Trash talk is all hypothetical like, your momma's so fat she could eat the internet.

If by "your momma's" you really mean "Patrick's," and by "fat" you mean "hungry," and by "internet" you mean "pizza that Erin and I from scratch that is muy delicioso," then the title of this entry is about me waiting on dinner tonight. We made a pretty fabulous pizza crust using beer. It is far cry from Pizza Factory quality but not too shabby.

I wrote the following blog Saturday. After rigorous discussion, Erin and I felt as though we should wait a day or two before posting. We don't want to condition our readers to new material as often as we have been posting in case one or the both of us develop a 47 day writer's block. Anyway pretend it is last Saturday and read on...

I just returned from a downtown odyssey, which was a very bizarre experience indeed. My taxi ride downtown was pretty routine except that rather than taking ‘top road’ which is faster, the driver opted to take his passengers the scenic route through the Hip Strip. His reasoning for doing so was that it is tourist season and he wanted to see white girls. He was rewarded for his efforts and proceeded to wolf-whistle and hiss at every girl on the road.

I arrived at my destination in one piece. As I walked through the gauntlet of St. James Street—the main thoroughfare through downtown MoBay—I bumped fists with no fewer than 5 bums. I believe this is a new PR for bum fist bumping in one day, which is always cool despite an incredible urge to wash one’s hands.

Fast-forward to the grocery store. I think that Jamaican grocery stores may have finally one-upped American grocery stores in one feature, free samples. I have not been away long enough to forget that heading out to Sam’s Club/Costco on a late Saturday morning will leave you full until dinner. However, American samples can’t begin to compete with Jamaican samples, mainly because they always involve alcohol. Last week while visiting Ryan in May Pen, we were offered free beer samples and a free beer stein if we purchased a 6-er. Cha-ching! I’ll take two! Today at the store they were comparing hard liquor. I tested Bailey’s versus a local Irish Cream and good ole’ Jack Daniels versus a cheap whiskey. My day was made because 1) having a non-Red Stripe or rum based drink felt pretty damn good and 2) I also was able to find yeast so that Erin and I can make pizza dough later.

Traveling by public transport in Jamaica is a ‘trip’ (pun intended) that must be experienced by all visitors. I personally have a love-to-bitch-about-it relationship with Jamaican public transport. There is bound to be some strange and bizarre twist every time you venture out. Case in point… On my return trip a very dapper man approaches me and asks if I am going to Rosehall/Lilliput. I assumed he was the driver trying to drum up business, but soon realized that he was a loader. Loaders tend to be disheveled in appearance bordering on bum-ish, very pushy, and generally ask you and/or the driver for a tip. Okay so never judge a book by its cover… lesson learned. But, my astonishment was further extended when one of dirtiest dudes I have ever seen hops into the drivers seat. I am amazed because his taxi is fairly new (a rarity in itself) and pristine in condition. How could a man as dirty as this one keep his taxi as clean as it is? Never judge a book by its cover… lesson re-learned.

Maybe I did not notice the smell of the man/taxi because I, only a half hour before, enjoyed cocktails from the grocery store. Or maybe my beak missed out as a result of the extreme breeze that occurs when barreling down the road at mach 3. Whatever the reason, I definitely failed to detect the extreme odiferous-ness of the taxi/driver until we were stopped due to road construction AND forced to roll up the windows due to dust. Holy balls Batman! I nearly blew chunks from the over-powering pong. The driver, being soiled to the extreme, was obviously the only culprit right? Wrong. As he opened his center console, he had a pile of rotting garlic, just sitting there! WTF!? What possible reason for having rotting garlic in the center console could there be? I hope he just forgot about it because he lacks a sense of smell. Thankfully we resumed driving and I was able to roll down my window and hang my head out doggy style.

Today I was reminded that you should never judge a book by its cover. However, judging it by its stench is perfectly acceptable… as is choosing a new book if the one you have smells like crap or rotting garlic.

And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street… Patricio