A Little Something Sweeney: Family. Friends. Fiction. Food.

Well, here I am, another week wiser. What have I learned? Well, quizás most importantly, how to find my way around my area. As most people who have spent a quality amount of time with me know, I can´t find my way out of a plastic bag. So, the first day I get my new companion, Hma. Rodriguez, I find out that it´s here birthday, with no advance warning. That... sucked. I wanted to make it special, but really, the only thing I could think of was Krispy Kreme . So I got her a tasty donut, and we spent the rest of the day getting failed by all the citas we´d put for the day (failed= how we say people weren´t home, they failed us. Cita is Spanish for appointment. Now you also are a little wiser). "Happy Birthday to yoooooooou......" But don´t worry, the next day, I managed to get us COMPLETELY and rather hopelessly lost while trying to meet up with the Elders in our district so that they could give us some much-needed pass-along cards and booklets about the Restoration of the churc...

Short. Sweet. Neither of these concepts applies much to me, but as for my blog today, well, such is the case. It´s the night before transfers and all through the mission, everyone freaks out, as is tradition. I actually am rather pleased with my circumstances; my new companion will be Hermana Rodriguez, who was trained by my trainer, Hermana Brown. In the mission, that makes us sisters. She will be my first Dominican companion. Hermana Lund, my step-mom (second companion), also trained during her last transfer, and her child, Hermana Lopez, is coming here to live in the same house as me and to whitewash Bella Vista. We´ve already lived together, so this should be good. And my Step-son/step-brother who was with me in Azua with Hermana is going to be in my district. Family Reunion y fiesta! I´m pretty excited, but as for being the only one staying in my apartment and area from this last transfer, I have my doubts about getting myself and my comp. around this jungle of a city. Stay tuned ...

I have lived under their reign for too long, and I am starting to lose my patience. They have little time and even less mercy. They are never there when you need them, and yet they demand payment in full. I am talking, of course, about the Dark Lord, o sea, The Land Lord. I am waiting to meet such a one that is really good at there job, aside from my grandparents. From what I understand, a Land Lord owns a house, rents it out to other inhabitants, and these people upkeep it and care for it. However, if something should break down or bust within said house, it is ultimately the responsibility of the Land Lord to fix it. It´s almost like it´s there job or something. But almost (not every) Land Lord I´ve ever had has become almost offended when I´ve suggested they fix what is out of order. Or the other popular approach is to just ignore my supplications and hope the problem will fix itself, o sea, that I will fix it for them. Does that mean that the house will become my property if I do s...

Is it really barbecue and fireworks time already? Didn´t I just get to this country a year ago? (almost). Why yes, yes I did. It´s sorta an out-of-body, o sea, an out-of-country experience not to be in my native land during this great time of partying, er, I mean, patriotism. But this is the last 4th of July I will spend in the D.R. so I might as well live it up. And to do so, I bought the ingredients for smores. True, they will be D.R. smores, but hey, what do you want from me? Complaint of the week: Might as well get it out of the way upfront. Don´t you love how no one has time to write? I do. I love it. I understand too. I mean, I have one hour a week to pump out various emails and a BLOG from the comfort of an Internet café. That is the epitome of no time. Exhibit B. would be that America is now full of phones that come fully equipped with email. Uhhhhhh... you can check facebook and write emails from the bathroom. I am still recovering from my mind being blown. So when...

Welcome, fellow knuckle crackers! Before we begin, I feel it is of the utmost importance for everyone to know that I will loan you my pen when you ask- but I won´t like it. Selfish? Probably. Rooted in reality with righteous reasoning? Claro! Over this last week, I have been asked for my lapicero numerous times, and each time, I hand it over, I mentally kiss it good-bye. I guess I don´t understand the mentality behind it, which must be at the root of my problem. What do these people think when they´re done using the pen? "Woah, a magical new pen! My prayers have been answered!" The reason you needed the pen in the first place is because you keep misplacing yours and then, you misplace mine, which makes us both pen-less losers. I need that magical ink stick to make my appointment and take my notes, man! Be oh so careful with a borrowed pen. It may cost a mere dollar or two, but it´s value lies far deeper. But I guess I should just be glad that I can be the answer to someone´s ...

And how. I´ve always been opposed to people who whine a lot about hurting, especially when I suspect that it´s not that serious. Like if someone accidentally bumps someone, and that person acts like they were just punctured with a mighty spear. Not necessary, unless it´s a Britney Spear, and then I´d be annoyed too. But the point is, instead of becoming more compassionate, I may be becoming less so, and it´s all thanks to a little sickness called the gripe (gre-pe). If I haven´t complained about this before, I shall allow myself to do so now, and if so, well, the cathartic effect remains the same. Anyway, the gripe is dangerous, deadly illness, and takes many forms. Supposedly, it´s the equivalent of the common cold, and the key word here is common. Someone, without fail, will have the gripe any given day of the week, especially when it comes time to commit to something. There´s the "I couldn´t read the pamphlet you gave me" gripe. There´s the "it´s Sunday" gripe. T...

Woah. I´m back. I go from La Yuca, to Azua, and now to Quisqueya, which is not the pit of misery I thought it would be (I may have exaggerated a weeee bit in my last blog). It´s actually really nice here, for so many reasons, and weird a la vez. It felt like coming home, which is weird, considering I don´t live in the D.R. But Quisqueya is a lot like Yuca in the fact that both have great big wards with responsible members who fulfill their callings. Most of them have cars. It´s alarming how many people come to church and do the reading in the pamphlets we give them. They don´t even use clever excuses like, "I was busy," or "the light went out and heaven forbid I go outside and use the natural stuff." So I´m essentially having to readjust to all the stuff I took for granted when I was working in the capital the first time. For example, I made an absolute boob out of myself when we went food shopping this week. There´s this place here called Bravo, and they have an en...