Yo tengo hombre.

With luck, my year of the hermit, my 365 days of solitude, my life alone in a dark rat infested hole will come to an end very soon. I'm moving out of this roach motel and into a newly built, centrally cooled and heated complex with my former labmate Kelsey. Not only am I looking forward to leaving the unwanted many-legged and sometimes furry roommates behind, I'm looking forward to having a porch free of drunk Mexicans.

My neighbors are quite odd. Kelly is a tiny white woman in her 40's and has the voice of a squeaky dog toy. Jamie, her husband, must be at least ten years her junior and on the few occassions I've tried to have a conversation with him, I've gotten lost in a miasma of bad English and thick Hispanic accent. When he's not doing yard work, Jamie spends his time sitting on the stoop with his Hispanic friends, drinking Bud Light and singing songs in Spanish.

Upon these occassions, I feel uncomfotable. It's mostly my ignorance that brings this on. They attempt to speak with me but after three repetitions I still cannot successfully discern what is being spoken to the ignorant gringa and walk away wondering if I was being harassed or if they were just being friendly. I retreat to my cave and hope they are gone by the time I need to pull my clothes from the drier.

Today's conversation went like this:

"We okay?" one of them asks.
"What?"
"We okay?"
"Sorry?"
"We okay? Not too loud?"
"No, you're fine."
One of them sneezes several times.
"Bless you," I said.
"Que?"
"Bless you."
"Que?"
"I've gotta go."

I came back from running an errand and they were still hanging around.
"How you?"
"Pardon?"
"How you?"
"What?"
"How you?"
"No no no. Just go," another one laughs and gestures me to continue walking toward my apartment.

Yo no mas tengo paciencia por bebido hombres en mi porche. Yo tengo hambre ahora.