Americano's Got the Sleepy Eyes

"But his body's still shaking like a live wire
Senorita with her eyes on fire don't you know."

[Originally written 2008-11-22.]

Slept until noon, then woke up to scratch my freshest bug bites. We went to the market to buy milk, sugar, and triple sec. They didn't have triple sec. Amazing.

Stef made coffee, so I'm enjoying a cup and watching the pool antics from my veranda — children frolicking, some niña in a bikini popping and locking like a pro, lots of basking. There appears to be an informal game of something resembling hackey sack going on, but with people standing in a circle in water that's tit-deep bouncing a volleyball around with their hands.

Stef says today is "a little overcast". If this is what a little overcast looks like, I know a certain Pacific Northwest city that's going to be awful mad when they find out.

Sunned self by the pool for a chapter and a half, the only way I can tell time anymore. Went for a swim afterwards, and soon I'm going to see what the local gym looks like.

There was one elliptical, and the mamasita who was using it was going nuts, so I opted to use my old nemesis, the treadmill: burned 300 calories in 45 minutes, then lifted shoulders and biceps and triceps before stretching. Getting ready for a shower afterward, I notice that my chest has gotten — and I'm not trying to be obscene, just descriptive — a color I can only refer to as "clit pink". The tanning looks like it's working — it doesn't hurt yet. I'm catching prat of the Wayans' film Blanca Chickas before we head out for Italian.

I had the ravioli di carne con Alfredo, a delightful blur of a couple different Romantic languages. It was all right — I wasn't expecting much for Italian cuisine at this particular latitude.