Skinny Beans

I had the best breakfast today. As I stepped into the dinning room I saw bright pink and lukewarm yellow. I immediately knew I was going to have guava and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Surprisingly I wasn't hung over or disoriented like every other morning I've been in Cuba so I devoured my food with quick grace. 

After I cleaned the table I ran outside to check on my laundry I dutifully cleaned the night before. There in the Havana sun lay all my hipster American Apparel tees swinging on wire with clothes pins. I've never done laundry like this before, but it felt so liberating. It reminded me of when I used to live in my uncle's bungalow in Salt Lake. We had a washer and a dryer, but the dryer gave up on life leaving the washer to do all the work. Every weekend my mom washed the clothes in the machine, hand-rung the excess water out, and clawed our clothes onto wire supported by our maple trees. I had to chuckle for a little seeing my own clothes that I washed myself floating on a Cuban rooftop. My mother would be proud. 

Our classes from 10AM to 2PM today were semi-expected. We had this Margarita woman I've become fond of teach our first class. We suspect she's daughter of the man who represented Cuba in the United Nations during the cold war. She also loves her coffee and snaps her fingers backwards. I call her Crackfingers. She's a great gal, albeit a bit liberal because she called The Nation and The Huffington Post neutral news sources. As a firm believer in Obama she whole-heartedly agrees in  Palestine and the Cuban medical scene, both of which are unfortunately currently unstable.

Then after our coffee/crack class session we had our elevator music class session. Well, it wasn't elevator music it was actually Afro-Cuban percussion music and culture, but our guest professor made it as thrilling as a ride up the Macy's department store. Although our professor was intense with his loud voice and furious facial expressions he managed to leave nothing but a subtle mark on our hungry college souls. 

Coming back from classes I had ordered a ham and mustard sandwich from a food stand next to our apartment. It amazing I can pay the equivalent of 25 American cents for lunch. While waiting for my 'wich to be toasted I saw a boy I had seen earlier in the week. He's probably in his early 20s and a total hipster with his grey tee (American Apparel?), black skinny jeans, and black wayfarers. There is no way he is from Cuba, but this is the second week I've spotted him. I'm intrigued and not in a "hey he's cute" sort of way, but in a "hey he seems like he knows my music" sort of way. Nonetheless, he's inspiring me to wear my skinny jeans in this humid weather. 

Very well, I'm off to the roof to drink a mojito box. Children in the States have their juice boxes and us gals in Cuba have our mojito boxes. God probably does exist.