Or at least that’s what I’ve been asking myself. These past two weeks have been adventures in too much and too little. Too much alcohol. Too little movement. That is, Guayaquil is the place of doldrums right now. Gone are the hot-air dragonflies. Clouds wrap white-grey around noise, and more noise.

But escape broods on the horizon. I’ve been preparing myself thoroughly, scouting out maps, pre-planning classes, writing syllabi, reading material for class, photocopying like a mofo—all with one big Huge skimming in so very quickly. Time flies when you’re having fun, or when you’re under the gun. One or the other.

The big Huge: Alison and Mum are coming down on Tuesday/Wednesday night. I get to make three trips to the airport… mother, sister, rented car. That’s right. I will be braving the streets here, and I’ve received a plethora of advice: roll up the windows, drive during the day, go very slowly and watch out for the maniacs, don’t stop if someone approaches, park in a guarded lot at night, avoid the potholes, don’t drive the mountains, take a bus, hire a chauffeur, have fun, keep your money divided up and on your body.

I’ve also been told to sleep under a mosquito net, good advice, I’m sure, as we will be traveling to the Ecuadorian Amazon… maybe rafting, definitely venturing into the jungle with a guide. I will tell you all that later.

In the meantime, I’ve been going out at night with regularity in order to release all the ache of sitting too much in front of a screen. And through this, I drove myself right up to the edge of sick, and spent all day yesterday wallowing around in a dizziness, sleeping, rolling, standing up and sitting back down quickly.

Last week was big-Tom’s birthday, and we went out with M, a woman who is leaving Ecuador soon to teach in the Arab Emirates. We went to “Fridays,” T’s chosen hangout, which most closely resembles Red Robins but with hats so embarrassing I wasn’t sure how the waitresses could stand to work there until T pointed out that they made more money at Fridays than at any other bar in Guayaquil. So, the venture was what Fridays always is for me… boring but with good company. I think I just don’t like going out to places where you can’t either shoot pool or dance. To hell with the chitchat; locale is 75% of my world right now since it’s hard to dig right on out of my head anyways.

The evening took on a better tinge when we went over to another bar, the place I most frequently go with T when he’s with his buddies S and G (shit-shooting). I’ve noticed that I’ve been hanging out in what is decidedly a man’s world; no really close female friends with me, although it was pleasant to have M around. In the mean time, T and I are becoming closer than I would ever have expected.

T is pretty good for me, I think. He’s so different from anyone I have ever met before and I would never have thought there was even the possibility of becoming friends with him, mostly because I’m a female-chauvinist and resent arrogance and manly behavior. And he’s a TV-watching, Gym-working out, Baseball-loving Midwesterner who is more of a guy’s guy than any other guy’s guy I’ve ever met. Definitely not metrosexual. But definitely not dumb by any stretch of the imagination, which is usually my mode of defense against most people who annoy me (haha). He studied history and law and I could see him alternating between annoying the hell out of my father, and getting along splendidly with him.

Big T still occasionally tries to persuade me to return to “the good side of the force,” as he describes it, which basically means he needs a girlfriend. But I temper this with a good dose of flirt coupled with a good dose of reality. I definitely encourage him to go out. In the meantime, he’s probably a little too sweet with me… buying my drinks like the good Latin American that he’s not, and dropping of presents occasionally (like a set of replacement maps for the ones I drunkenly left in the movie theater). He tries to hide all this by telling me he’s a dark bad man… similar in ferocious justice as Batman.

In fact, his favorite saying, which he does say in the most beguiling way imaginable is, “I’m batman.” I wouldn’t ever be able to replicate the cadence with which he whips out those three syllables, but let’s just say, they’re perfectly inflected.

So, yeah, he is a bit arrogant and would admit it with perfect candor. He takes pleasure in being a ball-buster as a teacher, and also in saying in a flat voice, “I am the center of the world. There is no other perception,” which inevitably leads to a deep metaphysical conversation that is bound to bore me as I already know how the saga goes, and also know that it’s a bunch of blahbeddy-blah for feeling isolated and lonely. We all know that’s the struggle, right? So, why discuss what should really be a challenge? But there I go, starting to talk circles I’m not particularly interested in. It really does me good to see how, from an outside perspective, the world doesn’t become more trustworthy when you don’t trust anything. What’s easier to see in others is harder to see in yourself. Anyhow.

So, we went out to this other bar in Urdesa, got tossed on the cheap beer here that knocks me out of my knickers (On a related note, I know I’ve been sounding a bit like a full-blown alcoholic in these entries, and I’ve been assessing the likelihood of this truth. While I don’t feel like a complete alchie, as I mostly write about what happens on the weekends, I am probably going to pare down after this particular weekend—in which I tossed back a couple, went to the new movie Batman, and then ended up leaving maps, getting further drunk and forgetting whether I paid for the bill, although I can remember bits and pieces in between. To tell the truth… that has never happened to me before. No matter how plastered I get, I always have been able to remember most of the evening. In strikingly clarity usually. If I can’t do that, then drinking is not for me. To tell the truth, I think I must’ve stumbled into some very bad rum). But back to that weekend. We were tipsy and happy and M and T were having what must’ve been a good conversation, while I resorted to my usual tipsy-action, which is drawing inked portraits and lines on napkins and coasters. Our next door neighbors in the bar started laughing at something T and M were saying and before too long we were joined by a couple of travelers from the Bronx and the Middle-east who then accompanied us to a dance joint where I danced badly to salsa and okay to reggaeton, which appears to be the version of Hip-Hop down here.

That night, I did stop at reason and was drinking water by one o’clock and shifting my bu-T by three. Twas a good evening. The next day, I got up early and drew a batman picture for T’s 31st and burned him a cd that I knew in all likelihood he wouldn’t like, but it’s the thought, right?

Two other things before retiring… one is being exposed as an infidel by the students in my Principles of Writing class. Who knew that not knowing the second commandment Spanish word for “neighbor” would allow a whole class to have a really good laugh at my expense. I just told myself that it was the sheepish look on my face. The other bit is to mention a couple of my favorite word-moments right now in Spanish:

Machu Pichu = Inca ruins of exquisite glory /// Macho Picha = picha is a word for penis and macho we know and love. (Ex: T’s going to visit Machu Pichu, not Macho Picha).

mareada = the word for dizzy, but also for tide (Ex: Marea baja, marea alta, estoy mareada hoy).

años = years /// anos = anus (Ex: Feliz Cumpleanos a ti!)

dolor = pain /// dolar = the American dollar