Well, hello! I'm back from Mexico. And I'm not too sorry about it, either.
I mean, it was great, don't get me wrong. I could have spent a week in Branson, Missouri, or Sweetwater, Texas and I would have thought it was great. A week off, anywhere; that is pretty much the crux of the situation for me. If I don't have to work or talk to anyone unless I feel like it for a week? GOOD VACATION.
And the resort we stayed at, wow. It was like, the nicest place I've ever seen, much less stayed. There was a giant spa that took up the entire first floor of the building we were in, with massage rooms and saunas and steam showers and Swedish showers and cardio rooms and weight rooms and incense rooms and stretching rooms and meditation rooms. It was freakishly nice. I spent quite a lot of time inside the spa. Even though most of the women got naked way too often for my comfort level, and were, well, way too comfortable with their naked level, in general. I don't know what my problem is, but I just can't get naked in front of a bunch of strangers. I try, I really do. I berate myself internally, offering words of wisdom to myself such as What, are you scared? Everyone ELSE is doing it! and Get over yourself already, and just get naked, you chicken. No one is looking at you! I spent the last 15 minutes of every workout telling myself that this time, THIS TIME I would do it. I mean, it probably feels great, right? Just walking around all naked, not caring about, you know, cellulite, or weird tan lines or what your boobs look like. Jumping into the jacuzzi, feeling the water swirling around, free of those cumbersome five square inches of fabric involved in most bikinis. It would be enlightening! I'd feel better about myself! And on the flip side, if I DIDN'T do it, I'd look like a total freakshow because I would literally be the only one wearing a swimsuit. I'd be the Mexican spa version of an Amish nun. If the Amish had, you know. Nunneries. Do they?
Alas, I never actually went through with it. Thursday, I was so confident in my Getting Naked decision that I actually smiled smugly to myself while I finished up on the stair-climber. Hah, I thought. Glad I'm over that. I pity the old me, caring about such trivial matters. In fact, I don't even have to think about this anymore, the decision is so made. I'm like, whatever, naked! I don't care about you. And then I got to the jacuzzi, prepared to unwrap my towel and ran back to the lockers for my swimsuit.
Despite my internal anguish, the spa was great. The pool was huge. The ocean was beautiful. The weather was perfect. I read six books, slept at least 12 hours every night, and drank copious amounts of coconut rum. And had a few margaritas for good measure. So you might be wondering why I was ready to come back. It wasn't because of my drive for success (which exists in my imagination, much like the tooth fairy), or my workaholic tendencies (which are largely nonexistent altogether). It was, dear readers, because I was starving. Literally, my stomach eating itself in desperation starving. I actually think I am now nutritionally deficient, because of my week-long sojourn to Mexico.
I'm terrified of eating in Mexico. Too many stories of disgusting and horrific gastrointestinal ailments combined with a mild but still kicking case of OCD and an already weak stomach equal a week of Elise eating pretty much nothing. And then of course, I'd get so hungry that I'd have to eat SOMETHING, and then that something (which would usually be chips and salsa or a hamburger or some other completely unoriginal and boring food item) would inevitably make me feel sick. And then I'd not eat anything again until I was similarly starved. And the cycle would repeat itself. By the end of the last day of vacation I was dragging my half-starved, sunburned body up the stairs to our building, feeling dizzy, nauseated and hot. And full of a burning hatred for Mexico.
I just don't understand why they can't get it together on the food and water circuit. I mean, their resorts are beautiful. They have huge, multi-million person cities, with viable businesses and commerce and everything else. They're connected to the United States, and certainly have plenty of resources with which to work. So it makes no sense to me that they would just kinda give up on the whole "safe water" deal. I was talking to Cody about it during the week and decided that it would be much like if I continued to own my store, but when I noticed that the ceiling tiles were falling down and injuring customers, just decided, ehh, I can't be bothered with that. Shop at your own risk, customers! I mean, the tiles usually don't kill anyone, you know. Just kind of minor head injuries and some bleeding. No biggie! As a country, this is apparently what Mexico has decided. Sure you can visit, and sure our resorts and coastline and architecture and natural foliage is beautiful. Enjoy! Just don't, you know. Drink any water. Or eat anything raw that might have been in contact with the water. Oh, you had to eat something? And now you're horribly, violently ill? Hmm, well, at least you're not dead! Come back again soon! Viva la Mexico!
Ugh.
All during the plane ride on the way back home, I talked to Cody about what the most Americanized meal possible would look like. Steak and potatoes? Some kind of casserole? Obviously it would have to involve both Fried and Fattening. We touched down in Dallas, got in the car, started driving past all the chain restaurants that flank the sides of pretty much any major American highway, and tears nearly came to my eyes.
"It's so beautiful," I said.
"What, the acres of concrete?" Cody asked.
"No, all these restaurants. They're all here, for us, and I can eat at ANY ONE OF THEM," I replied.
The safe eating and drinking choices, they are endless. And that, for me, might just be the American Dream.
