Let's address some issues.

There appears to be two unspoken competitions going on in paradise. 1. The Game (dog version) and 2. Best Worst Dressed.

ISSUE #1: If you are unfamiliar with the internet meme The Game, then you might want to brush up. Oh, here’s a convenient posting from myself. Knowyourmeme.com explains:

About

The Game is one of the simplest distortions of game logic ever invented, by which simply thinking about The Game causes one to lose.

Due to the futility and inevitable loss, The Game could be viewed as a statement of the human condition; that is to say, humankind’s struggle against fundamental laws of nature. THE GAME results in a double negative scenario where trying to not do something is the catalyst for said event.

Los perros callejeros “street dogs” of Costa Rica draw a parallel with The Game’s logic. Just as soon as your mind is liberated from the lamentable reality of homeless dogs, there one scampers into view, and you lose. You absolutely lose, as in “no touch-backs, no do-overs, no, erasies, and this WHOLE (COUNTRY) is HOME FREE,” Dumb and Dumberer, 2003.

They’re everywhere – every type – and they weave in and out of people like they’re on their way to work or something. They seriously have a destination in mind, and they know the city better than the locals.

Insert Sydney: LEMME PET YOU.

Dog: Doesn’t even acknowledge her existence.

Sydney: Looks on in astonishment as the dog passes her and rounds a corner.

Knowledgeable student: Sydney, don’t touch the dogs.

Sydney: Distraught, BUT THEY NEED LOVE.

Irony: Sydney actually needs the dog’s love.

In retrospect, I like to believe that the dogs don’t stop because they don’t understand English. A laughable idea at first, but it’s actually very true. (http://www.wired.com/science/discoveries/news/2004/06/63792) In any case, I’ve been speaking to the new dog at La Residencia de CEA (named Muñeca, “Doll”) in Spanish.

Sydney: Hola perrito, quieres besitos?! “Kisses for the puppy?”

Muñeca: Guau, guau! “Bark, bark!”

ISSUE #2: Did your mother teach you to dress that way? In this case, I’m going to venture a guess and say YES because absolutely everyone here is trying to out-skank each other, no matter the age difference.

Girls, remember those jeans in middle school that didn’t have pockets on the butt? Remember how for some reason we wore them, and then one day we were like, shit, these are actually really unappealing? All those jeans ended up in Costa Rica.

Last Sunday I wondered if my attire for church was a little inappropriate, but several little girls within eyesight put me to shame when I entered the doors, and what’s more, their mothers definitely dressed them.

If I were a disgusting guy I would give the entire country of Costa Rica an enthusiastic high five. I would also wear an obscene amount of cologne, spray it around until I couldn’t breathe, and then repeat. If the flies in the entire house haven’t dropped dead, I’d put even more on. Lastly, I would make and eat a cologne sandwich.

Nah, that’s an exaggeration. The locals are pretty great. I’m living with them, aren’t I?

 

"Wait. Sydney Hintz eated this?"

My very good friend Kelly Duhn made a poignant comment on a photo I uploaded to Facebook today. While my defensive side is slightly irritated, she is admittedly spot-on, and I realize something new about myself and that probably I should blog about it.

Ask Yankee-Sydney what her favorite food is, and she’ll probably say tacos. Ask Tica-Sydney what her favorite food is, and she’ll probably say “WHAT?” because you asked her in Spanish and she didn’t know what you said. Maybe she would just say “Yes,” and smile weakly, hoping to have just agreed with some sort of benign statement.

But it wasn’t, so you ask her again, and she blushes and struggles to find the Spanish word for pizza, which is “Pizza,” so she spits it out eventually and marvels incredulously at how dumb she can get under pressure.

Yankee-Sydney appreciates rich foods from other cultures (even if it is an American taco), while Tica-Sydney’s mouth waters at the thought of a hot and bland slice of Casey’s gas station pizza. The cheese would be a little crusty. Just around the edges because it had been under the rotating heat lamp. And the pepperonis. They would be there too.

Yeah.

But as Tica-Sydney looks down at the bean eggs, onion buns, papaya juice, or mustard fish, she knows only one thing.

She’s hungry.

So she eats it. Mustard isn’t that bad, but no amount of hunger will change her mind about papayas. 

Como se dice...

Breakfast conversation (in Spanish) with my host mom:

Rosa: Do you like coffee?

Me: Yes.

Rosa: Do you like corn flakes?

Me: Yes.

Rosa: Do you like toast?

Me: Yes.

Rosa: Do you like fruit?

Me: Yes, fruit for breakfast.

Rosa bustles around the white kitchen as I sit silently at the table. I stare off into the dining room with my brow knit because I still can’t face the fact that a wall is missing there. All logic is thrown out the window – strictly hypothetically because there is no wall for a window – but nonetheless, I see the dining table, the blue sofa, and then the white floor tiles meet the grass bluntly. I could literally stand in both the dining room and backyard at the same time. They’re putting a glass wall there sometime next week, she says. I briefly wonder if I’ve paid for part of it, but my attention is redirected to Rosa placing my breakfast on the table.

CORN FLAKES. TOAST. FRUIT. COFFEE. JUICE. MILK.

“Nice spread,” I want to say.

Me: Big breakfast!

Rosa: Yes! Do you like sugar with your coffee?

Me: Yes, please.

Half way through the meal I look up guiltily at Rosa.

Me: I can’t food.

She smiles knowingly.