24 Hours of Heaving for Entirely Different Reasons

Hovered over a public toilet dry heaving only moments before you are about to teach a class is no way to start the day. But, alas. That is just how it began today, and it was a position I haven't found myself in in quite some time. The more horrible part is that I have been uber-hungover many times at school, and many times much, much worse than today. But it's been so long since I have been (um...2 months...), my tolerance for alcohol and hangover has plummeted, and my body has completely forgotten the interpretive dance known as A Hangover. Thus, it resorts back to what it did at the beginning of my career with alcohol, and that is LOTS of dry heaving.

Good times.

SO, yesterday, before all this hangover business or the drinking that lead to it happened, my friend Nora told me about these fitness classes they give in the stadium in Rincon for $1. I've been looking for some sort of activity that would allow me to mingle amongst the citizens of my new community, and this seems like just the ticket. A $1 ticket.

FIRST, we arrive late and as I am putting down my mat, I look up and notice the instructor dude is a bartender at one of the resorts in Rincon. GO FIGURE. I don't know why this was shocking to me, but it was. Perhaps he doesn't remember me or any of my drunken escapes he has had the misfortune of witnessing, I think to myself. No such luck. He grins and knee-bend- kicks on over to let me know, and I quote, " Now I'm going to make you sweat out everything you drank, and you'll remember me tomorrow". Ummmm, YIKES! I look up from my mat in fear and he takes the dollar from my trembling hand.

UNO! DOS! TRES! AGAIN! is what I hear Mr. Muscle screaming over the Special Edition Ricky Martin Jock Jams CD blasting in the background. Aerobics in Puerto Rico is something else. It was part aerobics and part 80's dance moves, except with more hip action. A Puerto Rican variation of both the running man and the Super Bowl Shuffle were some memorable ones that took place. About 10 minutes in, I'm sweating balls and by the end of the hour the only way I can gather the strength to do one more leg kick is if it was into Mr. Muscle's face.

In conclusion, I CERTAINLY got my dollars worth. And on my drive into school today I saw Mr. Muscle biking down the road, and as I cruised on past I honked my horn and threw out my hand to wave --- just so he knew I remembered him :)

The World Through Pink and Blue Colored Glasses

I was thinking today about how basically every woman I am friends with is in a relationship where she is, or has been, the main breadwinner. And in most cases I speak of, she is/was the only bread winner. A brief list: My 2 sisters, Chellber, Ang...my PR friends: KA, Z, Jennifer M, Nora...essentially, all my friends. I find this extremely fascinating. Mostly because I don't think this is some sort of fluke in ratios -- I think this is the way it works now.

We wanted women's lib, and holy shit, did we get it. Thanks a lot, hippies! ( i kid, I kid...) But seriously...I'm questioning "the movement" tonight (but then I watch an episode of Mad Men and stop questioning it immediately).

Anyway, tonight I was irritated because I found myself doing the dishes. I fucking hate dishes. I don't just hate doing them, I hate when they are there. Sitting there in the sink all dirty and un-clean like. I sat there for a few moments, debating on just leaving them. But as I stood staring at them, I was imagining the food crusting itself every second I was wasting just standing there. So instead of let myself spiral into insanity over some dirty dishes, I pick up the dish soap and sponge and have at it. Now, here comes the worst part --- the dialogue happening inside my head and I hovered over the sink fuming:

Me: "I hate dishes, I hate dishes, I hate dishes, I hate dishes..."

Invisible Creature on Right Shoulder: "But Jessica, he made dinner. Isn't that they way it works? Whoever doesn't make dinner does the dishes?"

Me: "True, Invisible Creature on Right Shoulder....very true....

Invisible Creature on Left Shoulder: But Jessica, he wasn't at work all day! Don't you think you deserve to relax when I come home???

Me: "You are damn right I do!"

Invisible Creature on Left Shoulder: "Exactly, you were at work all day while he was at home, and you think it's too much to ask that he does dishes? Who buys the food he makes dinner with?"

Me: "I DO! I buy the food in this house!!! I go to work all day so we can afford to live here!!! I shouldn't have to come home after a long day of work and worry about cleaning the house!

WOW. And then I had to stop, because I realized I had absorbed myself into some kind of fucked up Reverse-1950's mentality. I had slipped into the twisted ideology of the 1950's man who went to work in the morning and came home at 6pm expecting a drink and 3 course meal waiting (though personally I would prefer 3 drinks and a 1 course meal..but anyway). You know, except I am a woman. But the point is, I caught myself thinking such things as: "but I pay for it" and "but I was at work all day" to justify...well, my laziness, basically.

What does this mean? That the tables have officially turned, folks. Chivalry might not be dead, but odds are that the Knight on the White Horse just might be a woman.