club med

37.26 – Self contained underwater breathing apparatus

I finally put a movie in my Netflix queue!  It came to the house!  We actually watched it on the first day!  This is huge for us.  We don’t really watch movies.  But I’m starting a new tradition.  Dinner and a movie at my crib a few times a week.  So feel free to leave a note if you have a “must see” movie for me to put in the queue.

Tonight we watched Kick Ass.  Let me say that it was not at all what I expected.  Maybe I never paid attention in the previews but it wasn’t really what I was expecting.  At the rate I get to movies, I’d think it’s safe to say that if I’ve seen it, everyone has, but even still, I won’t give anything away.  Nicolas Cage is a lunatic though, I will say that.  If you by some odd chance are behind me in the Netflix queue, well, let’s just say it isn’t necessarily something you watch with your kids under, oh, let’s say 13 or 14 or so.  I just looked and saw that it’s rated R.  That explains a lot.  Still a good two hours.

I know that you’ve really only stopped by to see what story I’m telling today, so let me get on with it.  The main player in this story isn’t actually a Facebook friend, but a couple of friends there were in the general area when this went down and one or two may actually remember it.

Back when I was doing a little stint in the Caribbean, I tried to step outside of my usual routine and try some new things.  Crazy things.  Things that involve water.  You see, I don’t much care for water of which I cannot control the temperature…or stand up in.  Can I swim?  Define swim.  Will I drown if you throw me in the pool?  Only if you bonk me on the head first.  I tried a little snorkeling and I enjoyed it, but no, I didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.  I just had to learn scuba.  Call it temporary insanity caused by way too much sun and a few too many mind erasers.

In for a penny, in for a pound.  I wasn’t satisfied to just go when there was an instructor (co-worker) who was certified could take me.  No, I wanted to be able to go without that restriction.   I wanted to get certified….because I was obviously already certifiable.

Let me note here that there was a hey-come-see-if-you-might-like-scuba event that took place in the pool.  In 4 feet of water.  I got all the gear on and put  my face in the water for about 4.5 seconds before I shed it all faster than anyone could ask if I was ok.  I failed bubblemaker.  Miserably.  And yet, I think going into the ocean will be better.  Certifiable.

I got all of my books and made sure I could get to the classes.  I watched videos. I read books.  I committed information to memory.  I was ready. Because I can outsmart anything, you know?  If I can just think it all out, it will go exactly as I plan it in my head.  Certifiable.

Now, Kyle, who was the poor soul who got to deal with me and my learning attempts, has the patience of a saint.  He let me interrupt his class and kept encouraging me nonetheless.  Have you ever been to the water part of a scuba class?  Well, maybe you do it in a pool or you do it in the ocean if there’s a safe spot there.  We went to the ocean.  We put on our gear and waded out and filled our BCDs and floated around in a circle while Kyle explained what we were going to do whilst sitting on the bottom.  Explanation complete, we were instructed to let a little air out and go ahead and sink down to the bottom.  That worked for about 5 seconds. (A half second longer than the first time!)  But 5 seconds was enough time for me to sink to the bottom and immediately push off and shoot my way back towards the sun.   Certifiable.

Kyle got everyone settled at the bottom and then came up to talk to me.  First, telling me that I’m lucky as hell that we were only in about 7 feet of water, as pulling that stunt from deep would really eff me up, and second, asking what happened.  I told him that I just freaked.  Told him to go back down to his class and that I would watch from the top and slowly sink my way down if I could.  He was satisfied with this and away he went….thinking, “this chick is certifiable, and probably not in scuba.”

I somehow managed to calm down enough to slowly sink to the bottom.  Upon my arrival, I even got an underwater round of applause from the rest of the class.  Nothing like feeling like a tool.  But I guess I didn’t know what that felt like.  Yet.  You know, you don’t just sit down there.  There are things that you have to do.  You have to fill up your mask with water and drain it back out.  You have to learn to control your, well, float.  It’s called a fin pivot, look it up if you want to know.  You’ve gotta take your regulator out and put it back in, getting the water out of it so you can breathe again.  All this, not a problem.  Take your mask all the way off, put it back on and then clear it…problem.

Now, some folks might say that if you’re breathing through your mouth then you’re not breathing through your nose.  Maybe for some people that’s true.  I’m not some people.  See, I never breathe through my mouth unless I’m sick or super winded or yawning.  So breathing through my mouth isn’t natural to me.  My instinct is to breathe through my nose.  With a mask on, no big deal.  It isn’t enough to make a difference in the mask.  Without a mask on, you might as well be asking me to land a 747 without using the auto-pilot.

I tried everything I could to get around fully taking the mask off.  I pulled it away from my face for a second, but that wasn’t enough.  I put it up on my head like sunglasses but that was a no go.  I will admit that my classmates were either rooting for me or laughing their collective asses off at me, not sure which.  I just did NOT want to do this.  I knew that I had to do it to continue though.  I did it.  I thought I was going to drown, yes, while breathing through my mouth.  My mask got caught in my hair.  Another reason to freak out.  I can’t see, of course, and I’m about to lose my mind.  And then all of a sudden, I get my mask back on.  Hallelujah I’m not dead!  *round of applause*

I made it.  I’m thinking I’m golden.  But no, then there’s the pool part.  I’ve gotta float for like 5 minutes.  Float.  The thing I don’t do.  In water I cannot stand up in.  I try to practice.  I try in the ocean, I try in the pool.  I get assistance from people who swim and swim well.  But I sink.  Always.  Like I don’t use a lot of weights in my BCD sink.  I cannot do it.  After defeating the ocean, I am beaten by its red-headed step-child the pool.

I’ve not gone back.  The water and I are still not friends.  But that’s okay.  I’m landlocked now.  I’m friends with the mountains.  And you.  Thanks for stopping by.

37.10 – I. Can’t. Drive. 55!

Yes, I’m watching a Sammy Hagar concert on TV101 right now.  Don’t judge me.  I figured I’d only have to watch it for about 10 minutes any, way before he ran out of songs that I knew.  I don’t think he can play any Van Halen songs, but hey, what do I know.

I went to a pole class today.  It was a nice, small class with no  pole sharing (which I really like) and a really cool teacher (which is important)

SIDEBAR: Sammy can play Van Halen songs.

because you have to trust this person and believe that she knows what she’s doing.  I’m going to be in pain tomorrow, but such is life.  I keep saying to myself that I should stretch and such, but you know, until you do something 21 times it doesn’t become a habit.

SIDEBAR: Sammy’s guitarist is giving it a great shot, but he’s certainly no Eddie Van Halen.

The only thing that sucks is that it’s a 30 minute drive to the studio.  It’s mostly highway but the highway lanes are kinda skinny here, making me slightly nervous that it looks like someone is in my lane.  I tell ya, I was spoiled by the location and the teachers at my school in Miami.

SIDEBAR: I think I’m officially out of songs I know from Sammy without Van Halen.  Also, I wonder where the drinks are going that the bartender is making on stage.

We got Michael Jackson: The Experience today.  On sale.  Which was cool and I didn’t even know about until checkout, but I was fully prepared to pay full price.  Let me just say this about it: I effing love it!! Oh how they’re sneaking the exercise in!  Can I make up a gym class where I lead  people in playing the Wii?  That’d be just fantastic.  For my Xlub  Club (ha, sometimes X) Med friends who’ve done a Michael Jackson show, you’d probably love it.   It’s Sweating To The Oldies for the Club Med generation.

Come back tomorrow when there just might be plenty of typos because I can’t use my right arm!

Respect my fresh

A line taken from my brother but I really like it.

It's late in the day, but I was caught up in work all day, or until one when I left.  It's mini-vacation time folks.  We're headed off tomorrow morning for the weekend.  I'm going to try to remember to take pictures and if anything might be of interest, I may post next week.

Today my horoscope said something rather interesting.

Do not turn down any opportunities today, Shawneen, even if they seem like dead-end roads at first. This one could be your lucky break. Realize that success doesn't always have a big neon sign pointing you in the right direction. Prosperity simply comes because we act freely and instinctively. This is one of those days in which an unmarked door can lead you to the yellow brick road of happiness and well-being.

(Damn you Vox, I consider myself fairly intelligent, but I can't get my font back to what it was before the blockquote.)

So, this is cool because yesterday, I was given an opportunity for which I needed to follow up today and after reading that little tidbit, I followed through with full force.  Maybe after I have more details, I'll post about that too.

Last night was my first class of the second session of pole fitness.  I'm still up in the air as to if I will enjoy this session.  I already know it won't be as good as the first session since the teacher insists on calling me by the wrong name. (She puts an A at the end.  Even after I pronounced it correctly.  Even after I spelled it.  Even after she looked at it on paperwork I filled out.)  But it's a step towards being the Level 6 hoochie that I aspire to be. 🙂

In the studio where class is held, the walls are painted red and it looks like they were lightly sponged with black over it.  I guess the idea is to create a sexy atmosphere.  It does a decent job when the lights are dimmed or pointed in the right direction.  There's a floor-to-ceiling mirror all along the front wall also so that we can see what we're doing (or how badly we're doing it).

If you didn't already know, I live in Miami.  Home to Latinos and Blacks with a sprinkling of plain ole white folks as well as a few others.  So when you think about the women here, it's a lot of tits and ass.  Think Shakira, J-Lo, Beyonce (or Bouncy as my Pop called her).  Lotsa curves everywhere.

It was towards the end of class when we were all just kinda standing around not doing much when I looked up at the mirror.  Everyone could be seen, although only silhouetted.  This has never happened before and it will probably never happen again.  I thought to myself: Gee, maybe I need to gain some weight.  That's right, I said gain some weight.  In the land of salsa and merengue, I guess hips, ass and well, some belly work well.  I literally thought that I looked unhealthily skinny compared to these other women.  One woman has the kind of ass that each cheek waves to you for every step she takes.  Hi!!  Hello!  Hi there!  Hey, lookit me!

Now, the reality is that I'm a hair under 5'2" and I'm rocking a good 125, sometimes 130 pounds.  I'm pretty muscular due to 4 years of flying trapeze. 

I used to hand out tickets to the gun show.  After I stopped flying, I got soft, squishy even and went up to about 140.  When my mom asked my brother if I was pregnant, I knew that's when it was time to start working out again.

Presently, I'm what I like to call fit.  I'm happy with where I am for the most part (nothing a little boob job can't fix) and I just can't believe that I thought that last night.  I blame it all on my surroundings.  

You know, just like cocaine's a helluva drug, Miami's a helluva place to live.  It can bring you to the heights of your night, excite you, give you the shakes.  It could do absolutely nothing for you and leave you wondering what all the hype's about.  It can drain your wallet before you know what hits you.  And for some, it can be addictive.

But not for me.  I've seen what cocaine Miami has to offer and I tried it.  I thought it was cool for a while but now I'm just over it.  I'm ready to go cold turkey.  I'm ready.

 

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CM Chronicles – II

After packing up everything I could fit into two duffel bags and a bit of panicked frustration when two days before my flight, I had yet to receive my plane tickets, I was off to the airport.  I am not, have never been, nor ever will be a fan of flying.  I do believe it's because I have control issues.  But, this new adventure was waiting on the other side of the flying tin can ride. 

I had researched this Club Med place and the place I was going in particular.  It looked so pretty on the website and there was so much to do.  I could learn to sail, waterski, rollerblade, play tennis, or fly on the trapeze.  The trapeze?!?!  The thrill-seeker in me couldn't wait to try that one out.

Club Med, Sandpiper is located in Port Saint Lucie, Florida, otherwise known as 'God's waiting room'.  The closest airport is West Palm Beach at a 45 minute drive, next is Fort Liquordale at about an hour and 15 minutes, and then Cuba Miami International at a smidge over 2 hours depending on traffic which means 3 hours.  In their infinite wisdom, where do they fly me into?  Of course, Miami.  So now after I've sat on a plane for what seems like forever, I now have to sit in a car for 3 hours while the driver feels that he must talk to me. (What a sign of things to come.)  At least, though, upon my arrival at the airport, my driver was right there to help with my bags and I had to do no looking around in a state of confusion.

My flight landed around 6pm, so that put me in CMS (henceforth known as "the village") at a bit after 9.  By the time I got my bags to my room and changed clothes, because there's nothing I hate more than having other people's dirt all over me, unless it involves sex, but that's another story, dinner was long over.  I ventured out of my room and over to the bar because that seemed to be where all of the action was.

In the new crew of bartenders, I was the last to arrive.  The others were already in the bar partying on down.  The chef du bar (bar manager), Stephan, came and introduced himself.  We chatted briefly, he asked if I had had dinner and on my no response, offered me the only thing there was: bar pizza.  Yep, it was gross, but when you're hungry, you're hungry.  Some of my fellow noobs came over and introduced themselves.  They appeared to be hammered.  Now, by no means am I an angel, and at home, I would've proceeded to join them in getting hammered, but I'm a little older, maybe a little wiser than my cohorts and so I decide to head back to my room.  Besides, our training starts bright and early tomorrow.

Next time: This is training?

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CM Chronicles – I

If you read my blog, you know that I'm long-winded.  These chronicles are just a rehashing of parts of my four years at Club Med.  They may contain swearing, sex, or otherwise possibly offensive things so consider yourself warned.  They also may be chronically boring to you, dear reader, and for that, I apologize but the reality is that it's my blog and I'll write about my boring life if I want to.

Back in the early spring of 2000, I had recently moved back to PA after living in NY for a couple of years.  I was fortunate enough to still have a place to live in PA – the house I grew up in.  At that time, my brother was still living in the house where he had, apparently, been living the high life, throwing parties and such.  I was a wet blanket on the festivities.  Not that I didn't enjoy my fair share of partying, but he was accustomed to having the house to himself without me there to bug him or his friends.

I picked up a bartending job and life was good, or life was good for me.  I don't think to this day he'd admit it, but in the way little brothers do, he wanted me out of the house.  As it was, I didn't spend tons of time in the house.  I did what I could to catch up with friends and make some new ones.  I only worked a couple days a week since my bills were few. (man, that was the life.)  The rest of my time I spent just doing random stuff like ripping wallpaper off the wall and repainting the walls a ridiculous color.  I was constantly looking for a new job because, well, that's just my nature.  To this day I can't help but to browse the want ads just to see what's out there. 

One particular afternoon, I'd have to say that this was in April or so, my brother saw an ad and he showed it to me.  He said, "Hey, you'd probably be good at this".  I don't recall the exact wording of the ad, but the gist of it was 'be a bartender, travel, see exotic locations'.  I figured that I had nothing to lose, so I gathered up my resume and a photo and sent everything on its merry way.  In the waiting for a response period, I did some research into this Club Med place and found that it seemed pretty cool.  I got excited about it.  But then days passed, weeks passed, and my Club Med dreams slipped way into the back of my mind.  I had other more pressing matters such as going to see my favorite band play and heading out to the bingo hall.  Yes, you read that properly.  Bingo.  BINGO!  I swear to you that the old ladies hated seeing me in there and hated when I won.  Never did I have fear though, since not a one of them could catch me in a foot race.

Around September, I believe, I received a phone call.  It was a Friday and the answering machine said the message was left at about 5 pm.  I didn't hear the message until probably Saturday as I was working (and partying) on Friday night.  A thick French accent directed me to give him a call if I was still interested in working for Club Med.  (Looking back on this, I feel special.  A lot of people told stories of jumping through major hoops before hearing from CM.)  The old excitement monster stirred in the pits of my tummy, but it was Saturday and there was tons to be done.

Monday afternoon rolled around before I remembered that I needed to make that phone call.  I found a quiet corner of the house and gave them a call.  What I got was basically a phone interview.  Typically, you'd be warned about something of this nature so you could at least be prepared, but no, not this time.  I worked my way through the interview and at the end, I was told that the next step would be a face-to-face interview.  For that, I could either go to North Carolina or to New York.  Oh, by the way, they aren't paying.  I told him that either of those was a minimum of an 8 hour drive for me.  He responded with "Oh, you don't want the job?"  I took that to mean I went to the interview or it was all over before it began.  I told him I'd go to New York.  He gave my the contact's info and that was that.

Luckily, my very good friend was living in the Philly area at the time so I drove over to Philly and stayed with her for the weekend.  My interview was on a Saturday and took place in a Starbucks.  I kid you not.  It was all very laid back with very few questions about my actual bartending knowledge.  A better way to describe what took place was this recruiter explaining the CM lifestyle to me like I already had the job.  I guess it lasted about an hour and I was once again on my merry way.

I returned to the western side of the state late on Sunday.  I thought to myself that a follow-up call on Wednesday was good enough timing.  I didn't have to wait that long.  Monday afternoon the phone call came.  They offered me the position and asked when I could leave.  I was still employed, albeit in a bar and under the table, but I still wanted to give my boss some sort of notice.  I told him two weeks.  He answered with, "Ok, we'll send you a ticket for Sunday".  Umm, Sunday?!?!  I guess in France 6 days equals 2 weeks. 

I immediately gave my boss all the notice I could.  He wasn't upset.  He was actually happy and quite excited for me.  Some of my friends were a little bummed that I was leaving, but some of the people that I had met over the time that I was home and their actions (you Grimey bastard) pushed me in the direction of getting the hell out of dodge.  In retrospect, I can thank them.  While they sit festering in the small town they never left, I traveled North America, the Carribbean and Africa.  I tied up my loose ends and started researching where I would be going.  Sandpiper, Florida.

Next time in the Chronicles, the trip to Florida and my first week in my new environment.

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