One week down

My first week back to D.F. so far has been great, if not a little mundane at times. I'm hoping to get out of the city for a night this weekend or perhaps even out of the apartment for a while.

I've had two official days of school thus far. I have to clock in/out with time punch thing, which I haven't quite mastered yet, but which one coworker said doesn't matter (hopefully it's not some sort of preschool hazing trap she's set). The day is a bit easier now that there's more structure, but I've still been a bit lazy about developing plans and coming into class each day wearing my game face. For example, I'll be going to watch 'Solo un Sueño' (Revolutionary Road) at 9:30 p.m. instead of Googling more songs to sing. My favorite class is the group of six-year-olds...they're the best-trained puppies in the litter. And sometimes they ask to do things, so I say 'yes' because it sounds better than the idea I didn't have.

Unfortunately, I hear some of their voices when I go to sleep. Particularly the little curly-headed, cross-eyed girl whose face lights up when she sees me and screams "Maeeeeeeah!" She's also the same child who screams "chinga tu madre" (kinda like "mother f-er") at various intervals. I also enjoy the Korean girl whose mother feeds her corn dogs for breakfast and lunch each day. I think she'll fit in should she ever chose to visit the U.S. And the little boy who clearly will become a heartbreaker in 20 years and who I strangely favor because I know this. Does it sound like I like these kids? Lord, I hope not. The head English instructor now tells everyone I speak no Spanish at all, but I play along with her in a "stupid me!" sort of way in front of parents. But she still talks to me in Spanish, so I suppose now it's just for show.

Not much else is new, except the tender touches of Mexico City that make me giggle to myself now and again. Like the eyeglasses company that hires a man to dress up as a clown with long, neon blue pants that slide over his stilts as he waves to cars and bewildered gringas that pass by. Or last Thursday, after a late-night interview, when my source said it was just a close walk from his office to the Metro station and that I didn't need a taxi. Turns out it was a bit of a walk, and this neighborhood was kinda ghetto (even for D.F.). To my luck, I ran into a mother-son duo selling enormous bouquets of Mylar balloons alongside a busy street (I know the brand name from working at Kroger). They too were heading towards the Metro to hawk their wares, so we walked together and, at the end, I bought Drew a nice little heart-shaped Tweety balloon reading "te quiero mucho," or "love you lots." After covering the graffiti contest on a Saturday afternoon, the photographer and I went out for coffee with his friend and we later encountered an antiques shop in my borough. It's where things you didn't need 40 years ago go to die. Except, of course, when I was looking through old posters for my psych-ward white bedroom walls, what was the first poster I pulled out? Harry Potter. Movie #1. I didn't buy it because, well, these people were cooler than I am, but I'll probably go back for it later.

Well, enough of me talking about myself. Hope you're all doing well, I guess.