Fries and fish.. Not what you think.. - 1/31/2016

Thanks to all of you who think I'm "cool" but how cool can I be when I start singing "Beauty and the Beast" songs to chefs who greet me with a couple of bon jours? Cool people don't get kicked off stage during open mic night at Grandmom Minnie's  within a minute.  I can't tell you whom I shared that humiliating experience with, because I've already told you, or at least hinted at, what they'd do(and did) on a half a quaalude. And besides, anyone who knew me in my 20's knows EXACTLY who I am talking about. I also can't disclose their names because they are our bathroom euphemisms. Praising my writing is like praising Neely O'Hara's vocal talents before she hit it big and became an addict. Neely, for the Unhip, is the character played in a ghastly way by Patty Duke in what critics call the worst movie of all time called "Valley of the Dolls." Their worst is one of my faves, but only because of that unforgettable high camp dialogue. When Anne Wells, the character played by Barbara Perkins tells the soon to be back stabbing Neely O'Hara that she was a great singer, like some of you think I'm an entertaining blogger, she'd just laugh, shrug her shoulders, and say like I do, "yeah, that and a nickel will get me a cup of coffee." I wonder why I reference Patty Duke so often in blogs? I wonder in what era coffee cost a nickel a cup? I wonder when I'll be returning to a location this lovely, considering how unpredictable the basement crystal meth biz can be? Update: In these dwindling hours of our vacation/birthday celebration, Jim decides to walk to town for tee shirts, and I decide to walk into the Caribbean for trouble. Earlier, I spotted what I thought was a lone ziti-type noodle in the sand.  Closer inspection shows that it is a single french fry. I thought maybe that sexy Enrique WAS peddling single fries after all, that maybe he didn't mean "fruits" but "f-r-i-t-t-e-s" Oh, by the way, before I forget, I didn't learn the word "p-o-m-m-e f-r-i-t-t-e-s from French class(damn autocorrect!) but from "Time After Time" when Malcolm Mcdowell comes from the past and stands behind a big burly guy in line at McDonald's and orders what he does and exclaims, "oh, I see, "fries" are p-o-m-m-e f-r-i-t-t-e-s!" I get so off track, how can anyone follow me?? I thought maybe one of the topless size zeros was saving that fry for later, for her dinner, but I stole it anyway. I ball it in my fist and find a nice looking school of darting, silvery black fish.  Slowly, I crumble the french fry and send them into a bigger frenzy then they were already in. Let's just say I didn't think this through, that big fish are very attracted to panicked little fish. Don't tell Jim I did this..he'd think I was littering when he was trying to find me a nice tee shirt. (which he did) There's now a guy in front of us, under a palm tree, scratching his back. This would not be even slightly blog-worthy except for the fact that he was scratching it with an expensive looking store bought chrome plated back scratcher. It makes me think, before they left the room, did the wife ask : "honey, did you remember your hat and sunscreen?" and half-way through their walk he'd say, "shoot..I have to go back. I forgot my back-scratcher." The thought of him going back to his room for a gizmo like that is what makes this noteworthy, not just that some guy was sitting under a palm tree minding his own business when his back started to itch. I am officially out of note paper and time, but I'm sure I'll have one more entry tonight.  We finally met the other couple(besides sisters Patty and Cathy) who were on our flight from JFK..a man so handsome that I thought he worked here.  He's from Israel and he's here with his husband enjoying the trip.  He lives in Manhattan now, practicing OB-GYN at NYU.  (Make your appointments now ladies..he is really adorable)  And he invited us to dinner..hopefully I'll have some things to say before the final au revoir..

Worked tomatoes will soon be in the past - 1/31/2016

Our last full day..And we're going to maximize it by spending the entire day baking in the sun and brushing up on our french. and worrying about how we're going to get up at 5:00 AM tomorrow morning. (Really Jim, I don't have to know how to say "that strawberry looks delicious" because I'd never eat a single one. That sounds weird..I LOVE strawberries(as far as fruit goes) but I'd never eat just one is what I meant. I already found out who won the SAGS(WTG Idris..you tell those academy racists to go straight to hell with that gorgeous face of yours!) Jim wants to walk to town, to St. Anne's. I have no interest in long walks and sweating just to haggle for something I don't need or want. (Jim,  please, no more MUGS.  Unless YOU starting unloading the dishwasher and find a place for one more) I guess haggle if you want, but I don't like trinkets or scarves. I suppose we need a new king sized comforter that Luke won't destroy when we get home..can you get one that'll fit in your carry on? Maybe Jim should take a sailing lesson...Maybe I'll see if I can find any celebs on the beach that aren't fictional. Maybe I'll see if they're going to be serving more Bananas of Grated Cheese.  That's funny not because it's gross, (and who am I say say it's gross?  It may not be just because I wouldn't eat it..seafood and fish aren't gross) It's funny because of the ridiculous preposition. Oh, I hope I run into that sociopath with the bread pudding before we leave tomorrow.  If I do, I am going to have Jim translate all the ingredients of bread pudding into french(if of course, that WAS bread pudding) and then I'm going to have him translate the french version of "put your bread pudding right HERE, you  crazy old bat!" I may run out of note paper before it's time to blog again, which means I'll have to rely on memory for anecdotes, and that's not going to translate well.  (That's going to translate like "Worked Tomatoes") So if this is my last blog for awhile, I am curious to all those who are still reading it:  (Also, I'm kind of an insecure egomaniac who wants some ego stroking) What was everyone's favorite story this week?  Any favorite characters?  Who should play Jam, me, and the insane Bread Pudding Lady in the movie? It's funny, we dined with Patty and Cathy last night, and Patty is not a happy camper.  Or not as happy as I am because she doesn't live in denial. Cathy was too happy to complain about anything.  I would be too if my son kept sending me messages from the friggin' Sundance FILM Festival!) I think all the negative crap, the crap that our wonderful Travel Agent from Cherry Travel warned us about, and yes, you locals, book your next trip with Christine Cherry Hommel, it won't cost a dime extra and she'll handle all the stress..I think all that negative stuff made this one of the best trip ever!  We wouldn't be laughing this much at a place like say, Sandals, hearing a cop from Newark try to pronounce "fruits." Or maybe we would.  And aside from the laughs(I think the entire premise of "I Love Lucy"..the most popular sitcom in TV history, was based on Lucy's inability to understand Ricky, so these laughs are important) Club Med Guadeloupe is STILL everything one loves about Club Med.There's still crazy signs and crazy dances and energy, just in french and with less meat dishes.  It was not a mistake coming here, where the palm tress sway and the water sparkles and if you're insane like me, you might be able to convince everyone you saw a real celebrity topless. I cannot thank Jim Amster enough for the best birthday in history..and all of you who celebrated with me. Now once again, because my egomania is growling along with my stomach, what was everyone's favorite blog/story this week?

Bananas of grated cheese - 1/30/2016

I think if I ever do decide to join a gym, the secret is to go to one where nobody speaks English so you can convince yourself that you're not seeing results because of a language barrier, and you can convince others  that you seriously tried. We just did water aerobics. I asked the lifeguard about a starting time for the class, and he had no idea what I was trying to say. I tried to say "water aerobics" with gestures, but I think he thought I was having a mini-stroke. Finally, I remembered that Water Aerobics is called "Aqua-Gym" here and we came to a mutual understanding. "Aqua-Gym" was taught by that hot guy who paraded down the beach the other day with what I thought were hot loose french fries, because he pronounced "fruits" as "f-r-i-t-t-e-s"..Erique sizes us up as the zhlubs in the NY Yankees caps from New York(aka New Jersey) and thought he'd be challenged, in a good way, as he'd give some instructions in English. He coveys to us that we don't need to know the language, we merely have to follow the gestures. He is on the pool deck, instructing us not to break the circle we were supposed to be swimming in. There is only one of us not keeping up and  breaking the circle. Guess who?  So every time I pass, and he's within reach, he grabs my shoulder and shoves me toward the swimmer I'm supposed to be following.  I thank him and say "merci" each time, but by the fifth or sixth go around, I am still breaking the circle and he is shoving me harder and I'm yelling for MERCY and I think he thinks I'm still thanking him. Jim is getting exasperated, wondering why I just don't follow the non-verbal cues and gestures. I say, thinking Jim would be the only one to understand, "I can't even follow the steps for the cha cha slide at a bar mitzvah!" and the woman whose shoulders I was supposed to grab and not break the circle hears this and says, "You are Jewish?" and I answer truthfully, "more or less." Turns out she speaks absolutely no French, a fair amount of English, and fluent Spanish, her native tongue. She came all the way from Buenos Airies and was supposed to go to Club Med Columbus Isle which has been closed due to severe hurricane damage since October. (Wow..if that had happened eighteen months ago everyone would still be calling my husband Jim..that's when and where he got the "Jam" cake) Her Spanish accent was thick and lovely, and easier to decipher than the French spoken here. Enrique looks displeased that I am chatting with my new Jewish friend and disrupting his class, but screw Enrique. (And yes, I would if Jim would allow it) My Argentinian friend introduces herself as "Andrea" and says everyone calls her "ANDI" which she actually spells out.  You can't get more comfortably American than that! It is almost time for lunch and I'm hoping to find something that doesn't make me feel like I'm on "Survivor."  I know fish is healthy, I know it's brain food, but I'd rather stay unhealthy and dumb than eat it.. We BETTER get to the vegetable display before someone takes the  hot bubbly brown  crusty cheese off of the cauliflower au gratin.  That's for ME and ME alone..Update: Lunch was great, it's raining as we dine al fresco, so I can justify jogging(journaling/blogging) during the afternoon. If anyone thinks I'm exaggerating any of this, I suggest you view the photos Jim took of today's lunch offerings..there really WAS a dish called "Worked Tomato"..(He wouldn't let me use my Sharpie and write "OVER" (worked tomato) And I don't know if you can read this, but the other photo described a vat of "Bananas OF Grated Cheese"..THAT's the new password you're looking for, readers!  Nobody's getting hacked with a password like "Bananas of Grated Cheese"..They finally got lunch right, the best thing I've eaten since I got here since I'm so over f-o-i-s gras by now.) They called it "mashed potatoes with meat" and I scooped some and it turned out to be absolutely DELICIOUS Shepherd's Pie. Jim and I loved it, and we were both relieved they didn't try to translate Shepherd's Pie directly, because who knows what it would have been labeled? Probably something we would have skipped and it would have been our loss.  Fish lovers really would love it here..fish, seafood, fruit..everything healthy. I can't even say I'm disappointed because this is a GREAT Club Med, it truly is, and Christine Cherry Hommel, it was a WONDERFUL choice because all the stuff that's happening is actually making it that much more fun..and funny! And the beach is so beautiful..it's been worth every single penny we spent.  I only had to fudge with blog details once, on my birthday night, when I pointed to the croissants, wanted butter, rubbed the back of my hand, and was given hand cream.  Auto correct wouldn't let me spell what was actually given to me..P-U-R-E-L-L.(which kept coming up as "purple")..I can't believe it's not butter! I kinda want to stay here...

We're in France.. - 1/29/2016

All of Jim's electronic services and gadgets think he's actually in France. And everyone thinks that because I am American, I know Angelina Jolie--and that I must be from New York.  OK, I do wear a NY Yankees cap, but I haven't followed baseball since Derek Jeter retired.  (he did retire, right?) At first, I'd try to explain that "yes, I am from New York, but one state south."  I think they totally misunderstood what my pointing south gesture meant, so now I just tell everyone I'm from NY, and Jim isn't fighting with Yahoo about being in France either. I found beef, as in Beef Wellington.  I tried to tell the chef that I'm a medium to medium rare type, but he was gathering a huge crowd who told me that raw is best. And I was too tired to argue.  Or chew. We just saw a loud lively show featuring scantily clad hotties doing their salute to Brazilian music and dance, and we could barely stay awake. We spent way too much time on that Jet-ski levitation...or pretending that we did

A famous French actress visits club med.. - 1/30/2016

sometimes, if you pray hard enough, or if you're borderline agnostic and wish hard enough, your dreams come true.  Look what happened to my camp reunion/FB friend Audrey Hunn on the night of my 60th birthday, when the Springsteen super fan was pulled onto the stage at MSG to dance with him. And I was wondering if Audrey's dream actually happened, would mine as well?  I didn't want to post anything yesterday, because it was all premature and not confirmed, but there were rumors that French Actress Julie Delpy would be arriving on a Red Eye from Paris this morning for a winter escape. If you've read any of my previous vacation journals, or regular blogs(which apparently nobody does) you know I am positively obsessed with Richard Linklater's "Before" trilogy, as in "Before Sunrise" followed years later by "Before Sunset" and most recently, "Before Midnight." I am madly in lust with Ethan Hawke, even when the camera photographs him somewhat goofily, because of that sexy character he played in that trilogy. I was giddy all day yesterday..would it be possible that I could meet the actress who has been kissed by Ethan as Jesse Wallace?  Who has been touched by him? These are not your average Katherine Heigl romcom for those who've never watched.  They are a brilliant depiction of  enviable romance between beautiful smart people in beautiful settings.  So much dialogue is off-script, which is really something considering English is not Ms. Delpy's native tongue. I promised myself if I saw her, I would not bother her like all these french people would, because they are just autograph seekers who want to brag that they met France's most popular actress when they get home, and I just would want to talk about Ethan. So we're on the beach, and I'm pinching myself, because there, among all the other topless women is Julie Delpy! (Rent "Before Midnight"..you'd recognize those pretty "girls" of hers too) I knew I'd hate myself if I didn't approach her.  I knew I would never let Jim post  photographic proof of us together, because she is Julie Delpy and I am me.  But I knew I had an in..I wouldn't just be talking french films, I'd find my unique angle and reel her in, discussing American filmmaking, in English. Jim and I walk over to her and she smiles, and then I tell her I am totally obsessed with the trilogy and she smiles more. I sit down and tell her that I think Rick Linklater is the best Director working today and yup, I didn't say Richard, I said Rick--what cool "inside" cinemaphiles call him.  I was so mad at myself for not brushing up on my trilogy trivia..("What WAS the name of Celine's favorite cafe in Paris during the second film?") And the twins in the third film were named??..oh right, Ella and Nina, I remembered! And I tell her I thought it was a travesty that she and Ethan and Rick didn't win a Best  Screenplay Oscar for "Before Midnight" which they WOULD have if the academy members weren't dumb enough to nominate it for Best Adapted Screenplay when it was clearly a candidate for Best Original. I tell her that Linklater was robbed last year when he didn't get Best Director for "Boyhood" and then kicked myself because I realized Julie Deply had virtually nothing to do with that movie.  I then go on and tell her about the physical beauty of all three films, and how they made me want to book an immediate flight to Vienna, Paris, and Greece. Jim's cartoon bubble is positively seething, because I read it and it says "You told me you'd never want to go to Europe because there's too much WALKING, you sick, selfish bitch!" and mine says:  "I am so charming right now that Ms. Delpy is going to invite me to spend the night with her for "experimentation" that most have in college and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me!" Finally, Julie opened a book so I knew the visit was over but it was clear she was impressed with how much I knew about the trilogy.  And then..then..my dreams were totally SHATTERED because Julie Delpy,  my beloved Julie who has been kissed by Ethan Hawke..lit a CIGARETTE!! Also, I started off this passage by saying sometimes dreams come true like they did for my friend who lives for Springsteen but......GOTCHA!! No, I did not meet anyone associated with the "Before" trilogy.  In my REAL dream last night, I was in the house I grew up in, watching my dog Luke get eaten before our eyes by a wild boar. (That part is true..THAT really is how sick and pathetic I actually  dream) I am getting concerned that I will never eat beef again.  There are just too many fish options, and again, it's kind of ironic that everything is all about Fish in the week we lost Abe Vigoda. I am delusional about the massive amount of vegetables I am consuming..while it is true they are vegetables, they are drenched in butter and covered with the brown bubbly cheese that you'd have to be dead to resist. Everything should be au gratin, who's with me?

What the heck is "Brick"? - 1/29/2016

I really appreciate all of you who still read my updates, who call me "s-munny"(remember, the portmanteau of "smart/funny" is still preferable to "fart")but I'm no Amy Schumer.  I went to Open Mic Night once, in my 20's, and lasted about 30 seconds on stage.  I think I'd last longer on a mechanical bull. I flipped off the misogynistic emcee for not giving me more time.  He smugly thanked me, and as me and the girls were doing our Walk of Shame out of the Comedy Club in Philly, the asshole said something like: "Give those three a half a quaalude and they'll do anything you want." Okay, that might have been true for my friends.  Me?? I needed to know your parents' name, your middle name, and where you went to high school before I'd even consider cooking you a roast beef dinner. Jim discovers that there are indeed Water Aerobics here, just in the ocean and not around the pool as we believed. I wish I had checked that out earlier. (and would have, if someone slipped me a half a quaalude) We were in the water earlier and a snorkeler swam by, and we tried to ask him if he had seen any fish yet, but he didn't understand what we were asking, even with our gestures. I ask:  "POISSON? POISSON?" and he nods and swims away.  It amuses me that this is the French word for "fish." (I might not be so amused if the French word for "ribeye steak" sounded so similar to "poison." )I'm glad I got some nap time in today. Even cracked open the Kindle. Being here in Guadeloupe now reminds me of how I've kind of already been here, when those aforementioned slutty friends from the comedy club debacle would come here and seduce french chefs. I lived vicariously through their detailed sex-capades, as those reading this are experiencing an actual "I was there too!" moment as they sense what it's like to be told off by a sociopathic octogenarian just because you can't confirm that the fluffy stuff with raisins and burnt caramel edges is bread pudding. I wonder why I got kicked off the stage at my only attempt at Open Mic night? I wonder if people read my blog, since I haven't gotten any likes or comments? I wonder if you tell me your middle name and where you went to high school, how far would we go? And here's my mid-afternoon update: This stuff has gotta stop. I am excited.  The lunch buffet has a theme.  International Cuisine, they called it.  Each serving vessel had a card in front of it, with beautiful calligraphy, describing the vessel's contents in French, Italian, Spanish, and finally English. Curiosity brings me to the longest line, where diners  of  various ethnicities are eagerly awaiting a turn at the ladle. I get close and read the Specialty of the Day.  In French, it says "Brick." In Italian, it also says "Brick." In Spanish, I see they are serving "Brick." And..oh, you're gonna guess how this ends.  I didn't even try the American version of "Brick"..I was afraid I'd sample some, digest it, and later on I'd be sh*tt*ing..oh, I'm not going there on second thought.  This blog already has too much toilet humor

Bread pudding part 2: 1/29/2016

I am still reeling about the Bread Pudding Lady. I think if I phrased my answer in the form of a question, there would have been less Jeopardy. (Sorry Ro, you gave great advice to avoid forced corny humor when blogging, and you're right, but I couldn't resist just this once) If I asked "do you speak English" I wouldn't have been chewed out.  I think she looked at it as an ORDER, as in " speak ENGLISH, you senile old witch!" Still, Club Med's advertising campaign slogan ever since the 70's has been "A Club Med Vacation: The Anti-Dote to Civilization."  They would't use a word that had "civil" in it if they met Bread Pudding Lady. Also, last night, as I stood in the soup line, (and OMG, YES I realize how insensitive I sound when describing a soup line  at an all-inclusive resort) I pointed to what looked like a hunk of raw meat and wondered if I guessed correctly.  I say to the soup chef: "English?" and the lady next to me answers, "why yes I am, from just outside of London." I laughed, and gave her a Reader's Digest version of the language issues we've been encountering since Monday, and she smiled at me and offered:  "Then don't ever go to Martinique." I finally reach the soup server, who looked a little bemused at the exchange between me and the Brit. And this is all so weird since this is the first time I've been in a Club Med since finding my HS french teacher on Facebook a few months ago.  Mrs. Barbara R.Bravo, you really DID teach me well but I am sixty and can barely  remember anything in  English. Where was I?  Oh yeah, so the bemused soup ladler is holding up his forefinger and saying:  "Guadeloupe, One?" What did he mean?  Was this my first time here? Did I only want one bowl of soup? Or was he giving me the results of a rugby match: "Guadeloupe one, Martinique, zero?" Jim is still practicing daily on the balcony. He doesn't quite get that not only do we not need to know how to say "that looks like a delicious strawberry" now, we never will again. He briefly lost his temper with me last night when the Internet was down and I told him to go to the reception desk for help. "They can't even follow which one of us was having a birthday--they're going to know about spotty Wi-fi?"  He danced off the snippiness at a beach party later on.  My man can MOVE!! We will be home in a few days and we will decompress. I'm not even bitching about endless laundry because there isn't any when one hand washes bathing suits daily. I'm not even complaining about overloading the DVR, because the only thing I'm really upset about missing is tomorrow night's SAG Awards. OK Rochelle Polonsky Napoli, I promise, this is my last  stupid, forced, blatant line: "If I wanted to see who wins a SAG award, I'd  stand next to the topless frenchwomen when I pee in the ocean today."

Quintessential club med - 1/28/2016

Tonight: Quintessential Club Med experience.  We saw a wonderful show and then everyone went to the beach for some energetic, pulsating dancing.  Everyone is moving to the left in unison, waving their hands up in the air in unison, roaring in unison.  And then there's me, doing my own thing not to be independent  or defiant but because I can't follow instructions.  I saw Victoria's grandfather today.  I smiled, he nodded, and I wanted to tell him I still haven't talked to Angelina Jolie, and if I did, I'd ask her why the films she directs only last a week in theaters. The French Connection is getting better except in the dining hall.  You have no idea what you're being served. Like the chef might tell you the first word is "chocolate"(which he pronounces "shock-o-lot") but you have no idea you just ordered it with herring. Or you know "poulet" is chicken, but you have no idea you've just ordered a serving with a side of baby aspirin. Ugh..and don't get me started on the Diet Coke with lemon! (Inside joke for those of you who have dined out with me) Am I still relevant? Am I getting repetitious?  Does anyone still care that I pee in the ocean?  That I can't find any meat? That I'm desperately trying to find a porcupine? I guess if you keep reading, I'll keep writing.  Oh!  Oh my, how can I forget this??  Guess what my room number is?  It has two zeros and a one in it so even I can remember it!

Milli VanillEE and the bread pudding terrorist - 1/28/2016

I've come to the conclusion that there are only two "musts" to master in French:  "Where is the Bathroom?" and "can you put that lit cigarette up your butt, please?" Speaking of bathrooms, why are all married couples who are "officially" sixty compelled to discuss bathroom habits?  Jim and I used to discuss politics, our dysfunctional childhoods, hidden symbolism in Quentin Tarantino movies. Now it's just an endless chorus of "number one?" or "number two?"  We don't even bother with Levson/Amster Family euphemisms anymore. It's worse when Jim is in the ocean, claiming he has to "go" because it's anyone's guess as to why he's actually seeking a toilet.  Tomorrow I  will sneak a handful of Cheerios into the sea, for target practice, like when parents potty train their sons. I finally run into the people we met the first night in the limo, after four days of not seeing them. I'm trying to shut my brain up, to not associate them with anything stupid, and as I approach them, I say to myself:  "Karen..you don't have to be dorky and sing the theme to "The Patty Duke Show" to impress Patty and Cathy, you do not have to mention the word douchebag, you are popular and well-liked, according to blog feedback, so don't do anything stupid. So what do I do?  I go up to PATTY and say, "so how was your birthday celebration yesterday?" and CATHY answers: "I'M the one with the same birthday as you" So I'm saying to my brain, remember something else, remember something else, don't do this again. Remember that it's CATHY who looks like Donna from "The Cleveland Show"..just as voluptuous but thinner and prettier. I then ask if they've done any excursions, and Cathy said they spent the morning in town at a flea market. I ask if it was fun, and she leans in and begins"Girlfriend.." (Nobody ever called me that, even when I cooked a great homemade meal for them) I see she is drenched in sweat and she adds:  "Girlfriend..do I LOOK like I had fun?" So..there will be no excursions for me.  No need to tour a button factory just to prove a point. So then this happens: I'm spooning what appears to be a nice helping of bread pudding onto a plate, when a very nasty very old french woman asks me what it is. I didn't ask her if she speaks french, but in french, I politely request that she say it in English. ("An Anglaise, si vows plait?" ) Well she screams out a very audible "No!!" and then curses me out!  For real! Full disclosure, I was wearing a kinda unflattering beach cover-up, and that was probably some kind of universal language for "I obviously know my way around a dessert buffet" but I couldn't guarantee that the lump was actually  bread pudding, yet alone what was in it. Jim then asks me to fetch him some chocolate ice cream.  I do, and the line is long, like someone was giving out free tickets to a Taylor Swift concert. I decided to get some vanilla for myself.  Same problem, different scooper.  I'm pointing and he's just not getting it until finally he nods his head, smiles, and says "oooh..Van-ell-EE!" Come on..I was one 'elfin' syllable off! Did the bread pudding lady convince you I was a terrorist or something? I am running low on note paper..I will never remember such minutia by the time I'm actually in front of a computer for the remainder of this trip.. But I do remember meeting someone in line before the bread pudding disaster who I thought was American, but nope..French Canadian.  Her accent wasn't too bad, and I understood enough to garner that her son lives in Florida and makes travel arrangements for the Florida Panthers Pro Hockey team, even 'though I understand hockey less than I do french.  Tonight's show is 70's music..NOW they're talking my language!

"But my boobs are on the floor" 1/28/2016

I am sixty and one day, and I swear, I don't feel a day older than sixty and two days. Still feelin' the vacation high(because sunburn, fatigue, and intestinal disorders haven't set in yet) and the birthday euphoria. You know, sometimes "it" isn't about the "it" but that which transcends "it." Let me try to explain and sound less Zen because I'm not exactly sure what Zen is. My "it" was a birthday cake made with kiwis and almond paste, with icing that resembled a large rubber coaster. (Remember the birthday cake we had for your 9th birthday in Turks and Caicos, Marissa Levson? You and Evan called it a "Band-aid Cake" because the icing could be ripped off with one try?) Last night's cake was like that, because Jim made such an effort to surprise me with french people who think "surprise" translates to "disclose." It was a fantastic cake because of the IDEA of IT.  It would never compete with a Carvel Fudgie the Whale cake, but it gave me INSPIRATION. It helped me get through a language barrier with Victoria.  Those of you who have ever heard me sing in real life know my rendition of "Let it Go!" sounded nothing like Adele Dazeem's Oscar winner from "Frozen" but Victoria clapped her hands and squealed with delight which made it the best cake experience of my life, even 'though the cake itself kinda sucked.  Am I making sense? I wake up today wondering if my street has been plowed. I wonder the same thing about my readers, even 'those in sunny Florida.  (Only a yenta like me would have the nerve to ask someone if they've been plowed) Oh, and speaking of Florida, I loved all the entries for the Karen Birthday Challenge, but the winner with the best meter, lyric accuracy, and presentation that would make Leisl herself jealous would be my cousin Arlene.  (To refresh:  "I am Sixty/How'd THAT Happen??/So glad I'm Immature/Things are quite Nice/I'm in Paradise/..and Arlene Gorewitz Boumel adds this little gem: "But my boobs are on the floor!" So sad, so true, so Leisl. Yes, you may showcase it next time you host the Broward County Folk Festival at your home. I think I may bypass the pool today, even 'though it's non-smoking, because you can only enter it via an unforgiving ladder. I missed a rung yesterday, bruising my ego more than my thigh.  This means more beach time for me. Yay me!

Victoria's Secret - 1/27/2016

My cake arrives.  It is covered with almond paste and fruit that I wouldn't eat with YOUR mouth. But again, so much thought went into this...the restaurant is empty except for the table next door, a little girl with her Mom and grandparents.  And they sing Happy Birthday(in French) along with the hand cream lady.  So I knew then just who all the leftover cake was going to! (And of course there was going to be leftover..it was made of almond paste and kiwis, not bubble gum ice cream) So I say, "Je m'pelle Karen" and I either offered her some cake or a cat..I'm not sure because I mix up "chat" (cat) with "gateau" (cake) They laughed, and the little girl was positively delighted.  I fall madly in love with her, right then and there. I find out she is three years old and her name is Victoria. I tried to ask her where she was from, but I was a drunken mess from that champagne sip, so I go to my old standby and say:  "Victoria..mon chien et Luke!" Her Mom translates, telling her that "Karen has a dog named Luke" and instructs her to tell me about Tom, who is either her cat or her cake. And then...and this is something I can't even explain myself--like my uncanny ability to solve the bonus puzzles of "Wheel of Fortune" I go into full Awesome Mom mode, even with my champagne soaked brain, and I start to sing the title song from "Frozen." Victoria is growing cuter by the minute, screaming out "Elsa!" and "Anna!" but then I blank on the damn lyrics and ask her: "Do You Want to Build a Snowman?" Victoria is squealing with delight when her french grandfather says the first word I hear out of him all night. Since I'm from the US, he asked if I ever met Angelina Jolie. I then inform Victoria that's it's my very special milestone birthday, and her Mom translates, and they both crack up because apparently I told them I turned six today. And then, man oh man, this was a struggle, but I told them if they ever wanted to try out a great Club Med with a kid's program, go to Club Med Sandpiper in Port. St. Lucie, just a short drive from Elsa and Anna's home in Orlando.  At least, I THINK that's what I said.  I might have just been asking for more hand cream.  How cute is this?  Victoria LOVES kiwi!! We are supposed to be at the theater listening to an Elvis impersonator, but I can hear him from the balcony, and he sounds as much like Elvis as I sound like Maria Callas. Jim is a little passed out, so I'll get him to post Victoria's picture tomorrow.  You will be in love, I promise. Thanks again for the best birthday of my 60 years!

before I turn out the lights, I want to thank all those "Sound of Music" fans who wrote some great lyrics for my special day.  I'm burping up some cheese that tasted like food tastes when it's leaving one's throat, not entering, so it's off to sleep I go.

"Which one of you is getting the surprise birthday cake?" - 1/27/2016

Ya know, six months ago, my Better Half gave me the option of a party or a tropical vacation to bring in 60. I opted for the latter, and it is one of the best decisions I've ever made.  First of all, thank you "Jam" for THE BEST birthday celebration I ever had! And to my FB friends and family, your birthday love has made me dislike the month of January a little less.  From the generic greeting to blog comments, I feel like a had a party after all and you were all in attendance.  And when I win the lotto, you're all coming with me next time so the experience can be more than vicarious. We strolled under the starlit sky, listening to the waves crashing against the surf, and I'm telling you, that would have made me happy even if I was walking to a dinner of canned beans and ham.We arrive at the beautiful specialty restaurant and the hostess asks:  "Which one of you is getting the surprise birthday cake?" C'mon..how could you not love miscommunication like that? Not to mention Jim's thoughtful gesture and  an A for effort. We are served something that looked like a ball of fried dough.  I take a bite and can't identify what it is. Jim suggests it's bland, that we have to use the sauce that accompanied it, in a packet with a lemon on the label. So I go first, and pour the liquid contents of a lemon-scented moistened towelette all over the mystery dough.   In case you haven't  already guessed, I am a burger and fries(pomp fritte??) type of gal, and people like us should never be given moistened towelettes, lemon-scented or otherwise. We get the next course..pate with pumpkin bread.  And champagne. Champagne wishes and caviar dreams are not dreams but weird nightmares for those of us who've eaten at Wendy's. Oh!! And then there was a basket of croissants. They were wonderful, but neither of us remembered the french word for "butter" so I point to the bread and rub the back of my hand.  She comes back with hand cream. The main course comes next, Beef Rossini, a steak made for the gods with something we couldn't identify on top. Jim thought it was some kind of mushroom, and I volunteer to be the guinea pig. It tasted like a hard boiled egg, if hard boiled eggs brought on the best foodgasm of one's life. Jim agrees that it is indeed wonderful, and then guesses it's probably not an egg from a chicken. I am relieved that porcupines don't lay eggs(right?? they don't, right?) and I dig in..whatever it was, it had life-sustaining qualities. I'm attacking it like it's Cotton Candy Ice Cream. Finally, the hand cream lady sends over someone who speaks a little English and couldn't understand my egg question or my tastebuds at all.  She tells me I am eating "fois gras" and 'though I never had it before, I am doubling the size of my meth lab as soon as I get back to NJ so I can score some more of this fois gras.  Stay tuned for Part Two of my glorious night..

"I am 60 going on.." - 1/26/2016

Why good morning, Sixty!  Good girl!!  Stay..stay..sit..there you go. Just as I thought..your bark is way worse than your bite. I don't know why I was so afraid of you. I woke up to wonderful greetings(thank you all in advance) and thought about all the poems and parodies and singing telegrams I've penned over many decades that could fill the Library of Congress. And then I thought that it would be fun to be the recipient.  So c'mon, just drop a line..just five syllables if you are as inspired as I am.  Let your creative juices flow and your inner Leisel's go and join me with this: "I Am Sixty..!/(How'd THAT happen??) /So glad..I'm Im-ma-ture../Life is quite nice/I'm in Paradise/But..___ ___ ___ ___ ____ ____!! So go for it.  I can take it.  But just a head's up, despite some obvious similarities with hair, bangs, and gun control stance, anyone who fills in those blanks with "I look like Michael Moore!" will experience some "Bye Felicia!" Google that if you're unfamiliar..and google Michael Moore as well.  This day is already fun!

Beware of coconuts - 1/262016

last entry for my Second Act...this was a great night, from being greeted by five different chefs with their smiles and their toques, and their sweet choruses of "bonjour..bonjour..bonjour..bonjour..bonjour!" To which I, of course reply, "She really is a funny girl that Belle..a most peculiar Madameoiselle.".We were walking back to our room when I see a sign to "beware of falling coconuts"..I DID once read that they're more common and deadlier than shark attacks, but how can one beware of them?  Saw a wonderful trapeze act tonight..in French Ate with Manu tonight--from France.  (Not the stud from the Bahamas..this one was a sweetie who looked like Bob's Big Boy. )So many people from France!!  I expect to see some Coneheads any day..  OK..night night, fifties!  Been nice living through ya'!

Who's birthday is it anyway? - 1/26/2016

Now THIS is funny..I just get a call in the room.  (A phone call in a hotel room is always a tad frightening) Jim has been gone on his walk for some time.  The caller, in a heavy french accent says, "Mrs. Amster?  Karen Amster?  I need to talk to you about your husband"..So I am momentarily scared shitless(did he get attacked by a porcupine?  Did he fall into a ditch?  Was he kidnapped by the topless frenchwoman?" ) Nope..the caller says, "I want to talk to you about the special surprise you have for your husband's 60th birthday tomorrow.  Everything is set for his special day, don't worry about anything, we won't blow the surprise."  OMG..you gotta love these Frenchmen!  It reminds me of the time I tried to surprise him with a special cake for his 60th at Club Med Bahamas in November 2014.  They simply WOULD NOT let me write "happy birthday Jim" on the cake.  They insisted  the guest registered was "James" not "Jim."  I tried to tell her it's a  nickname and also, a cake, not a passport. She tried to compromise by filling out the card with "Happy Birthday Jam"..I guess stories like this make for funnier blogs.  Great job "Jam"..but maybe you should go back to reception and confirm the "surprise"..tomorrow night's regular buffet  dinner is Neptune night, and I don't want to spend my 60th birthday eating something I never eat. LOVE the effort though! Thank you!!

The ice cream queen of club med - 1/26/2016

oh nice..Jim is still on the porch trying to learn french..(Like we'll need that ever again) and doesn't want to go to lunch yet, where there will be no white chocolate bread, beef, or ice cream.  I am the first GM in the history of Club Med that will return 10 pounds lighter. Oh, btw, Jim was very curious about "I'm Gonna Get You Douchebag" so he googled it.  My bad.  It's actually called "How To Tell You're a Douchebag" and it's getting buzz at Sundance. But c'mon, with a writer/director named Tahir, does anyone actually believe it'll  be an Oscar contender next year?  We all know that the academy has a built in bias against films with feminine hygiene products in their title. Another thought I can make while I'm still 59: Don't worry that my travel journaling/blogging--(my jogging???)--is taking me away from activities.  It's not, it's my creative outlet. If I signed up for a jewelry making class, you'd all say "Oh, Karen is exploring an untapped artistic side!" If I signed up for a creole cooking lesson, you'd say "Karen needs to eat her homework." If I signed up for trapeze class, you'd all shrug and say "I guess she's off her meds."  Oh ..I finally found ice cream, Jay Goldberg! But it's on a public beach, at a shack where you have to pay for Good Humor novelties. As I wrap up this entry, I can only wonder this:  How DOES one tell if they're a douche-bag? By spending all their hard-earned meth lab money on vacation, just to sit and snark all day?  Ooooh..wait'll I'm SIXTY..you just wait....

Jim found beach chairs! And ice cream! He did a much better job than last night, when I had to DRINK a bowl of carrot soup because we couldn't find spoons.  He came back with used, dirty ones and asked:  "Will these do if you just wipe them off?" Well today he found ice cream! I was a little concerned about flavor options, because my tastebuds are as childish as the rest of me, as I like things like Bubble Gum and Cotton Candy Ice Cream, and I figured I'd only be offered adult  stuff like Black Coffee or Tequila or Zoloft. So I go, and I see vanilla, and I'm pointing and trying to convey to the scooper what I want.  He starts scooping--chocolate!!--and I yell out, in a panic, "Blanco! Blanco!" remembering that Walter White was called (Something) "Blanco" in the Spanish(!!!??) version of "Breaking Bad." And so he scoops the white stuff.  It tasted nothing like vanilla. I can't believe vegetables are so freakin' good!!  Why didn't someone tell me this before? I am still 59...! And my 59 year old self finally got into the CM spirit today as I ventured into the GORGEOUS ocean. Surrounded by mountains and palm trees and topless french women. (for Jim) Oh, and before you ask..of COURSE I christened the water. And if you think my 59 year old bladder lacks stage fright, wait'll you see me tomorrow baby! I learned to say "le plume sur le table".. which means "the pen is on the table."  Is that useful? I think I'm remembering it from an old Lucy episode. A staffer just walked by carrying a tray for all us beachgoers.  I asked him what he was handing out and he replies:  "Frittes" which I knew was short for "Pomme Frittes" and I'm wondering why anyone wants to eat hot loose french fries on a hot beach. Turns out he was saying "fruits", and Jim got to enjoy some sliced watermelon. And then we saw a gull swoop down to grab a flying fish..our "National Geographic" moment of the trip.  I'm in a great mood again..beautiful waves will do that for any soul.

59 is the new 60 - 1/26/2016

So here's the thing: I am not ALLOWED to be cantankerous..not YET. You never read a Philip Roth novel describing an incorrigible fifty-nine year old.  Nope, that mishegos is only legit at 60. Having said that, I certainly ACTED like an aging beyotch this morning when we took a tour of the resort. Everyone is like eighty and french, and I'm still walking 100 feet behind everyone, regretting my decision to not wear my NY Yankees cap, because I knew that would attract my kind of people (Those who hate the Red Sox) I should have also worn my I Heart the USA shirt that I wore on the plane, and I only grabbed it from the closet because it matched my comfy capris. Even a TSA rep remarked on it, but here, it seems a little defiant.  Like if I had Donad Trump's face across my chest.  (right, like that would be a first!) Where was I?  Oh yeah, the walking tour. Everyone's oohing and aching over the resort's beauty and I'm thinking, "would it kill them to add a fresh coat of paint to this building?  Can they plant some rosebushes?  Why, there are boys in my neighborhood back home who could patch up these cracks in the walkway in no time!" I thought it, but couldn't say it because I am still 59. We then head out to the glass enclosed pool and my brilliant engineering husband finally figures out how to get in it.  It was here that I finally had my epiphany--my sign,  And that sign said"No Smoking at the Pool."  At least I THINK that's what it said--it was a circle with a diagonal line going through a lit cigarette, which could have been french for "we don't serve porcupines after nine"  But now I believe I'm where I'm supposed to be.

Don't be a douchebag Ann Coulter - 1/25/2016

Thank you weather gods for bringing us safely to Club Med Guadeloupe in the French West Indies, and don't ask me where they are because I still don't know. How do you thank weather gods anyway?  By avoiding shellfish??  Done!!  We had a wonderful flight on Norwegian Air(so much leg room) and arrived here with time to spare, and I immediately say to Jim:  "WTF?" which I'd translate into "Whoa..This's FRENCH!" if I thought "this's" is a real word.  Our wonderful Travel Agent, Christine Cherry Hommel, did warn us that this resort is extremely french but I wanted to try it anyway.  We finally meet people who spoke English who shared our transfers to the resort.  She said she was from Laurel Maryland and I'm thinking, "My Mom's name was Laurel!"  She tells me she was last in Guadeloupe in the early 80's as a single, to which  Jim replies:  So did I!"  She then tells me her name is Cathy, and she's traveling with her sister Patty, and we simultaneously offer:  "As in "The Patty Duke Show!"  Cathy  then offers that she has just one child, a son, and I'm thinking this is becoming freakishly coincidental, until she says her son's name is Tahir and studied film at NYU under Spike Lee's tutelage and just made an indie called "I'm Gonna Get You Douche Bag!" and I offer that mine studies hard and likes football.  I thought the coincidences were done, until she tells me she's here to celebrate a milestone birthday and I chime in with "me too!"  She says hers is Wednesday, January 27th and I add:  Me too!"  She then says she's turning sixty and I was about to remark about how uncanny that was until we compared more notes and I realize I'm five hours older. I have less than 36 hours to be fifty nine, so no premature birthday wishes please.  (Except for the fabulous poem I received before departure from the hilarious Arlene Nisson Lassin) I have zero problem admitting I'm 60..hell, I'll tell you my age, my weight and salary(if you have the chutzpah to ask, and my answer would be a lie anyway) and my social security number if I could remember it. Jane Fonda calls sixty "the third act"..but she doesn't discuss the amount of scenes in said third act.  I don't have much in common with Jane Fonda anyway, except for for feminism and politics, and also, she once dropped the C-bomb on "The Today Show" and I drop the C-Bomb every time Ann Coulter is on. Also, in my 20's, people said I looked a little like her, especially from her "Klute" days.  Even I see a similar look in the night swimming scene from "On Golden Pond."  Jane Fonda and I could still look alike if only I..if only we..if only she would care less about injecting botox and her frozen facial features and more about frozen yogurt.  

'I'm getting jealous of Jim.  He is mastering french, and I mean way beyond "meringue" and "mon chien et Luke."  I don't even care that I have a dog named Luke, so why should anyone else?  I said to Jim, "what if I pronounce it Luc?:"but now that he's mastering the language, he is not impressed.  Plus, Luke and Luc are pronounced the same

Weather gods and Dairy Queen - 1/23/2016

I'm warning you, weather gods, yes, YOU, you mother )%&&#$%^@#&$^@ weather gods.  (I do realize only Samuel L. Jackson can pull off that language and give it validity)  I'm just saying that if Moses could part the Red Sea and clear a path for his people(and mine) then you could and SHOULD part the snow and ice from a runway or two at JFK.  Because I swear to you, weather gods, I WILL be spending my 60th birthday wearing nothing but a swimsuit, sunscreen, and flip flops, even if it's atop a 40 foot snow drift in front of my frozen tundra of a suburban NJ home, eying snow street  plowers like they're hot sexy employees sweeping the beach.. I WILL be reading my KIndle poolside, even if it's in my own backyard staring at the frozen tarp covering my own pool. I know my late father meant well when he went to my late Aunt Minnie's beach house in Atlantic City that sunny April day in 1955, and convinced my late Mom that my brother Steven ought to have a sibling to enjoy all this beach and sunshine with. ..But that sibling turned out to be delivered by a frozen stork..in mother)%&&#$%@#&$ JANUARY!! C'mon, weather gods, would it kill ya to save your blizzards for Dairy Queen?

Face/off - 1/22/2016

OK sixty..I'm ready for ya' like I'm ready for this )()^)#()%%*) snowstorm!  Bring it on!   Nothing can wreck my mood as I just had a wonderful girl's day celebration with the amazing Tami...I had my first facial and needless to say, it won't be my last.  My face never felt or looked so good!  Well, my SKIN looks good..I still have those silly Karen  facial features...what a warm way to start off a chilly week!

If I defy the odds and live 'til my 80's, I'm going to go away and celebrate a major milestone..but NOT in January.  Of course, if I live to celebrate my 85th birthday I'll have little brain power left, so if I celebrate six months later  in July I'll think I was actually born that month.  Come on weather gods, don't clip my wings!   I need to celebrate 60 in style..and in someplace warm and sunny!