Just NB

Sounds pretty exotic, hey? As I posted earlier this week, I'm now living with the boy . For blog/anonimity purposes, the boy, will now be referred to as, Sergio. (No, that's not his real name!! But I think I like it. :D ) This weekend Sergio and I are having a couple of people over for some wine and a bite to eat... The problem with this is....my track record for cooking is NOT GOOD. The last time I was near a stove , I nearly lost an eye.... My original menu was as follows: Sergio & Nicole's First Dinner Party Appetizer Freshly purcahsed cheese and crackers Main Course Peanut Butter spread over freshly baked bread Dessert Locally grown bananas with locally made pastries made with Madagascar vanilla Okay. *Maybe* the PB sandwhiches are a bit... um, pathetic... but do I really want to risk injury for a meal? Using this menu....I wouldn't even need a sharp knife...there is just no risk involved...right?? Perfectly safe... BUT, perfect would be boring .... So, my lit...

This is a ridiculously long post and I blabber on for quite some time....but, it's been awhile. A number of events inside the compound have occured where by we have a new committee that meets and discusses the "Camp Rules". For some background information - and my apologies this is old news, but, I live in a camp or compound - whatever you want to call it. Some of us, refer to it, as Guantanamo. You'll understand why shortly. The compound is made up of approximately 40 "villas". I laugh when I hear our units referred to as "villas" because...they are...well...rooms inside a concrete duplex, shared with up to four people. We each have our own rooms, bathrooms, and office area, but share a common area. It's nothing to complain about, I'm pretty indifferent to our units - but a villa?? These are NOT villas. [Damnit - I just went to look up "villa" on line, and I stand corrected. According to Merriem Webster my residence, fits one of...

Last week, I wrote a post about the chickens that have a new home in the Expat compound. I think these chickies will be end up being in a series of posts...'cause they don't seem to be going anywhere and provide me (and a few others) with some serious entertainment. Every night, their Expat "dad" (giggle) goes out back and turns the patio table on it's side so that the chickens will have a place to roost. And then in the morning, he goes out back, turns the table back, hoses off the deck, and spreads some corn in the grass (he went into town and bought some). When I took this picture, the Expat/chicken dad (giggle, again...it's so fun to type that) was quite protective. It was nighttime, and not only would the flash wake them, but it might hurt their retinas...(yes, I'm serious).... Another neighbour has kindly offered to bring home some wood, etc so that the chicken dad can build them a proper area to roost. Seeing as these chickens won't be making...

What do you get when you cross one kind hearted expat, too much Beer and Zhama, and chickens available for sale on every street? Four chickens in the backyard. Thankfully - not my backyard. This American cowboy lives across the road from me. I did pop by for a visit and gave them my carrots. Which they seemed to really enjoy..... He says - he was "rescuing" them. ???