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Blogging requires a paradoxical amount of time: When I didn’t do much of anything during the day, I often have plenty of time to write but little to write about. When there’s a whole bunch of story-worthy things going on, I don’t have time to sit and write about everything in detail. For example, if I was writing this entry after a slow day, I would take the time to describe to you the sights and sounds that happened during my pedicure today. However, in comparison to the rest of the things that happened, it’s a minor event and I’ll probably just end up telling you the color: pinkish orangish red. A fun, young, summer color.

Let’s take a step back to Friday. Friday morning it was POURING rain when I was supposed to be leaving the house to do my daily 40 minute commute. True to Dominican ways, I decided I deserved to not put myself through that so I went back to bed. I woke up at 8 only to sit up and notice that my floor was shinier than usual… aka my room was flooded. I escaped the room through a dry patch (one good part about having lumpy flooring) and let Jordan know. He began sweeping the water into the bathroom drain. As this was happening we looked around for the source of the water. The windows were closed and the curtains covering them were completely dry, so that left out the most obvious culprit. However, once we entered the bathroom we found the source… as it hit us in the head from above. The apartment above, apparently, had left two windows open and their entire apartment had flooded. This tropical storm (which is the next step up from a tropical cyclone, just to put this in perspective) was strong enough (40 mph) to push that much water into their place through just those two windows that in a few hours it was enough to seep through the cement and flood my room as well. Lovely.

Since I had missed the morning meetings and the internet in the office wasn’t working, I decided it would be more productive to work from home. Then after a few hours working from home I decided that I should go and do work somewhere else (in the US, it would be a coffee shop but they don’t really have that sort of scene here so I needed to go be creative). I took my computer and backpack down to the Zona Colonial to look for the best place to sit down and work for a while. After traversing the whole Conde up and back, I figured the best place was Pollos Rey, which is bascially a fast food chicken joint. (Seemingly strange choice, I know, but if you had seen the other options you’d understand.) I get into the line to order my rice, beans, and tostones (which I’d been craving for the past week) when a man hands me a napkin to wipe my sweat off. Thanks. We get to talking. He’s Alex. (He’s short and a bit chubby). Yes, I’m American (no point in denying it). No, I don’t think he looks American despite the fact that his friends tell him that he does. He makes me look into his eyes to see that they’re “claro” (light). I suppose they are lighter, I say. His mother is from Spain. Wow, so interesting (not). Do I have a phone number? Nope (as I make sure it’s not sticking out of my pocket). Do I chat online while I’m in the DR? Nope (definitely not chatting with two people as I’m writing this). What about when I’m at home? Hmm… occasionally (heck if I’m out of the country it doesn’t matter). Let’s hang out, he says.  Sorry, but I don’t know you (said politely of course, no need to make him feel bad). Well, I have lots of foreign friends. Everyone knows me around here. I even have this Canadian girl who calls me up and we hang out. There’s nothing to worry about. Respectfully, sir, I’d still prefer not to.

He offers me to cut in front of him in line. That’s really not necessary. No, really, go ahead. Finally he orders, gets his food to go, and leaves. Situation complete. Just kidding, he’s back because they forgot to give him his beans. They give it to him and he leaves again. Finally done. I get out my computer, sit at a small table by a window and I begin to work. Guess who I see out of my peripheral vision sitting down at an adjacent table? Him. Uhoh, this isn’t good. I have my headphones in, so instead of approaching me he sits at a table and begins to write. He writes for a good 15 minutes and by the time he’s done I’m expecting a full love letter (a bit arrogant, I know, but it happens all the time here). Instead, he hands me a scrap of paper with his screename and two phone numbers on it. He seriously needed that long to write like 2 words and 14 digits? Wow. He hands me the paper, says a bit more to try and convince me to call him, I say that I’ll think about it (hahaha) and he walks out. Freedom at last!

30 minutes later: Oh wait, who’s that guy in the pink shirt sitting down at that nearby table? Wait… it’s the same guy but now he’s no longer wearing brown. Surely he does not love the chicken from Pollo Rey that much to be back again. Maybe he thought the color change was more attractive to the ladies. Seriously starting to creep me out. He sits there, stares, walks out, talks to the guard in front of the Payless Shoe Store next to this building, and finally walks away. And yes, that was actually the last time I saw him. Sadly, I changed tables at one point and lost the scrap of paper along the way so I have nothing to remember this day by. I was going to use it as a bookmark.

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