Party, have fun, fly to the UK for a long catch up with friends, family and shopping (well..need to buy comfy clothes and books for the operation) and defy the drinking ban. Well, doctor number one (who I didn't trust) said a little bit of wine won't hurt and somehow trust can be selective. Afterall, he got the diagnosis right. I just didn't take to his approach. And, of course I quantified 'a bit of wine' quite loosely.
I returned to DF after a great holiday despite a lost suitcase and dealing with the shoddy missing baggage department from BA. I could almost say 'as if I hadn't been through enough'. My friend, Roberto (who was at COP 16) met me at the airport and helped me out with my luggage. Not sure if I milked the post op excuse or did I take a feminist stance about men carrying bags for women. No, I was way too tired and jetlagged to care about gender roles.
I hate whining but he came with more news and not particularly pleasant. He has the spare keys to my flat and during the holidays unearthed bed bugs...ugh! Hysterectomy and bed bugs...a double whammy. Usually, I'd have a complete spaz attack luckily bad news number one made a nest of vile creatures fade into insignificance.
Threw myself back into work. Nothing like a bit of hard work to help me forget but also I'm a control freak and rather crap at delegating. I wanted a few tasks to be near completion or not at some sketchy stage before handing over.
Anyway..let's concentrate on the weekend stuff as I doubt anyone would find my work life that enlightening.
Weekend one
The date of the operation was pending but I decided it was my last one for a while. Or was it that I just like to go out, drink, make an arse of myself and any excuse will do. And what a fun packed schedule I planned which almost got hampered by some rather severe spotting...damn tumour and thankfully disappeared when timetabling the teaching staff. I returned to my freshly fumigated flat, suffered a headache and decided with my Couchsurfer to meet another friend at an event where two Singaporean women shared their experiences of cycling around the world. The night was still young and being one of contrasts, I'd made plans of the rainbow variety to hang out in some seedy gay establishments in El Centro including my favourite place in DF - El Marrakech. A bizarre melange of lime green walls, a baby in a glass case, strippers and Lars Von Trier films projected on a screen. Could it get better? Depends what you're into but the gay salsa bar with a more mature clientèle and real life cowboys came a close second. I drank polomas which was kind of against doctor's orders but a month had long past and also I've found my capacity or desire to consume wasn't as it was. Getting older or having a tumour? The juries out on that one.
The fun hadn't finished yet. Was it pushing boundaries or was I trying to prove I wasn't a prude or even challenging the idea that I'm not so into group activities? I'll never know. Sunday afternoon was spent riding the metro sin pantalones. Usually, I hate all this free hugs nonsense but this appealed to my slightly dirty side No Pants on the Metro 2011. Felt strangely nervous as walking towards the metro and thank god I met another Brit so I could share this apprehension and how this was simply not our culture. And certainly we don't do this sober. We did and I admit it was a rather liberating experience.
Weekend two
I should've known better when GBFF sends me a text message, 'One queer beer?' One with that one never means one. It can only mean carnage and drunken tomfoolery. By this point, I had set the date for the operation. The 19th of January and I knew that I wouldn't be going out for 'one gay beer' on a Friday or a Sunday for a while. There's something about Papi Fun Bar which is conducive to wreckage. Is it the Lady Gaga/Madonna/Kylie on loop? Well, it makes it bearable for me. The bar is a plethora of underage drinkers. I feel old. GBFF loves it. I had to get home. Another CSer and my friend were making me dinner to say thank you. I was late. I messaged in a neurotic British way apologising for my lateness to a Mexican. Don't worry, he's used to it. In fact, he quite liked it that I turned up late and totally hammered while they were cooking dinner. Now who says Mexico is a machismo society. I beg to differ.
After I realised that being met at the airport makes me all warm inside, I decided to give someone else that feeling when a good friend returned from New Zealand. The warm up/pre party began at mine..booze and one of my favourite activities - making vegan food for omnivores. More drinks and an earlyish night (for Saturday) but lets say I didn't sleep a lot. That's another thing that will be off the cards for a while. And my weekend ticks another box.
During that week, lots of appointments with friends coming with me. I claim it's to help with the language. The reality is that I'm secretly scared of doctors. Finding out I've got an overactive thyroid gland..well was wondering why I weigh 44 kgs. People asking me in a concerned way about the operation and a date. Not a romantic one but a hysterectomy one. 19th of January at 1pm.
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