the room, clearly this translates to "hottest" and earns us some conversation time with a couple of the models and some photo ops and phone number exchanges.

After watching the models pose and gyrate around for a while, we decide we can't take much more of the ridiculousness - plus we have the munchies. Venturing over to the "Don Jose Taco" or whatever it was called to get some nachos, we run in to my coworkers (who invited me to this locura in the first place). Clearly it is now time to go back to the party. There is a fuller crowd, we are ushered around as we glow under the blacklight, and the models have a little runway walk action, and we park it in the karaoke lounge. More photo ops ensue, and the models take the time to unbutton to flex their abs for the lovely gringas with luminous white skin, because you know we couldn't see through their shirts already. Tú sabes, just a typical night in my life.

My luck balanced out this morning, though, when I woke up with fifty billion mosquito bites (at least it was probably not a dengue-infested mosquito as they like to feast by day), my trip to the field was canceled, and the full-length mirror fell off my door and is now lying shattered on my floor because I didn't have time to deal with it before coming to work.

For maybe the first time in my life, I have developed a habit of waking up before my alarm. On particularly hot nights without a fan when the electricity is out, this might mean waking up in a pool of my own sweat at 4:30. But usually, this means sometime between 5:30 and 6:00, with just a little help from the sun and the traffic noises. I'm sure I will quickly rid myself of this silly habit with the support of a room with AC and a decent mattress.

Today, I'm even in a good mood after getting up that early (as opposed to being slightly grumpy until about 10) even before the cup of coffee. Maybe it's because the water pressure in the shower was normal. Like a shower at home! Well, a shower at home from the cold tap anyway. And I'm back at a desk in the office with a view of the ocean. So as soon as the storm clears out, I can stare at the lovely line where the filthy zone of brown trash suddenly becomes normal blue water again.

I can't afford to eat at 90% of the restaurants near the office - in what way is a $15 lunch acceptable in a developing country? And I'm an unpaid intern! Where are the leftover plates of croissants from the morning's exec meeting or soggy hours-old sandwiches rejected by potential donors that appear from time to feed the overworked and underpaid? Well, there is coffee. Strong Dominican coffee. The other day when, as usual, my peanut butter sandwich clearly wasn't going to help me last beyond 3 pm, I tried a cup of coffee to trick my stomach into thinking it was full - it also helps with the freezing temperatures in the office. I had already had my usual nice, full cup in the morning to help combat the effects of noise- and heat-induced insomnia, so I got the shakes and added another cause to the insomnia. So just now I tried a new trick... half a cup of coffee, then add hot water (just like a Starbucks Americano right?) and a ton of "Food Club" creamer, deliciously imported from Skokie, IL. Nothing like an afternoon snack of hot, milky, caffeinated water. Let's see if I make it to dinner without heart palpitations.

Remember when I declared I was giving up coffee after finally developing a dependency this past semester? Ha.

In the spirit of the multiple reports I have read and the Excel file I'm creating to capture the (old-fashioned, paper) survey I made up, I thought I would do an entry using some indicators. Life so far in the DR, in numbers:

Flashcards made for new words and acronyms (approx.): 85

Flashcards studied: 0

Degrees knee currently bent: 45

Hours (avg.) between power outages at home: 24

Hours (avg.) between power outages at work: 6

Hours (avg.) between water outages at home: 72

Mice caught in kitchen: 2

Beaches visited: 1

Times "La Isla Bonita" played last night at downstairs bar: 4

Colleagues owning CDs featuring pan pipe versions of 80s soft rock: 2

Price of large (think 40 oz) beer at downstairs bar, in pesos: 80

Jars peanut butter consumed: 1.5

Visitors expected from the US: 4

"Evaluation tools" pulled out of my rear: 2

Pesos invested in phone calls to US: 700

Mosquito bites on right calf: 5

Books read (due to lack of television): 8

You know, you have never really appreciated "Hello" by Lionel Richie until you have heard it on the pan pipe.

Saturday's excitement involved a trip to Plaza Lama, which can best be described as a Dominican Wal-mart Supercenter. (It wasn't really Wal-mart because you know I do not shop there.) I had originally gone to get some Dominican outfits, but upon walking into the clothing section, I realized there might be a slight problem with finding something that fit properly (read: covered more than a bra). One, I could see the tops of 90% of the other shoppers' heads. No, I was not wearing stilts - everyone was under 5 feet. Also everything was hoochie mama to the max. Not to say I don't have a few skimpy shirts in my wardrobe at home, but really the pale pale skin and straight hair get me enough attention, and they are impractical for work - people do wear some low cut stuff in the office, but they must be freezing in this AC. So after that all failed, it was time to do some grocery shopping.

Liam, you officially win the bet - on Saturday night I went with the roomies Laura and Christina and Christina's visiting dad to our downstairs bar. It was actually very depressing since I could only sit and watch everyone merengue between the tables, and I don't really look forward to repeating the experience until I can take this stupid brace off my leg. Oh well at least the disability means I never have to be the one to get up and get the next round of cerveza.

Yesterday was a day-long cleaning blitzkrieg in our apartment for the Peace Corps dinner party of sorts we had last night. I think I used an entire bottle of bleach trying to get the embedded soot out of the bathroom... my head still feels funny. Despite sweeping, swiffering, and mopping, the floors were dirty again after about 5 minutes - gotta love the filth that just comes in through the windows which of course are open 24/7. But Laura and I did catch another mouse within 24 hours of putting out a new trap. Apparently the magical lure is a little dab of peanut butter. (As little as possible, that stuff is like $6 a jar here and an integral part of the un-paid intern and PCVL diet.) It was probably the highlight of our weekend. And yes, it also got put in a plastic bag and put on the curb. We are considering getting the kinds of traps that just kill the mice but they probably cost more money.

While cleaning, we turned up Christina's iTunes to drown out the bar and its drunk patrons who were singing along to the 80s soft rock in the mid-afternoon. I guess they got started on the communion wine at morning mass. But there was no competing with the bar later last night, when they turned the music on so loud, the floors were shaking, but I'd rather have that than the thunderstorm noises. As soon as the bar turned off the jukebox, it was time for deafening claps of thunder to shake the building instead. Again, miraculous that we didn't lose power, and that anything is still standing after hurricanes.

Do we think my coworkers would judge me for keeping a jar of peanut butter at my desk for eating with a spoon? It was basically a requirement for sanity in another office I worked in... and oh wait I don't have a desk. So much for that idea.

This entry is for you, Mom...

I don't like being dirty, I don't like manual labor, I don't like sweating unless it's while exercising, I don't like dealing with animals other than pets. I like when the light or the fan turns on because I flip the switch, I like taking warm showers because it's cool enough in the room to even think about hot water, I like eating fresh produce without having to wash it in bleach, I like cable tv. It's been a little challenging for me these past few weeks in the no-tv-sometimes-electricity-usually-running-water heat. Judge all you want, especially you Peace Corps people, but I think I am handling it quite well, all things (spoiled suburbanite princess tendencies) considered.

So I was very proud of myself when on Wednesday night I walked into the hot, grimy kitchen and heard some high pitched squealing coming from a few inches away - and instead of screeching myself and exiting as fast as my bum leg would allow, I just looked down to see what the noise was. Staring back at me from the vermin trap (you know, one of those very sticky pieces of paper) was a mouse and what remained of a lizard - something had been gnawing at its head. Oh so calmly, I called over my roommate, Laura, and we put the entire thing in a plastic bag which Laura carried out to the trash pile on the curb (she insisted because I'm all gimpy). We decided against beating the mouse to death with the Swiffer like Laura did with the last mouse she caught, because it's clearly more humane to let it suffocate or die when discovered by the cats, dogs, or crazies living in the street - well, it's less messy for us anyway. After all this excitement, I shooed away the little roaches and went back to making my dinner.

Laura says "they say if you have one, you have thirty" so oh hooray, I can't wait to repeat this mouse trap experience. I had no idea we had lizards too - I only ever see the roaches and the ants and only saw the mouse once before it was caught. So who knows what else is living in our walls. Just so long as the various creatures don't try and sit their own hot sweaty grimy selves in front of the fan (when the power's on anyway) with me, I'll survive. And maybe my family can stop mocking me for my past behavior when I found myself in the same room as a mouse/rat/spider/roach/bat/whatever.

After this summer, I don't think I'll be going camping for a while.

Yesterday was Corpus Christi here in the DR. What is this holiday you ask? Well, according to some quick internet research just now, I have learned it is a day to commemorate the institution of communion (or something like that). The Dominicans appeared to celebrate this ritual of the body and blood of Christ by drinking their faces off starting around 2 in the afternoon, or at least the ones at the bar downstairs did. This naturally led to hearing Kylie Minogue and Abba at least once every hour, complete with singing along and someone keeping the beat on what sounded like an empty beer can.

Although a day late, someone did have Jesus on the brain. This morning a homeless man (no, not the armed one, a different hobo) came up to me as I was waiting for my ride to work and demanded to know what was wrong with my leg. I really tried to concentrate on forming an answer but I was completely fixated on the jagged gray remnants of teeth in his swollen gums - in my defense, I had to look at his mouth to try and read his lips a little to help me understand what the hell he was saying. Eventually I gathered he was telling me that things like this happen to people por sus pecados. I was about to ask him what he was atoning for since he was the one living in the street, but then my ride arrived. And I can't be too mad at him for suggesting I deserved my injury for my sins, because he thought I was Spanish.