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  1. #791
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    That's why whenever someone (repair person, etc..) comes to the house, I avoid all small talk. All I really want is for them to fix the problem and go. Ask me whatever you would like about the problem I called about (what's not working, etc...) but nothing more. Maybe that sounds harsh but I truly have no interest in small talk while they are fixing whatever. For me it is uncomfortable when the conversation turns personal with someone who is there to fix/repair something.

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  3. #792
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    Quote Originally Posted by keepcoming View Post
    That's why whenever someone (repair person, etc..) comes to the house, I avoid all small talk. All I really want is for them to fix the problem and go. Ask me whatever you would like about the problem I called about (what's not working, etc...) but nothing more. Maybe that sounds harsh but I truly have no interest in small talk while they are fixing whatever. For me it is uncomfortable when the conversation turns personal with someone who is there to fix/repair something.
    I agree, but I find that in many cases Dominicans are lacking the filter that others have. Whatever they’re thinking....that’s what they say or ask. They love to gossip, even the men. Because Mr AE and I only speak English to one another, they assume I don’t speak or understand Spanish, so I escape a lot of that, lol.




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  4. #793
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    You know I’m encountering a lot of fascists lately. They assume that I share their political views and strike up these random conversations as though I automatically agree with their BS 100%. What? Since when do people do that? Adios, idiot. In Canada I’d pay more to avoid blatant idiot fascists. Because I personally don’t want to contribute to a fascist in any way, shape, or form so when they reveal themselves to me, the political becomes very personal.

    I was always taught that starting a political conversation with strangers was in bad taste. Apparently not anymore, yuck.

    However, in the DR, my question would be whether or not you can find a replacement repair person who will NOT create even more bloody headache. If you can find someone else that is recommended, ditch the idiot fascist. But if not, make the visit as short as possible and don’t call him again. Not ideal but, no more Chinese water torture? (I hope).
    Last edited by Auryn; 04-05-2019 at 06:52 AM.

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  6. #794
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    Yes AE, they all assume I speak no Spanish. Then they are surprised I understand everything they are saying. My spouse normally will say, " Ella entiende todo lo que dices".

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  8. #795
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    Quote Originally Posted by keepcoming View Post
    Yes AE, they all assume I speak no Spanish. Then they are surprised I understand everything they are saying. My spouse normally will say, " Ella entiende todo lo que dices".
    LIKE, LIKE: DISLIKE is a mistake!

  9. #796
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    Quote Originally Posted by AlterEgo View Post
    I agree, but I find that in many cases Dominicans are lacking the filter that others have. Whatever they’re thinking....that’s what they say or ask. They love to gossip, even the men. Because Mr AE and I only speak English to one another, they assume I don’t speak or understand Spanish, so I escape a lot of that, lol.
    This was from the Canadian.

  10. #797
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    After a long hiatus, a Few Words.
    https://meemselle.wordpress.com/


    Frigid Where?

    Posted on July 14, 2019 by meemselle


    After two wonderful weeks on the Cape of Good Cod, visiting a sister or three, as well as various and sundry nephews, great-nephews (we’ve a familial shortage of nieces), I returned to this Dusty Whore Town I Call Home, in full readiness for sultry temperatures and a great many still-unpacked boxes from my recent move. Climate and clutter, both being highly reliable, did not disappoint.

    Although I do purely love the convenience of landing in Puerto Plata, I am not quite as enamored of the 5.30 a.m. departure from Boston, as well as the mad rush—if one can truly be said to rush madly in a wheelchair—to make the connection in NYC. So I changed my ticket so that I could leave Boston at the slightly more civilized hour of 10 a.m. (which still entailed arising at an ungodly hour) so that I could snag the nonstop flight to Santiago, and then have a two hour drive over the mountain and back to Sosewage.

    The flight was uneventful, except for the fact that I gave up my window seat to an extremely tall man who had the middle seat, thinking he might have more room. I am not a large person, so the middle was just fine for me, but I had not counted on exactly how large this man actually was. Mercifully, the pre-flight ingestion of a legal Massachusetts edible enabled me to fall asleep for most of the flight, so unless I snored at the decibel level of the A train coming through 81st Street (which is highly likely), everybody was happy.

    Due to my immobility, I always request a wheelchair. The pushers are uniformly solicitous and occasionally amusing. But when we landed at STI, there weren’t enough of them. So once we passed through passport control, there was a phalanx of the wheelchair-bound, Meemselle among them, lined up like aircraft awaiting take-off from O’Hare, before we could get to the next step in the process: baggage pickup. As it serves me in no way to get upset or kvetchy, I pulled out my Kindle and started reading, intermittently sending texts to my taxi driver updating him on my progress, of which there was little.

    Finally got my bags, laden with precious cargo from Old Navy and the kosher aisle of Trader Joe’s in Hyannis (not in the same suitcase: Regina L. OBM didn’t raise no fool), and proceeded to final paperwork drop-off and passport scrutiny. This wait had added about 45 minutes to the voyage, and I mention this as it’s important to later developments. Every Few Words are there for a reason, Darlinos.

    The ever-intrepid Nelson is easy to spot, as he’s about 9 feet tall, so getting loaded into the car was pretty easy. He commented that the bags were heavy, and so I told him about Old Navy. The Santiago airport is really easy to leave, so we were on our way in no time. You can go around the mountain or over it, and Nelson is a classic Dominican driver, so we went over the mountain. I love that route, because the views are so absolutely breathtaking.

    No traffic, and back at the Mango Penthouse by 5.30. Great joy and that unique feeling of relief/joy/satisfaction at being home at last. I unlocked the doors, and upon entering my apartment:

    WHOA.

    It happened.

    Again.

    My refrigerator, with a freezer containing two chickens, gefilte fish, and Rich’s Whip, was dead. Dead dead.

    Holding my nose, my mouth, and my stomach in check, I pulled the decaying flesh from the freezer into the trash, tied it up, and put it outside the door. Closed the door, and washed my hands.

    With super-human strength, I pulled the offending appliance away from the wall and quickly found an extension cord to plug it into a different outlet, despite the fact that I had paid an electrician a fair number of pesos to replace all of the outlets on that side in the hope of avoiding such a catastrophe.

    It wasn’t the outlet. The refrigerator had blown. There were smoky marks on the back, so I guess the blessing is that it didn’t burn down the building.

    Please remember that I had a suitcase full of kosher meat, that had been traveling since 6 a.m. The 4 hours at 34,000 feet were a blessing, but the wait at the airport and the drive over the mountain were not in its favor. What to do?

    First, go down to the colmado and buy a bag of ice to put in the suitcase.

    Then, of course, what any excitable redhead would do, and that’s to rush out, find a concho driver, and lickety-split go to Pappaterra to buy a new nevera. Of course the store was closed, so I asked the concho driver (they are often amazing in times of crisis) if there was a store open in Los Charamicos where I could buy a new one.

    Off to Charamicos we sped, but the store only had big ones, and as dearly as I would have loved to have one, I know from bitter experience that it won’t make it up my very narrow and steep staircase. Mr. Concho has another idea, so we hightail it over to Los Castillos. I fly into to the store, wild-eyed, desperate, and sweaty, and ask if they have neveras.

    Sí.

    Do they take credit cards?

    Sí.

    Do they deliver?

    Sí.

    Within 15 minutes, I had purchased a new refrigerator that would be delivered in 30 minutes. I direct the concho driver to take me to the bank, because I knew his combined finder’s fee/transport was going to cost me, and I also knew that I was going to have to pay the delivery guys a lot of pesos to get them to lug the new appliance up the stairs and take the old gaggingly smelly one away.

    I rush into the apartment, yank all the magnets off, carefully peel off my cherished Pedro Martinez commemorative #45 decal, and start hurling the contents of the coffin that is my refrigerator into the trash and moving the trash outside.

    True to form, the delivery guys couldn’t find Orchidee—mostly because every Dominican pronounces it differently—so they called and I put on an orange shirt and limped down the stairs to direct them. They had overshot and were waiting at Terra Linda, so I waved them down. They had to circle the block, as even Dominican delivery guys wouldn’t back up on a busy one-way street on a Saturday evening.

    I opened the gate, and got them as close to my door as possible. I reminded them that I live on the tercer nivel (third floor), and once they saw it, they did what everybody who has to walk up/move something up those stairs does. You whisper, “¡Coño!” (This word has several connotations, several being pretty filthy, but as I understand it in general use, it’s an expletive about on the level of “Holy sh*t!”)

    Promising them tips beyond their wildest dreams, I limp up the stairs to open the doors. In surprisingly short shrift, the delivery guys and the precious nevera are at the door. I tape up the one reeking of putrefaction, give them each $1,000 pesos (about US$20), everybody is happy.

    This is the third refrigerator I have bought in three years. Note to self: NEVAH EVAH leave ANYTHING in the fridge when going away.

    Maybe three’s the charm?

    Sí.

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  12. #798
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    Dios mio doesn't it always happen to you Meems! Loved it!

    Mat


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  13. #799
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    what, no visit to Big Papi?

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