hateful songs: “eyes without a face” (billy idol)
or, as i like to sing it, thighs without a space.
ah, the freshman 10. you never believe it will happen to you until you head off to college, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed, and you are faced with cafeteria food. the university of miami cafeteria, at least the one near my freshman dorm, was no pleasure palace. sure, it offered some things i never had before (and, thanks to it’s awful treatment of such foods, i will never try again — platanos fritos, i am looking at YOU), but the food was inedible for the most part.
i spent quite a bit of time eating godfather’s pizza (which wasn’t a lot better), the strange chicken patty sandwiches in the breezeway, and the happy hour free eats at a bar across south dixie highway. (nevermind the fact i was not drinking age. i could buy a soda and get a whole meal with it.) not exactly a healthy regimen; and when i came home for winter break, i realized i was not on a good path.
upon my return, i signed up for an aerobics class that happened a couple of nights each week at the UM gym. (i think the football players had their own gym, as i never saw anyone terribly bulky there.) and anyone who remembers the early 1980s remembers a lot of women sporting fluffy hair and stripey duds much like the lady herself, ms. jane fonda, queen of pain.
my roommate was heavily into jane, so we spent a lot of time attempting this stuff.
anyway, back to the UM gym. my roommate and i spent hours and hours in aerobics class. and, in short, i didn’t really enjoy this particular class, but i didn’t feel like i had any choice but to attend. (the food choices weren’t changing, so something had to give.) i didn’t like the especially joyful woman who taught the class. i didn’t particularly want to feel the burn. what i wanted was to make it through the damn class so i could go out and
risk my life crossing grand avenue to visitÂ steve’s ice cream in coconut groveÂ feel a little virtuous, for 5 minutes at least.
so every time i attended, guess which song had the leg lifts i dreaded?
yep. mr. billy idol, reminding me that no one could see the sun through my thunder thighs.
in short: i hate pert ladies who yell Woo!Â as they bounce and stretch it out.
i hate leg lifts.
and i hate billy idol’s eyes without a space.