Yesterday was indeed a nice day, unfortunately it was a little too nipplely for my tastes. So instead of cruising the highways, we just drove across the street to the mexican restaurant, Fiesta Maya.

It was empty, and we made our way to the side and off to the back to sit at the bar...our favorite spot. It was nice just to hang out with my husband in the afternoon, no dogs, no father or sister in law, no kid. I was starving, so we ate a late lunch. Well, mark had more of an appetizer, but to each his own. I opted for coke instead of my usual Dos Equis (which by the way, was developed by a German, but brewed in Mexico).

We were finishing up our lunch, when the dishwasher came out of the kitchen. He placed his glasses where they belonged and then came around the bar to sit at the end in front of the tv. He quickly changed the channel off the replay of Venus losing her match from the day before to a spanish soap opera. We'd been in there around the same time last week, and he was planted at the same spot, watching the same show.

Our waitress came out from the back, asked if everything was ok, then upon seeing the program began rattling off excited questions in spanish to the dishwasher. Now I can speak some spanish, but to understand it, the speaker needs to be like the slow kid who rides the short bus. Co---mo---Es---sta. Slowly please. I couldn't even manage to catch a single word.

It wasn't long before the manager, the cook and a few waiters were also gathered at the end of the bar, staring up at the tv. The show was Clase de 408 and on the screen a couple stood at the alter, ready to take the plunge into marriage. All the restaurant staff were chattering, eyes glued to the set.

The manager explained to us that this was the show's finale. Never had I seen so much excitement since the last episode of Dallas or MASH, and much like I expect Friends will be. I asked the manager how many years the show had been on, thinking of our own long running soap operas such as the Guiding Light and All My Children.

"Oh no, not years." he said. Then he asked the waitress something in spanish. "Fourteen months it's been on."

Huh? Mark and I just laughed. We couldn't help it. Here men don't watch soap operas. There, it seems quite the norm. So to see a bunch of men gathered around the tv, entranced by a soap opera, and chittering away like women, was quite a humorous sight.

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Yasha has come full into his wolfness. Since his episodes, we've had to keep him in his crate at night because he had lost the ability to hold his bowels and bladder. In the mornings, I get out of bed, and leave the room, leaving him in his crate. The past two mornings he's taken to howling. Now used to his howls were sickly sounding things. More like wavering cries. Some sort of freakish cross between a whine and a howl. But the last two mornings, he has howled with the best of them.

Sergei used to howl, but it was only out of loneliness. We'd leave to take a walk to Midtown Sundries across the street and as we'd turn the corner, nearly a block away, we could hear his howl as he stood at the window. But once we got Yasha, he's never alone, and so never howls anymore.

Yasha's howling on the other hand, is because he's a momma's dog. He just wants me to set him free. I can only hope the neighbors don't complain, as my new manager is quite the bitch (of course I'd have to mention the fact to her that her loser boyfriend never picks up their dog's poop, nor does he walk him on a leash and should my husky tear that poor little golden retriever to shreds, they'll have no one to blame but themselves.)

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I took my monthly trip down to pay my electric bill. It's not in the best part of town, run down stores and quickies with bars on the windows. Warehouses, trucking companies and UPS. But I don't mind and lord, I'm not scared to go down there. Lots of people around here are. I've seen grown men who refuse to take that street. Now, mind you, I don't go down there alone at night. And if by some chance I have to(I have once)I take my scary looking Sergei. He's a baby, but they don't know that. Hell, when the UPS people or flower people knock on my door and hear his menacing bark(mixed with low growls), they drop my package and are in their vehicles by the time I open the door. Pussies!

My sister in law hates to go down there. She's scared to death. I just don't get it. One reason I think is because she's pretty. It's funny to me how pretty girls have no problems exploiting their looks when it's to their advantage, but don't know how to handle themselves when they don't want the attention.

Of course the other reason is because blacks get a bad rap. They're not all hoodlums and thieves. They're just like me, who struggle to pay their bills, because for one reason or another, life hasn't been very kind to them. If you walk into an unfamiliar enviroment like that, looking all scared, paranoid and out of place, chances are someone will fuck with you just because. But in the three plus years I've been going down there, nothing has ever happened to me. If you treat people with kindness, dignity, and most of all, respect, they will do the same for you.