I am dense. There’s no getting around it. I’m not good at taking hints. Bluntness/being direct is the way to get my attention and hold it. I have literally had to have friends point out when I was being hit on. Perhaps I live within my own little bubble. I’m good with that.
That all being said, I suppose that even the universe needs to be a little more blunt with me. Of course, I didn’t see it at the time, but now I do. The universe put a sign in front of me that said ‘this is neither the time nor the place’ and I ignored it. The universe doesn’t give up easily, so when I ignored that sign, it showed me another. This too, I ignored. I think that in total, I may have received five hints/nudges from the universe to wait, but did I heed those hints? No. Of course not. I plowed straight ahead like a bull in a China store because that is how I typically do things. Now, I’m dealing with my own internal fallout from that poorly made decision. Wrestling with being disappointed with myself and not projecting it onto others, even though when it comes right down to it, because that’s how my mind works, I could always find something snarkyrific to say that would still hold truth. Alas, I need to let it go, much like, I suppose, the song from Frozen (that I have not seen and likely will not see). So hum shanti.
Letting it go, can you believe that tomorrow is July? Half of the year is gone. I feel certain that it was just a month ago that it was Thanksgiving. And yet, here we are, a mere four and a half months away from Thanksgiving again. I’m starting to believe that whole thing about the older you get, the faster time goes.
I’m pretty much expecting July to fly by just like the rest of this year has so far. I have two goals for July which are to write every day since I have about 20 days of subjects for that, and then to complete everything on my calendar for the month. If ssuccessful, I end the month with 31 blog posts, 27 days of cardio, 13 yoga classes, 8 strength training days, 8 deep stretching sessions, 4 days at the rig, 3 video golf lessons, 2 days at the driving range, 2 days at the shooting range, 7 Zumba classes, 4 pole classes, 1 open house at the rig, 2 nights in Crested (!), and (hopefully) 1 time to #RTJR (raise the Jolly Roger) at Coors Field. Too busy? Maybe.
And still with all of that going on, I’m still putting it out there to you, universe. The 5 year plan. You know what it is. I’m going to do my part. I’m starting today, universe. Ok, I actually started yesterday, but it has begun. I believe that the 5 year plan will fall into place. The last time I put something out there, I didn’t put a timeframe on it, but it still happened. I know this will too. I know because this is the way I roll with my life. Do I realize that I will need to really plan for later? Of course I do. Do I feel that is right his moment? Past the 5 year plan? No. Let’s get to that and see where we go from there. So hum prana.
And with that, I think I shall go softly into this good Monday. Relaxed and refreshed. Awake and aware. Listo. Hep.
That’s the sneeze I let out when I blow all the dust off of my poor blog. Sometimes, I just go through this period where I don’t feel like writing anything. I’m hoping that period is over and I’ll be torturing you on a regular basis with my stories of silliness and other nonsense.
Cancun was a blast as it always is although we caught someone’s germs on the plane on the way back and spent the majority of last week sick. You can check out some pics on Flickr.
Since we’re on the subject of Mexico, let me tell you a little story. Back when I was in Ixtapa, there was a store called Commercial Mexicana (I think I’m getting that name right). Regardless, it was kind of like a Super Target. Had clothes and DVDs, food, snacks, and pretty much anything else one might need. So I’m in there one day and I’m waiting to check out. In front of me is a mom with her two little boys. I’d say they were about 7-ish. Really cute kids and since no kids had pissed me off that day, I smiled at them. The older of the two (or the one that looked older) said to his brother, “Yo quiero una novia morena” and he looked up at me a little sheepishly.
Right about then, mom’s head whipped around (she knew I was there, she had seen me) with a mortified look on her face although I don’t know if it was she’d be mortified that her son had a black girlfriend or if she was horribly embarrassed because she thought I might have been offended. Either way, it didn’t matter. I thought he was cute and obviously he had good taste. And really, it’s just another reason why I love Mexico, its culture, its people, just everything.
I have an unhealthy obsession….with mariachis. I LOVE the mariachis. I am currently going through mariachi withdrawl. Do you know how I know it’s getting bad? I listen to this radio station in the car. Yes, I do. I am certainly the most Black, non-Spanish speaking Mexican you will ever meet. Tacos al pastor and tequila and the ocean and music and people and Carlos and Charlie’s and Disco Taco and cab rides and sawdust covered floors in clubs and oh, sorry, I got off track there.
Yes, I do indeed love Mexico. And you can call me crazy, but I would still go live there (with my Spanish speaking husband, of course) and I know that I would absolutely love it. Once I hit that lottery, I’m all over this plan.
But where? In Ixtapa or Zihuatanejo? Or in Cancun? Yeah, I hear ya. Living in a resort-like or resort-close-to town isn’t like living in Mexico. It is though. I said so. My blog. My rules.
Weighing in as my first taste of Mexico and holding some very fond memories, fighting out of the West Coast corner, we have the Ixtapa/Zihuatanejo combo. And fighting out of the East Coast corner, home of the merger of the century, iiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s Cancun! Standing at ringside, we have D.F., always standing by in case of a double knock out.
Not a decision to be taken lightly. I figure I have about 30 years to get there. Aim big, people!
Entonces, hasta manana. Pase un buen noche.
I don't know why I thought about this yesterday.
Probably because I was singing. I don't sing. Well. I know it and therefore I don't torture people with it. There are a couple songs out there that I can hold my own on. One of them is "Contagioius" by my buddy Garen/Granian/Kill The Alarm.
So anywho, back when I was working in Mexico, I was walking from my room over to the bar in what I thought was solitude. I'm belting this one out like there's no tomorrow.
Sidebar: First time I met Garen, a bunch of us were sitting around a room, drinking some beers and he was playing his geet-tar. It's all well and good and I wasn't paying attention and I was singing along to whatever he was playing. All of a sudden, he just stopped playing and received some questioning looks. He said he wanted to hear me sing. Um, how bouts no?
Right, so turns out I wasn't alone and some of my co-workers had snuck up behind me. The conversation went like this:
Mexican Co-Worker 1: Hey Sunshine, I didn't know you could sing.
Me: I can't.
MCW1: Sure you can, I just heard you.
Mexican Co-Worker 2 to MCW1: Todos los chocolates pueden cantar.*
Me: Uggghhnnnmm. Bye guys.
Only because I hold these two people close did I not kill them. And more because I know that they didn't mean anything by it. Honestly, I don't think they know what racism is, but I can look back at it and laugh. But really, we can't all sing.
*Translation: All the chocolates can sing.
It is 8:30 am. Six years ago, in about 15 minutes, lives changed, lives ended, the world became a different place.
It's the end of my second "season" with Club Med and it's been a trying time. While still adjusting to the CM lifestyle, I had a nasty breakup with my boyfriend of about a year who happened to also be my roommate. Can you say uncomforatble? The village is all closed up for the fall break, all the guests have gone home. The only people here are we GOs. We've been hanging out for the last week, cleaning and just letting loose after an interesting season. Last night, we watched Armageddon.
Today, I'm going home to Pennsylvania to hang out with my brother for a few weeks before I go to my next village, Punta Cana, to teach rollerblading. I put my luggage out for the guys to pick up and I start to head up to the reception area to catch my taxi to the airport. As I went through the theatre area and to the bar, I looked up at the television to see a building on fire. I stopped for a moment, wondering what movie was on this early in the morning. It took a long time for the reality of what was happening to hit me. I dropped my bag and just stood there in front of the television. Paralyzed. Wondering how in the world could this happen. Wondering, more importantly, are my friends in New York okay.
The moments passed and more people began to gather around the television sets. We saw the second plane hit. It felt like someone was dropping bombs inside my head. We watched as the reports came in that yet another plane had gone down, this one in Pennsylvania. I scrambled for more details on that plane. It went down about an hour's drive from our house.
Somehow, the trance of the events was broken and I realized that I needed to call my mother. All she knew was that I was flying to PA today. She didn't know when I was flying or even where I was at the moment. I had to dig through all of my stuff to find my calling card, only to run out to the phone to find that all circuits were busy. I tried and tried and tried, but I couldn't get through. I knew that I had to talk to my mom, and soon, to let her know that I was okay. Not mentally, but physically, I was okay.
I went back to the gathering of GOs still watching television to find out that the borders had been closed. No air traffic. Nothing. There we were, some Mexicans, some Canadians, and a lot of Americans, shut out of the US with little to no communication with our family and friends. A slight panic spread through the village as the word got around of what had happened and the repercussions of it all. I went back out to the phone and somehow, luckily, I was able to get through to my mom. She was relieved to know that I was okay to say the least.
There we were, about 100 employees, stranded in a village with very little, if any food remaining as most people were to leave today, with just each other for comfort. Praying for those who had lost their lives and for their families and friends. It was another week before we were allowed to fly. It was another year before I found out that an acquaintance, Perry, had lost his life in the attacks. It's been another six years and I still remember it like it happened yesterday.
Today, I give thanks to the men and women who serve and protect our country. I pray for the families and friends of the victims. I hope against hope for a time when there might be some semblence of "normalcy" in the world again. Mainly, I just remember.