More churches than believers

"If It's Saturday, This Must Be Belgium" is the sequel to the 60's rom-com, "If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium" based on the under read blog of Karen R. Amster, and starring Gal Gadot as "Karen" and co-starring Charles Bronson as "Jim." They can't all be winners, and this trip was mainly a dud.  First of all, there was no description anywhere in the excursion descriptions that explained how much walking was required..walking on cobblestones.  That in itself would have been OK, I have comfortable shoes--but our guide sprouted wings.  I was truly afraid of being abandoned in Burges Belgium, with no money and no phone.  Just a hairbrush(and not a very good one) and a notebook. (ditto)  Jim had three choices, all of them bad:  1)  Miss a photo op 2) lose his wife 3) sprout wings as well to keep up with the guide.  The town of Bruges is quaint and pretty with very interesting architecture. Roofs look like staircases, and there is pretty stained glass everywhere.  We'd see horse drawn carriages and hear church bells chiming.  It reminded me quite a bit of Florence when we cruised to Italy last fall.  I hated Florence.  Burges had crowds, SMOKING(which hasn't been an issue since day one before we discovered an alternative route that didn't take us through the casino where breathing was a luxury) and a guide who wanted a cup of coffee or whatever he wanted so badly that he lost a few of us along the way. He did warn us about pickpockets, and bicyclists and drivers who didn't care that the pedestrian had the right of way, making things even more unpleasant.  The only difference between this and the trip to Florence was there was no humidity here, and no watch vendor calling me crazy for barking at them. It' not Bruges fault--nor was it Florence's.  I just like something more interactive when sight-seeing, like watching the guy turn a hunk of wood into a clog in Holland yesterday. Our guide told us there were thirty-two churches in the town square of Bruges--he added:  "more churches than believers."  Kind of like my home town with three banks on every corner.  It's a waste. Actually, there was a saving grace with this excursion, and it came in the form of the chocolatier who looked exactly like my blog obsession, Ethan Hawke as Jessie in the "Before " trilogy.  (Picture to follow) He spoke perfect English and made perfect chocolate. He actually told us to watch him and not our cameras and video recorders, because the entire demo is available on You Tube if you type in "Chocolate Story Bruges".  You won't see Ethan per se, but you'll learn all about Vietnamese cocoa beans, molds, and cocoa butter.  Ethan studied for seven years to master chocolate making..long enough to be a doctor, but most people would agree that chocolate IS the best medicine. He actually told us that your average Hershey Bar is NOT chocolate. No wonder I've always been lukewarm about this confection, although I am quite the fan of white chocolate. We toured the chocolate museum after and saw chocolate scultptures--it was all really interesting , except when the winged guide pointed out every museum and statue on the long route back to the bus.  And the restaurant that serves everything with beer.  Don't care, don't care, still don't care.  I sound bitter because the trip wasn't THAT bad, getting back on board was.  There was a long line wait on  the gangway..freezing rain and screaming babies.  The line seemed longer than the excursion, and anyone not in the EU had to go through immigration and get their passport stamped.  Which seemed a big ordeal considering we're only bringing back some Belgium chocolates for Tami to thank her for taking care of our mail. We finally won at a game!!  Name that cartoon theme song because we were paired up with young Canadians who know there way around Scooby Doo. One cannot have too many Royal Caribbean highlighters.  We're off to South Hampton where we'll dock early and take a quick tour of Windsor Castle before boarding the plane in Heathrow Airport.  I may try to recap tonight, but in case I cannot, let me thank all...and nope, not going to mention any positive or negative numbers..of you for reading and sharing our adventure.  Your feedback entertained me..a lot!

Great escape into Amsterdam

There was a great photo op when someone stood in front of a sign that read: "Passenger Terminal Amsterdam" and  accidentally blocked the "dam" but Jim wouldn't take a pic.  It needed better punctuation anyway:  Passenger: Terminal:  Amster. (Thank you again, you rude smokers who subjected me to all the second hand poison that ruined my lungs!)  OK..let's get back on track. The rain was getting harder and we gathered in the terminal, where we were told there would be a ten minute walk to the canal boat.  I had issues, because the ground was slippery and I couldn't walk very fast, but you know who have even more issues than me and was on our excursion?  The Messhuggenah.  For my Jewish friends who know the meaning of that word, you MUST PROMISE ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT that you will never refer to a blog  that  mentioned that word again..Or else I'm going to stop blogging, I mean it.  (I won't go back and fix references in earlier posts, because I'm inept,  but I'll stop right now)  And for my non Jewish friends who used google..yes, I meant "messhugennah" as in loud and sweetly daffy and kooky, like me.  I don't even think it was her that I saw pet that luggage in France and even if it was..well..let's put it this way.  As much as I'd like to see this blog get real publicity one day, I pray now that it never will.  Suzanne(not Joanne) Suzanne was being her loud rowdy self as she tried to keep up with us all when we boarded the canal cruise.  Her hair was disheveled(who am I to talk) and she looked like she might have bought into  that no boiling necessary stuff on the lasagna box, but I admired her..daffiness.. I was happy she's a numbers savant and rescued Mary..and was even happy to see her on our excursion. So then this happens:  We're about to board, and the only seats(benches with a table in front of them) not taken are up front.  So I sit next to..let's just call him Quiet Corpse, and Jim sits across because I can't ride in a vehicle that moves backwards.  Our guide Ellen(from Indonesia) shushes Suzanne as soon as she slides into the only empty seat in the boat..next to Jim.  Jim and I give each other that look..but we were not going to be unkind to her, like some passengers were.  Quiet Corpse says the only thing he'd say during the whole ninety minute cruise:  "What are you doing tomorrow in Belgium? Are you seeing cemeteries?"  Well, I am an expert in interpreting unintelligible English, (because I'm wed to the Midwest Mumbler) so  I say, "he wants to know if you're going to any cemetery."  Suzanne answers:  "No..I hate cemeteries..and I hate chocolate."  So to get the pleasantries behind us, QC tells us he's from Wales, and I tell him that Jim and I are from NJ..and "Suzanne over here is from LA"...And to break the tension, I sort of giggle in that goofy Karen way and say"LA..you're not in show business, are you?"  She answers:  "My mom doesn't like me to discuss this.."  Now again, she didn't particularly have that Beverly Hills look what with the cowlick bangs like mine, but she adds:  "My father was a very famous actor."  I literally turned into elfin' Lucy Ricardo at the Brown Derby!  She told us her father "died years ago" but was very very famous and that he won an Oscar.  Well, I am practically going INSANE  because this was a chance for Jim and I both to play "Celebrity Death Alert!"  We were skeptics at first, until Suzanne told us she has her Dad's face..which she does..and can prove she has his last name by showing us her driver's license. The only clue she gave is that her last name starts with a "B"..and she's laughing at all my guesses.  She is NOT the daughter of Marlon Brando, thank you very much..or of Humphrey Bogart.  SPOLER ALERT:  Stop right now and e-mail  me privately with your guess.  But for the others who don't want to do that..here's a hint.  She threw me off a little, because he didn't win his Oscar for Best Actor but he was nominated.  Suzanne has been very generous with his estate, donating to schools in Africa and treating people to luxury vacations...Ugh..I SHOULD make you guess.. FORCE you to read these long blogs..She started rattling off film titles, but we didn't guess until his most famous role.  (Oh, and be honest..I wrote down every movie she mentioned..tell me how quickly you got it before she gave us the obvious answer)  "The Great Escape"/"The Magnificent Seven"/"The Dirty Dozen"(ugh..and we call ourselves movie buffs and still couldn't guess!) "Ten to Midnight"..and finally..are you ready, folks??  Drum roll please..wacky Suzanne..no, I'm giving you a few more clues.  Her Dad was born in Philly and had to steal food to feed his large family..he went to acting school and after thirty years of trying, he became one of the biggest movie stars in the world.  OK..I'm boring myself now..your final clue is:  "Death Wish!"..Yes!!  The goofball is the daughter of the late great Charles Bronson and she does look exactly like him!!  She has a younger brother Tony who "hates everyone" whom she doesn't speak with anymore.  And then she started to do typical Suzanne stuff, like show us photos of her cats and to tell us nobody will eat with her because she's loud, so she's already lost so much weight that her pants keep falling down and her belt is useless.  Jim googled everything so we can confirm..I am so elfin' star struck!!  And after taking a breath, I will tell you that I LOVED the canal tour.  I loved the gorgeous houseboats and peeking inside to see the decor, I loved how the guide described how cannibus is sold freely here, but not cigarettes and alcohol, and I got very emotional as we cruised by the Anne Frank House.  And it just floored me to see for myself that this city is surround by canals! Now I can ask for honest feedback:  Who knew the celeb before we did?

Catch a rising star and delicious cheeses

No more snark about how many people are following and commenting, and how many are just clicking the like button on a photo of a cloud formation.  (Unless you count this very sentence as snark)  Because if you are just want to follow our journey by liking a tree pic, that's fine.  But you are missing out..especially after I post Part 2. Let me tell you a little about last night, and preface it by saying the woman we're both so crazy about, Rachel Toner, WILL be a household name one day.  (Even if it's by  her stage name, Sandy Bloomers)  She has charisma, swagger, looks..and a killer voice.  I felt like a celebrity being in her company--the whole family's, really.  Before the "Finish That Lyric!" game started, Rachel and Rob's four year old, Moses, brought the house down with his spontaneous dancing to "Beat it" and "Billie Jean."  Moonwalked better than the Prince of Pop himself, and drank up the thunderous applause after. It's a GREAT game and Rachel won it by knowing so many songs..and singing them all like a pop star. I'm getting a lot of comments, by the way, about "Herbie," who's parents operate a dry cleaning business outside of Dayton Ohio.  I imagined him as the man in the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, in Arlington cemetery, as the unknown soldier on the Viking ship..and as the mysterious Motown singer in "the Five Tops", a group name submitted by our opponents in Name That Motown Tune. So take a breather to say hello to Herbie before we move on. I think I am madly in love with all things Dutch..canals, wooden shoes, cheeses, tulips.  We were the last to board this very comfortable and height friendly coach bus, only to discover there were no more seats!  But we found them soon enough, right up front. Our guide's name was "S-H-T-U-A-R-T" but he said to call him "Stuart" which I didn't want to do, because(and I'm not dealing with auto correct again) the first way is more fun. His narration was informative and interesting, and I was jolted awake when he told us there were hammers near every seat in case a window had to be broken.  (I was not sleepy from boredom but from medicine--my chest and sinuses have been betraying me all week--ditto for my colon.  Brain will be next) The countryside was beautiful--one lane highways surrounded by canals and peppered with geese and chicks and ducks, who'd better scurry when I take you out in a ferry with the fringe on top. There were cows, sheep, birds napping on cows--an animal lover's dream come true.  Every critter looked so..content, that's the word..and so peaceful in this immaculate country. I can't wait to discuss our day with dinner table mates Trish and Alan and Lynn and NORM!!! tonight(Singh and Reema haven't shown in awhile) since the last few conversations have centered around bedding and pillows on the ship..enough pillow talk, let's get down to the nitty gritty. Our first stop was seeing beautiful windmills.  The light rain didn't dampen our spirits as we soaked in the beauty and got a history lesson. We walked for a little over a half hour, and then boarded the bus to see more spectacular scenery..and bicyclists everywhere! And cool signs everywhere.  I must change the spelling of my name(and don't screw with me, auto correct) to K-A-A-R-E-N  ..A-A-M-S-T-E-R..(there we go)  We stopped at a town that's big in crossword puzzles, Edam, to watch a cheese making demo. We then got to spread our germs and sample cheeses the size and shape of pencil erasers..red hot chili pepper, coconut, gouda, baby sheep, truffle(the only one I didn't personally like) made from the milk of sheep, cows, and goats. A very tall, very charming man in clogs asked me about my composition book and wrote down the name of my blog, so I will officially have another reader, unless he stopped after one paragraph, which many readers tend to do.  His name is "TEUN", (Tony in English) and I hope he spreads my blog like it's the finest soft cheese in his shop.  OK..breathe..and get ready for Part Two..

Gaming on the higher seas

For the negative thirty six of you still following the blog--ooh!!..Make that thirty four, as the adorable Rachel and Rob exchanged Facebook info with us--I will update you with hilarious stories that took place during  our Day at Sea.  And I will not make it into a blah-g even 'though we're not doing anything.  But I think I accidentally made it into a blag(combo brag and blog) by calling it hilarious..That's the job of the reader.  I'm getting some feedback that we were too tough grading the papers of our neighbors during the Name that Motown Song last night, but Stevie Wonder did not sing "Superstious"--it's "Superstition"..And if there is a fifth "Top"..I never heard of him.  The unknown member of the Four Tops??..gotta call him Herbie again. If we had won the Motown game--or tied--Jim would have had to have a dance off and my guy has moves.  ("My Guy"--by Mary Wells..Motown fans know that) We're really enjoying our regular trivia team that we play nightly before dinner.  We finally got names--Margaret and Ron and their daughter Carla from Toronto. I actually contributed..due to my WOF prowess, I was able to name Shakesperian tiles where every other letter was missing, as in S O L K I , ("As You Like It")  Yeah, it was that hard. Oh, back to the negative 46 that still read the whole blog, I want to thank you now while I'm thinking of it.  I still don't understand why a pic of a sunset or a  generic building or a pasture could get ninety likes--a food pic even more--but I'm a lazy reader too.  I'm just saying the blog has juicy gossip: the photos of statues do not. Rob and Rachel described their day at Oslo's most famous attraction--or one of them--as they went to the Ice Bar.  EVERYTHING is ice..the bar, the glasses(which means your drink container melts) the waitresses.  Only the floor is not a  slippery hazard. Rachel is a Harry Potter expert and she is Sandy Bloomers when she's on stage.  She is as adorable as I am describing her..and knows a lot about classic rock, even 'though she's young enough to be my daughter.  I entertained their four year old, Moses, with a game I played as a kid..tracing a finger along the back while singing "I draw a snake on Moses's back..and guess which finger..tipped it!"  (It's actually "bit" it but I didn't want to traumatize him)  He squealed with delight  every time he'd try to guess which finger pressed his spine, and later played the game with him Mum, imitating my American accent.)  As long as he didn't imitate my asthmatic cough. Spent some time in the hot tub with Jim and mixed up every face we met.  We play this doppelgänger gang, and I'd point to someone who looks like..I don't know..Cher..and say "isn't that the one you thought looks like "Precious"?" I can't believe I haven't been declared legally blind.  The "Newlywed Game" was a formula for disaster--and hilarity.  If we had volunteered to participate you wouldn't be reading this, as we would have been ejected from the ship. The questions those poor husbands were asked!!  Le'Bron was the newlywed married to Jessica and they got engaged because of Trump, but didn't elaborate.  Julie and Tony from Texas were married a few more years than them, Amy and Julio even longer.  The first question was:  "Which of your wife's immediate family could you never be stranded on an island with?" and I'll tell you, there's no way Jim could have answered that and lived to tell about it.  Then the husbands had to guess their wives bra sizes..(Jim doesn't even know my hair color) and everyone's favorite, "name the most unusual place you ever made whoopee."  (Answers were:  1) on the balcony of a cruise ship 2) in a car in front of other people 3) on a boat 4) on a desk during a college telethon.  (Yes I know, there are four answers..one of them is my personal story..care to guess?)  Jessica admits her new husband's greatest flaws were being OCD, and insisting on always doing the laundry and cleaning the bathroom, so yes, I will be seducing him tonight.  (Either on a balcony, in a car...) Le'Bron said his biggest flaw was excessive gas.  Julie said Tony's biggest flaw is that he drones on and on while speaking.  (So far these answers apply to every husband in the room)   Amy, the doctor from Buffalo who is married to Dr. Julio from Buffalo said her man's biggest flaw was selective hearing, but he guessed:  "She'll say it's my annoying cough"..just as I was in the middle of coughing so loudly that the captain lost control of the ship.  Tonight we've got a formal dinner and a "finish that lyric" contest before the show.  And tomorrow, (and what idiot couldn't see THIS coming down 5th avenue??)  "Damn...!  The Amster arrive in Amsterdam!"

Vikings, glass blowers and Unicorns

for the negative four of you  who are still reading and not saying the blog is too long to follow, let me update before the salute to Motown Game:  The hypnotist last night accomplished what I could do in five minutes with people still following me:  have half the audience asleep in a snap. It worked on me but I don't think it was supposed to. Where was I?  Oh yeah..for the negative eight of you still following..nothing happened today.  Ah..just seeing if you're under my hypnotic spell yet, of course it did. Jim forgot to lock his stall in the men's room before the excursion even began, and he thought he heard furniture moving, like the whole bathroom was going to be remodeled, when someone opened the stall door and scared the...blank..out of him.  We once again quarreled about how to dress:  Jim:  "This is Norway!"  Me: "This is October!" and then we made our way onto the coach bus to discover we had GERD again.  (and no, we didn't eat spicy tomato sauce two days in a row-- and to everyone who thought that, please leave the corny jokes to me) Our driver's name was Steig, so you have proof that we are in Norway..a country I absolutely LOVE, a country I will move to, a country that..oh, just continue reading, all negative fifteen of the FB audience I've retained. We traveled through breath taking countryside..beautiful farmland with tiny neat houses and strong looking livestock.  Our first stop was a glass blowing factory, and the negative eighteen of you who still read me know I don't exactly fancy fancy things, but the display of beautiful household items made me lose my phobia of glass and just drink in the beauty.  I saw displays akin to your rich Aunt's china cabinet at Passover, but non sectarian.  Goblets and glasses and plates..oh my!  Goblets and glasses and plates..oh my!  They were a treat for my tired eyes, they truly were. We saw some more picturesque cottages and a pristine lake that looked like a mirror, reflecting all the glorious autumn colors of the trees.  I was either tripping--or I finally learned to appreciate Mother Nature.  We were taken into a glass blowing factory and saw the sand and the kilns and watched talented Norwegian artists turn loopy bubbles into what looked to me like marijuana bongs, I couldn't tell for sure. It was so much more exciting seeing beautiful glassware in Oslo than it was seeing statues last year in Rome.  I have a husband and a son with cell phones--I see statues at every Sunday night  while out to dinner.  After watching the glass blowers, we were treated to complimentary coffee and a danish pastry dessert.  Some felt the secret ingredient was lemon custard, some guessed vanilla cream.  I said there's no way something that tasted like that wasn't made with milk from a unicorn. We then took our ecstatic bellies onto the coach bus, where we were told that nature is very crucial in Norway, and almost seventy percent of the land is unused.  And they have 600 lakes. And cakes made from unicorn milk.  So yeah, I could move here..Oh..Let me wrap by telling you about our next stop to the Viking Museum. Rich in history.  Full of ships.  One ship was basically the tomb of an unknown solider, but I'll call him Herbie again, like I always do. (and fictionalize that his family operates a dry cleaning business just outside of Dayton)  Herbie's plaque tells me he was a tall and sturdy skeleton who died in 900 AD..robbers scattered his bones when the ship was plundered. And I'm sorry that this is so long, but I am floored by what Herbie brought onto this ship: a tent, kitchen utensils, a sleigh, beds, three small boats(???!!) 64 shields, 12 horses, 8 dogs, two peacocks, and falcons that were not quantified. Herbie died in his 40's.  (Maybe one more peacock would have saved him?) The plaque said he died from a disease that causes "coarse bodily features" and I'm sorry, that made me SNORT! Gerd the Guide is awesome!!

Patient 0 goes to a porn park

I'm not going to waste a lot of time describing lunch(because I have to get to the excursion--the reason we came to Oslo!) but sometimes you luck out when you're seated at a round table--and sometimes you don't.  Today Jim DID as he talked to intelligent Aussies about gun control and politics.  I, however, did not. I got stuck next to a living prune who was as much of a sleep inducer as a valium. He droned on and on about that bastard LBJ and his hero Goldwater, and how he came to Norway to tour the Pentecostal churches.  I was trying so hard not to fall asleep, so I forced myself to do math(a subject I always struggle with) and I tried to guess his age.  I started at 81, but then he said he visited my home town  in 1920.  He'd toss in hints: I'd up my guesses until I got to ninety-five and felt confident that was correct. So what happens next??  He tells me how much time he devotes to caring for his elderly parents!!  They gotta be in their..how would one write "140's" when auto correct is being so difficult?  Oh look, it let me write what I wanted.  OK..onto the excursion with GERD, (like the acronym for Gastrointestinal Reflux Disease) and her driver KA-nute. She pointed out the opera house ..she pointed it out a LOT..and every time she did, it came out "Oprah" and the unseen woman in the seat behind me was cracking the same corny jokes I was. Jim packed very meticulously for this trip--I think I saw thermal underwear, three sweatshirts, and a parka.  He told me that I would freeze in a lightweight jacket, and I told him I'm an overweight post menopausal woman, that I could survive in Antarctica in a bikini. Jim hates to admit he's wrong, but as soon as that hot bus started it's journey, he began to peel off layers..I predicted he'd be down to his underwear by the time we got to the Edward Munch museum, which would make everyone.."Scream"..The guide talked about Sonja Henie and all kinds of important Norwegians, and their imports of gas and fish and blah, blah blah..this blog is supposed to be about travel, not just snark. We stop at this renowned ski lift and I started one of my coughing fits,  A total beyotch barks at her husband:  "She's SICK!" and then uses him as a human shield and asks:  "ARE you sick?" and I answer "yes, with TB"  If I had said this in front of the ship's officers both me and the bitch would have had to find our own way home from Oslo.  Oh, guess who else was on this excursion?  The messhugennah who pet the suitcase in France. She called Guest Services and told us that Mary was OK.  In fact, Mary's family went to the beach on Saturday and dropped their 86 year old mom off at the bus, thinking she'd be OK.  Messhugennah helped her fill out the paper work but was not her babysitter.  She IS very good with numbers because she herself has been abandoned by excursions.  (Probably because they saw her petting a suitcase)  She recalled two of the four digits from Mary's room number..and the name Mary.  That helped. We then travel on to the Gustav Uiegland park(but the U in his last name looked like a "V") and it was filled with dogs and flat walkways and no smokers and statues Gustav carved himself..of porn.  Now, maybe it's not OFFICIALLY known as Porn Park, but you gotta trust me on this, or use google. First thing we see is a statue of a dad holding his kid up by the ankles in a pose that looked like he was going to toss him into the river below us. And then came the penises..and the child nudes..and the female nudes.  GERD the Guide told us it was making a statement about life, but I am a pervert with the emotional maturity of a three year old.  This wasn't art..this was PORN..with intertwining bodies doing gross things.  I got slightly aroused.

Think of a cruise port with the letter N

Cruise like a Norwegian!  And we are after docking here a few hours ago.  This is for the two and a half people still reading me, who get the pop culture references and know that I'm a gal raised on  a  steady diet of Mad Magazine and Lorelai Gilmore. (and ice  cream) For those of you who have no time to read the short blogs, and skim them so you can read only these, the paragraph you missed clarified that my table mate's name is Singh..and that I'm a great aunt again, to a boy who I KNEW would be born on October 16th and would be a male. Started the day with the wonderful staff member, Daniel(Mitchell Pritchett doppelgänger) who ran Scattegories, a game that makes me a legend at Woodloch.  I am a legend because of my ability to think of UNIQUE answers, like when they asked for  boy's name with "P", I told Jim to write "Pedro" but since we're on an INTERNATIONAL cruise, that would be like writing John for the J. We were unique with our girl's name(Priscilla) and food(pretzels) but everyone wrote panda as their animal and Paraguay as their country. The next round was the letter "N"...always a tough one, and we were not the least bit unique with a famous company(we wrote "Nabisco") novel(we wrote Nancy Drew) or school subject. (we wrote neurology)  Can any of you do better?  I think not! Oh!  We then totally aced the letter "G"--Car: Gran Torino Hobby:  Gliding(that was Jim's idea ) Household item:  Gardening gloves 4) Movie: Goodfellas 5) Singer:  Gene Autry.  Daniel was a hilarious emcee and I'm glad he's going on our excursion tomorrow to the Viking Museum and to see some glass blowers. (ooh..glass blowing!! ..there's your unique hobby with a "g"!) Somebody yelled out "Gleet" for household product and it turns out they were saying "Glade" which Daniel confessed his roommate on the ship needs.  I yell  out, "we need subtitles!" and hear:  "only for the Yanks!" to which I respond "only for the Brits!" We saw Daniel for another pre-excursion game, a hilarious version of Pictionary.  You  should have heard the guesses yelled out in the room when I attempted to draw a jigsaw puzzle--and a coffee shop--and a petroleum station.  (One poor soul had to draw "rickety") Let me tell you about lunch and the excursion in a separate post

Gaming on the high seas

have notebook, will travel.  This is a day at Sea and it feels like my obsessive Woodloch experience--games and camaraderie and love and trivia games. We had quite the motley crew, we did, at lunch today. (Too British??)  Jim sat next to a Trumpet but really behaved himself,  She was handicapped and very articulate and very sweet and very wrong about gun control and Obamacare. But you know??  We were strangers, sitting around an oval table, having smart conversation with representatives from all over the world, and we all agreed that if world leaders could do this, world peace could be achieved--especially if everyone orders that flaky pastry with the sugary crust. We sat with another adorable couple from Houston, Bob and his gorgeous wife Savannah, who has the incredibly cute nickname Savvy, and Savvy she was.  We then proceed to a game called Celebrity Heads Up, which is kind of  like "Celebrity Death Alert!" but not everyone was dead except some of the people on opposing teams. Our team was all from Ireland and our first member sat in the Guesser's Chair, and he was the only one who didn't see the name of the celebrity.  After fifteen guesses/questions, he could get hints and one person yells out "she is a famous red-haired comedienne!" and I yell out"she was married to Desi Arnaz!" and he still didn't know who I was talking about.  Jim's card had a VERY famous person's name on it, but he became very fixated on one thing and one thing only.  His questions gave him helpful feedback--she was gorgeous, she was British, she died too young, and he kept asking if she were a model..or various versions of the word model.  I yell  out "Twiggy is still alive--get  on with it!" and when someone gave the clue "she died in Paris" he finally got it..funny since we've had a Princess Diana reference almost daily! Okay, for the six and a half of you still reading, let's play (since I wrote down all the answers)  I'll give you two word clues and see if you can guess the celeb:  Are you ready?? A) Prudent/Broccoli B( Boy/Egyptian 3) Nixon/Adviser4) Barge/Diva 5) Shrew/Shoes 7) Shaken/martini.  Ready, set..go!! After this, we went to another fun trivia game(this is so Woodlochian!) and I helped our team by knowing the Titanic sunk in 1912, and that the characters of Bert and Ernie were original names from "It's a Wonderful Life."  We missed winning by one point..on a question about SCRABBLE!!  (Yes, I am deeply ashamed)  The game was followed by a spectacular ice show with dazzling singers, dancers, costumes, music, strobe lights..and even a simulated hockey game, complete with thugs.  Lastly, we went to another trivia game, "Name That Tune" where each song had to contain a color.  We hooked up with Rob and Rachel from Manchester and their adorable four year old, Moses. She's a talent agent with an extensive musical theater background and they were wonderful company,  And now is the time to clean up my act, pop on a gown, and try to be a little lady like.  I have better odds of being kicked by a horse tonight, but I'll try, I really will

The fab eight

A blog without hypochondria(chest congestion) is a blog written by someone other than me, so you're in the wrong place.  Ask for directions.  We are en route to Norway, and we've got plenty of great things planned for this Day at Sea--celebrity trivia, ice Capades show, hot tubs.  I  will probably sleep through all of them. And oh wow, did we ever luck out and get the BEST TABLE ev-ah!  I The vegan/vegetarian  came back and I love them madly!  The woman is Rema, and her adorable husband has a name I can't even attempt to spell(because I couldn't hear what he said the first night but I'll find out)and they are so funny!  Everyone is!  Four Brits, Four Yanks,  fun's afoot!  I have been Pit Bull Karen, Tofu Karen, Pretentious Cinemophile Karen, Kvetchy Karen, (I really AM Sybil with all these personalities, aren't I) and last night Trish called me "hilarious Karen " and when someone with an ADORABLE British accent calls you hilarious, it's more gratifying than being named one of People Magazine's Most Beautiful Women.  (that's next) Ah..let's add Delusional Karen to the list.  I think Trish will bring my blog readers up to nine(if I give her the link) and then her husband Alan will make it ten. Lynn and I go head to head and bring out the funny in each other..she sets me up for one liners (for example, she told Trish and Rema how lovely they looked and she loved being surrounded by so much orange, and I respond, "I thought we weren't talking about Trump tonight!" or, when she told me she has a friend who runs a snail farm, I quip "Business must be slow."  But then, she comes back with good retorts too, like when I admitted to having a blog, she says:  "Just because I'm a RETIRED English teacher doesn't mean I don't know how to use a red pencil."  So I'm kind of scared of her.  Her husband NORM!! is clever too.  He told us not to say the words "fanny pack" in the UK because it means a"female body part" but I can't figure out which. Rema is a highly educated feminist who talked about her early life in New Delhi and the patriarchal culture there, and I told her I was expected to wash dishes because I am female.  Seriously, she said she "hates" small talk, (as do I) and she loves when we talked about misogynistic societies and religiosity and stuff.  Conversation was both stimulating and enlightening(and at times, hilarious) so I can't wait to see the gang again, only this time they'll be all dolled up.  Hopefully in something other than orange so we can avoid Trump talk. We were entertained by an amazingly talented Brit named Brett in the auditorium after dinner in a salute to the 70's show.  He did a little Elton, the Fab Four, Neil Sedaka, Billy Joel, ABBA, Christopher Cross..now that I think about it, Brett the Brit has a touch of Sybil too if he could be that many different personalities at once.  More later for the six of you who will still be reading this afternoon.

We’ll always have 3 hours in Paris

Blogging tomorrow--comedy tonight!  (yes, you "Forum" fans..sing it)  On second thought..I'll just take a quicker shower so I can update to the nine of you  (eight by tomorrow)who are still reading this blog. I forgot to tell you about the new dinner table companions from San Francisco--Lynn, a retired speech and debate/English teacher, and NORM!!, a retired cop who is now a paramedic.  How lucky am I?  A ship's physician as a table mate last year: a paramedic now.  It's a hypochondriac's dream come true, isn't it?  We tried(at first unsuccessfully) to veer the conversation away from politics, but the Indian couple didn't return(not enough vegan options, I guess) the UK couple(Trish and Alan) just listened and the new couple are not huge fans of HRC, but they voted for her, so the conversation can continue.  (Their table mates on the first night were two unhappy women who spoke no English, so I guess we were an improvement) We left the port of Le Harve at 8:45 for our 2.5 hour trip to Paris--or so was the plan.  Turns out someone's phone played a little trick with the alarm clock and they didn't get on 'til 9:15, and no, it wasn't us for once.  The Eiffel Tower was majestic and well-guarded, and I didn't think of that filthy definition the whole time we were there. (Plus, unlike in Pisa, there were no vendors or crowds--or humidity--to deal with)  The stop was short, but we did see the Champs Elysee and the Arch de Triumph..plus about a zillion roller skaters having a marathon and making traffic impossible to navigate. (Kind of like the runners in Florence on the last cruise)  So here we are, about an hour behind schedule anyway, when we realize there was no place to park near the Louvre, so us poor schmucks who booked this trip because it wasn't strenuous had no choice but to walk almost two miles--in the heat. We meet Jennifer from Florida and her travel companion Kitty from DC, who are displeased with this arrangement as I am.  I say to Jennifer:  "But you look like you're in great shape" and she replies, "I have a pacemaker from a heart attack."  And Kitty adds:  "And I have a killer blister because I didn't think you needed good shoes when we were told the drop off was a few short yards from the entrance.  Still, they both agreed that this was better than the last time they didn't get to see the Louvre when it rained, and when all the workers were on strike, and when the Seine had its worst flooding in over 100 years.  It's kind of like when you buy a pass for Six Flags, hoping to get on 25 rides, and circumstances beyond your control might get you on the swings if you're lucky.  Our six hour tour became two hours, but I got to see the Winged Victory and the Mona Lisa(with her chipped smile) and the Venus De Milo.  I was so tempted to give her my arms--well, maybe not MY arms..maybe Michelle Obama's arms.  So all the time we were supposed to be looking at stuff was shortened if you needed a quick lunch break(which we did) or a LOO-vre break.  I'm in the loo line, and someone with a sticker from my excursion group, with her elderly Mom, says, "well, the delay was frustrating but it was neither the guide's nor the driver's fault.  That was a long walk but it was unavoidable."  I add, "yeah, if we want to blame anyone, let's blame it on those goofballs who forgot to set their alarms"..directly to the goofballs who forgot to set their alarms.  I apologized profusely, of course, and then told them how we caused a delay in Florence by following idiots on a shuttle that took us to a seaport where nobody spoke English as our coach bus was leaving.  (Remember?  Someone pitied us and yelled out, in broken English, "I need a bus!" and when we finally got back on the coach bus to Florence, Jim sat in the back with the morons and I sat next to an Iowan named..Anita Buss.  (www.kayfivenj.blogspot.com) if you need a refresher course. Actually, the long walk in the Louvre was fine and we walked by a structure with a lot of Yiddish words and knew them all. Oh, btw, the woman who slept through the alarm  was from Wales and recently bought a 58 American made Chevy on E-Bay.  (I tell this to prove I am friendly and forgiving--and nosy) My new dinner table mate was on this trip too but had to leave before seeing much..she's having knee problems and she knew that walk was going to be tough.  OH!  Random thought!!  I'm no longer obsessing about Ethan Hawke's character in the "Before" trilogy.  Jay Duplass is the new Ethan..also, Jimmy Kimmel. On the long ride home, a gate fell on us as the driver was paying the toll..or almost did.  I heard no glass or bones shattering, just panicked people up front when the jolted forward a tad.  The driver kept honking but we still weren't moving and autos were queuing up behind us.  He said something, but all I understood was "s-i vous plait" ("if you please) which is more than I understand from Midwest Mumble. Time to take a 30 second but much needed shower!

Utah bitch

The second excursion was very inspiring, and I'll try to describe it with as little snark as possible. I turned into Tofu Karen, absorbing all the flavors around me, and I became tres French. Jim is fussing with his phone and his camera so much that I created a verb for it--which is basically the last name of every husband of every friend I have. But who am I to talk?  He snaps photos all day, and I vigorously blog.  He was losing his patience en route to our destination, where I still saw the gorgeous countryside, the verdant lands peppered with cows.  He says to me:  "OK..so you can multi task..before we get to the museum, tell me everything you know about Utah Beach" and I look up and say "Utah has a beach?" and he replies"you're lucky you're a good cook."  (Just kidding--I really replied:  "Yes, I saw "Saving Private Ryan" and he said:  "just kidding too..I'M lucky you're a good cook.") We make a stop in a village(the name escapes me) filled with structures and churches.  It was known for being the place where several paratroopers crashed in an effort to get to Normandy Beach."  The guide asks:  "Does anyone know what the movie "The Longest Day?" was about and Jim yanked my hand down before I could answer:  "Isn't that a documentary that describes when a patient has a head cold and needs five minutes of their doctor's time?"  Our guide tells us that it was an exciting WWII movie with John Wayne and it was about D-Day. It sounds a little manly to me but I don't know, if Trump gets impeached I'll give it a whirl.  The museum at Utah Beach was really exciting, it was!  We saw a wonderful documentary with real footage that detailed the tense hours leading up to the Normandy Invasion(and it filled in all the gaps I missed when I couldn't hear the guide) and then we saw some fascinating displays of WWII memorabilia.  I loved seeing the yellowing love letters that GI's sent their wives(and no, none of them accused their wives of being the reason "Moonlight" beat "La La Land" for Best Film) and the entire display was fascinating, it really was.  Old Life magazines, old sticks of gum and cigarettes, even a plate of uneaten food from a brave soldier.  We had a lot of mist and a very high tide, but I will not complain about poor visibility.  Not when I learned what those brave soldiers did for me nearly seventy years ago, when they had to worry about a lot more than getting back to the ship on time for "Name That Tune." I felt so patriotic--which I needed to feel.  The ride back was picturesque and Alex continued his inspired narration, but he was hard to hear over all those morons blocking out his voice and complaining that the air conditioning wasn't working properly, and yeah, I was one of those morons.  Want to make something of it?

There’s something about Mary

Thanks to the ten of my friends on FB still reading me and not complaining that's it's too long, because it's GOING to be too long, that's a given.  And ever since I was about seven, I stopped caring about the pictures in books and only wanted the story.  So Jim has posted a lot of pics(where he's tagged me) so by all means, enjoy them if you're pressed for time.  If you're not, well..have I got a day to describe for you!We started off our day in Cherbourg with me wearing shorts that were a little loose. (OK..only corny joke of the day:  "Karen's britches:  Falling down??" Or is it Karen's britches, falling down?) Anyway, we board the bus and everyone is old--very old with either no teeth, or chipped teeth that infer they've been too trustworthy regarding lasagna that don't need to be boiled. Our morning guide was so sweet but so hard to understand so please, auto correct, let me spell the words as I heard them.  I'm a big girl and you can always wash my mouth out with soap if you have any objection to "shuttle" being pronounced "shit hole" or "factory" as "fuck Tori!" (She also said some clean stuff, like constriction for construction and Herbert for harbor) We make a quick seaside stop before heading to the utterly charming village of Cherbourg, but when the bus doors open, she exclaimed "the smell is not very agreeable" and we couldn't have agreed more. I've wanted to see Cherbourg forever--or at least since last year when I saw "La La Land."  I found the building with the umbrellas and it was easy to miss.  Oh, and if you think Pit Bull Karen is obnoxious, wait'll you get a load of Obnoxious Narrator Karen,. The crowd gathered as I began:  "You see folks, in 1963, a beautiful movie was filmed right her on this spot..gorgeous technicolor shots with a credible love story"  (and no, I never saw the damn movie, just bear with me!) and I add:  "It is a fact that up and coming director Damien Chazelle, previously known for "Whiplash" was so inspired by this wonderful french film that he created "La La Land"  The crowd grew bigger, and Jim started smirking(because I really had no idea where I was going with this) and I said, "ignore my husband's smirks..everytime he joins me in singing "The Fools Who Dream"--the song that won Emma Stone her Oscar--he turns it into "Rainbow Connection."  Jim addressed the crowd: "This is why "La La Land" lost to "Moonlight."  We then had to deal with crazy Joanne from Portland, who is much louder and much crazier than me.  (Because as you ten readers know, most of this is just schtick--an act) Joanne kept fearing getting lost, but she wanted to stop in every pastry shop, even 'though it wasn't scheduled.  And if I could operate a camera, I'd have proof that this happened next:  A guy was rolling around his suitcase on a little cart in one hand, and walking his ..bichon, I think--with the other..and Joanne went over to him and started petting the luggage. Some of you sick bastards are going to find this next part funny, and it was NOT unless you're into cringe worthy black comedy.  But really, it's blog worthy but not funny.  The guide told us to be very careful with our belongings--not to leave anything on the coach bus.  She also said the town was very close to the dock so people could walk back or take a shuttle, but nope, these octogenarians made sure they got their arthritic hips back on that coach in time.  The bus pulls away, and it was impossible to go back when we suddenly here this: " You left without Mary."  And at first I thought, "that's OK..Mary can get a shuttle" but I hear this:  "Mary was traveling all alone.  She's in a wheelchair.  She can't see very well and she can't hear.  And all her belongings are on this bus!!  And she's eighty-six!"  OMG, it kept getting more gruesome with each outburst.  So we were already like two miles away from the point of departure when the guide hopped off and ran to find her..a vision challenged, hard of hearing eighty-six year old with a family that let her go out alone. Okay, okay, I'll look for her..I promise..Stay tuned for the afternoon wrap up.

Benny Hilling it..

those Brits, they really do speak a different language, don't they? I know they took the same basic English courses that we did, didn't they?  And they know what a declarative statement is, don't they? But even a simple statement becomes a question, doesn't it?  It's cute, in a way, isn't it, but I wonder, when they exchange wedding vows, do they say"Yes, I take this man to be my lawfully wedded husband, don't I?" Well, this cruise is slightly different, isn't it?  (OK, I'll stop, won't I?) but the only annoyance has been walking through the smoked filled casino to get to the dining hall.  Our tablemates are nice--a couple from England and another living in the UK but they're Indian born and bred.  And no, I can't understand a word anyone says, because I only understand Midwestern Mumble, and very little at that.  Oh, and you'll be happy to know, Melinda O'Toole and Gloria Gammage, my friends from the last cruise, that "Hello Chlo" is back as the cruise director.  And she's still so flipping funny, isn't she? We saw a hilarious comic named Mark McClean who wasn't that great when he worked the adults only room, but was terrific at the family show where he could be McClean..  He pulled five men on stage and guessed the color and make of their tidy white-ies.  That's all you need to know, but some of these guys were big men, and I'm betting that all those whites weren't really whites.  The comic threw his voice and made one guy into a cowboy and the other into a horny cougar Mom.  Let's just hope that was ventriloquism. We then went to play TV trivia(theme songs) and our team was named "Gotta Call Beth" and please, if you get that reference, you are obviously a close contact and if you don't, then go away on vacation with me.  The guy played eight American songs and eight British ones, and the Americans guessed "Benny Hill" for all their answers, and they guessed "The Brady Bunch" for  all of ours.  There must be an easier to way to win a keychain.Tomorrow..France!  Blogging available upon request

Hey Ophelia.. still reading?

ok, who  is still reading?  Because I have to continue writing anyway.  (evidence for my mental competency hearing) We are in our luxury cabin, where there is not a bathtub that one needs stilts to use but an ordinary shower.  And a mattress that doesn't hate short people! And a balcony that's going to be lovely and I promise I'll stop using the word lovely so much once we're out of England. I will miss these accents, like Cosette's.  Every time she'd say "London Eye" I'd hear "Land of Nigh." I have already assessed the crowd at the buffet. and everyone was plus sized, but doesn't every buffet attract that?  And will any of them have enough leg room in the shower to shave? First world problems, I know, I know. There are all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, ages,  sexual orientations--Trump would have a fatal meltdown. And I know where the morgue is if he does.  And again, I pledge to be a good sport, I really do.  It's bad enough I fractured fairytales, like implying the Princess with the pea is a pyscho, and that Cinderella is a masochist for wearing shoes made of glass that she isn't  even responsible with, and that Dorothy might have egged on a beloved feminist icon. So let's stick to less controversial topics..like the weather.  Hurricane Ophelia may be waiting for us in Norway, and I am not afraid of her.  I'm not even afraid of dying in a  weather-related situation, particularly, except I don't want to die at the hands of a wimpy name like Ophelia.  There aren't many pretty feminine names with an "O" besides Olivia. Oprah's a fattist, and she already has a big enough ego with having a major global event named after her. Olga is scary, Omarosa is scarier still. I think I have to be at something called a mustard soon, so we'll ketchup later.  (That is for Ro, who has allowed me to write one forced corny joke per blog entry)  Again, tell me if you're still reading my vacation journal.  And if you or your daughter/niece are with child, a female child, and you  plan to name her Ophelia don't bother responding because we can no longer be friends anyway

The not so wonderful wizard of oz

The quintessential London experience ended with theater in the West End, and..this may make me a little..uh..unpopular, because I loved "Wicked"..the costumes, the lyrics, the performances, my brilliant husband comparing it to "Star Wars" or "Phantom" but as an Oz purist..I had some issues, but that's mostly because I'm bat shit crazy. I always said I hate fantasy movies and Jim argues with me that I don't, because I love TWOO, which I swore is NOT fantasy but a musical about relationships.  But "Wicked" kind of made me a liar in the Harry Potterized version of the beloved movie. I wanted to believe that the Wicked Witch of the West was Miss Gulch, the dog hater on the bike and a figment of Dorothy's concussion, not someone I'd find at Pantsuit Nation. I don't like to see Glinda as basically a Kardashian. I mean, if they were determined to mess with character motivation and background stories, couldn't they have concentrated on characters I'm not emotionally invested in, like  Auntie Em or the aggressive apple tree?  For God's sakes peeps, this went beyond revisionist history, this was revisionist Wiz-story. With amazing production values. At a London theater where you don't get a Playbill so you don't know why everyone lost their shit when the Wicked Witch came out.  Everyone but us. I don't like change, you folks know that about me.  They might as well have made Toto a raccoon or made the Lion ask Oz for erectile dysfunction meds.  So yes, I LOVED it, I did, but I am a purist.  (And bat shit crazy)  Producers need to consult with an Oz expert like me next time they have an idea.  I will tell them, let's do a musical about the actress who played the Wicked Witch of the West.  We can call it Hamilton

The horse upstairs..

And now I will share our last day in London with those of you who have the patience to read a long blog.  Today started with a delayed coach bus but a very competent guide who apologized for the lateness and her name, which she claims is something nobody's heard of.  It is Cosette, and some of us have seen "Les Miserables" or know poodle owners. She instructed us to respect our seats and our seatmates, saying she had one unruly group of tourists that resulted in a punch up, which I heard as a gun shot.  (Said the person who went to Malta last year and heard the guide say the ocean was filled with orphans when she had actually said dolphins) Cosette pointed out some famous landmarks, including Harrad's Department Store, called Horrid because, like a county fair in a dairy state, nothing will be found under 400 pounds. Cosette warned us that loo use was thirty cents, so as long as there were bushes around...Oh, by the way, I was in such agony from a Charley Horse last night that they might as well call it a new name--a Charles Horse.  I segue because Cosette showed us a lot of palaces, including one where horses live on the second floor with people underneath.  (Must make for interesting NEIGHbors) She talked about typhoid, and kept talking about four kings named George, but I heard four king as something totally different, but didn't question anyone because hey, it's England. She pointed out Margaret Thatcher's house, but told us she lived the last year of her life in the Ritz because it turns out she was..seriously..crackers. We finally stop at Buckingham Palace, and you heard Cosette ask, "how to you know the queen is here?"" and it was either me or Jim who answered "because she can't stop complaining about the humidity and how it's giving her a cowlick."  And apparently someone broke into her bedroom twenty years ago demanding a cigarette, but it wasn't me, because I would have only asked for a stick of butter or something. She told us that the statue of Churchill was missing a cigar which I could have sworn was a euphemism but nope, no cigar. We saw Westminister Abbey where Cosette told us(for my camp friends) is a burial ground for kings and queens and princes too. Even 'though the only foreign language I understand fluently is Midwestern Mumble, (look, my family LOVES Jim but even THEY can only comprehend about a third of what he says)  I understood Cosette, and she said we lucked out by seeing cars come out of one of the royal residences, Prince William's house, I think.  And the queen's car was there too, recognizable by its lack of a license plate..and the queen herself. The rest of the day was the quintessential London experience--lunch at a pub, where I thought the string hanging from the ceiling was a fancy flusher until the maitre de demanded to know why I pulled the emergency button twice in the loo. After the pub, we walked for 46 miles to what's called the London Eye..a ferris wheel that gives a panoramic view of the city.  You might of thought we were going on Kingda Ka the way I was carrying on, and asking if there were weight restrictions on what was basically an elevator for twenty people.  Oh!  So we get there and were told there'd be about a 90 minute wait, and I was not going to cut my losses after a walk that almost landed me in the hospital.  Jim was testy, I was testy, but then I said the two magic words that shut him up, the first being a four letter one that started with a "F"..yep, "Fast Lane" saved our souls and soles.  Best $20.00 bucks I ever spent.  We then experienced one of the best parts of the trip..a tour of Madame Tussaud's wax museum.  I was going to  post pics and convince everyone they were real, until Jim snapped a photo of me trying to get William Shakespeare to read my blog.  Oh, and don't think I left that place without embarrassing myself. I took a pic with Jim sandwiched between MLK and Malcolm X, but then Malcom X walked away so I guess I don't know what I'm doing.  I cannot share the photo of me with Cheeto because, like every Cheeto pic, it is obscene.  But it was hilarious seeing how guests  posed with him--little kids flipping the bird and stuff.   Mme. Tussaud had Cheeto posing while grabbing his belt buckle, and I think she was being too kind.

Foodgasm..

Let's put it this way..If Meg Ryan's Sally had ordered that dinner we had tonight, the entire restaurant would have had a chorus of "I'll have what she's having" because nobody can fake a foodgasm like that.. Today a chef unknowingly discovered my soul. First of all, it was your typical London night--cold and wet.  This  place doesn't open until six on the dot and never takes a reservation.  So it's a cold rainy night during the week, and we get there on time, only to be one of the last tables seated.  You are packed in like starving sardines who want to hear gossip from the next table and you  will. You have no choice(except for the wine and amazing desserts)  It's one salad, steak covered in crack, and "chips" and they refill your plate as much as your eye contact dares them to. Adorable and efficient waitresses keep this place moving with such perfection that you wonder if this is essentially gourmet fast food.  You wonder, but you won't care. And when the pleasure became almost too much to bear, we heard those ten special words that every American vacationing in London would kill their own cow to hear:  ""You realize we have another restaurant in New York City?"  Now, some sleep..sleep..at long last, sleep!

Good Thames!

And I'm back, with more to say. When we board the cruise ship on Friday, it'll take every ounce of restraint I have, when the cabin steward asks, "any questions?" for me not to answer "just one..how close is the morgue?" I'll tell him/her that it's not personal, because I'm donating MY body to science, to which he/she should reply, "doesn't science have enough problems with climate deniers?" I will NOT be Kvetchy Karen or Pit Bull Karen on this trip.  I will try to act like an enthusiastic teeny bopper, like Sally Field as Gidget although truth be told, I'm more like Sally Field as Sybil. I was afraid of tumbling into the Thames, where the water would be freezing and I'd spend the months sneezing but swearing I would do it again. OK, sometimes even I can admit I'm about as funny as a Family Circus comic strip, but I still get such joy when I think of Virginia who tried to sell me a time share in Atlantic City just weeks before it was demolished by Hurricane Sandy.  Yes Virginia, there is a reason I haven't come to this pit of a resort town in twenty years.  Yes Virginia, I know it doesn't have to be NJ--that I  can have a romantic walk with my husband along a beach in Italy but that would trigger a sciatica attack. Yes Virginia, the Flying Spaghetti Monster is real."  The mattress in the hotel is just as high as Willie Nelson, the new home mattress, so this one will be called Snoop Dog.  It's like sleeping on twenty mattresses!!  And I must reiterate: If that princess was deemed prince worthy and sensitive because her sleep was disturbed by a tiny legume under 20 mattresses, then somebody really is living in a fairy tale, because that woman would be a hypochondriac and a sociopath.  The prince needs to find himself a brown eyed chubette who makes meatloaf and watches "Jeopardy!" with him, who loves the latest from Susan Jane Gilman, the type who'd fall for the hilarious rat turned coach driver in Cinderella rather than the prince. OK  Time for random thoughts: 1) I wonder if when I see the Mona Lisa, I'll attribute her crooked smile to a lasagna noodle that SHOULD HAVE BEEN BOILED?? 2) I wonder if I'll think of that gross urban slang definition and not be able to soak in the true beauty of the Eiffel Tower? 3) I wonder if it's OK to say we caught a cab that size of a Kardashia closet..nope, autocorrect won't let me use the K. Oh, and here's a random thought that proves people don't follow me:  Remember a couple of months back, when I posted the list of Broadway shows and admitted I saw all but one? I really should have seen this "popular" show many times, being the Oz freak who knows that the Horse of a Different Color was achieved with multi colored jello powder. A show where I'll finally see there is no such person as Adele Dazeem and that "Defying Gravity" is not about my brassiere. It's funny, because the dreamy guy from immigration asked if I was going to see any shows in the West End district, and he said he never heard of "Wicket".. and was it about cricket players?" Next random thought:  My catch phrase this trip(because there's always one, as regular blog followers know) is "Excuse me, but I don't understand what you're saying."  The thing is, everyone speaks English and I've been saying that line exclusively to my mumbling better half.  I need to list a few more random thoughts while I am still coherent: 1)  I am so psyched to board in Southhampton England.  I need to buy a wide brimmed hat. I need to hook up with a boorish millionaire. I need to find a starving artist who wants to paint me wearing nothing but a blue diamond. 2) I can't wait to go to Chambourg this weekend, and I hope to see vibrant puddles and splashy raincoats and technicolored umbrellas, so I'll be as inspired as Damien Chazelle, 'though with my luck the rain will stop and I'll be forced to enjoy my vacation. 3) I cannot wait 'til tonight's dinner!  The place serves one thing only..steak(and chips) with a sauce that's for all intensive purposes, crack cocaine. Supposedly, it makes vegans sell their souls for some, and laxer vegetarians sell their soles..and haddocks..and flounders.. And I know this:  I will offer, "I bet this is where the phrase "holy cow!" comes from!" and I'll blame the outburst on the fact that I haven't slept in almost a day and a half.

Sleepless in London

'ello loves.  Time to blog(and decipher my notes) before I use the bloody loo. I have been in London for all of five minutes--the same length Madonna was here before she realized she was British too.  It's brilliant, isn't it?  Damn you, autocorrect,  Let me say inn inn it  like they do.  You know what else I have in common with Madonna?  A gapped tooth, although hers was always a sexy trademark, and mine just became more noticeable after I bit into 721 pistachio shells..or, I hate to admit this, I trusted that "no boil lasagna" meant exactly that and I chipped it on a pasta noodle.  So I'm in London, trying to find a working pen instead of enjoying the landmarks in the rain as we cruise the Thames.  Our monotone tour guide is pointing out all the landmarks that are disfigured or under construction, and then bragging about all the famous people who have visited them that can be described like that also. There was no sleep at all on that airplane, so as I snark incoherently, I will tell you that I worry about the house/dog sitter, clogged plumbing(thanks again, no boil lasagna!) and..the London Bridge.  I saw it on the river cruise and was totally underwhelmed, but the thing is, I was sleepless on that flight because it brought up a kindergarten trauma:  I was so afraid I'd be called on to sing the song, and this confused five year old(ditto for the sixty something she grew up to be) never knew if it was "London Bridges!! Falling Down!!!???" or the singular, "London Bridge is Falling Down."  (Kind of like how I used to think "for all intents and purposes" was "for all intensive purposes" until it was a bonus puzzle) But not knowing if the London Bridge was sung about in singular or plural form has resulted in airplane insomnia and a nervous colon.  (I could not only finish "War and Peace" in one squatty potty sitting, I could write the sequel) A blog without a little toilet humor is a blah-g, says she with the emotional maturity of a three year old. I think about the times I used to steal Cosmos, and Helen Gurley Brown, champion of feminism, told us that as women, we should be proud of the soft brown cones our bodies expel. I never read Cosmo after that issue, and never ordered a chocolate soft serve from Dairy Queen. So no, this trip is not financed by squatty potties and meth labs, but because of a fear of death.  Jim wanted to see buildings before we die.  I asked him, "what's fun about a building?  A bug maybe, a bug is fun."  I have a very "BIG" memory..and I better make this into two parts.

Greetings from Rutgers University

so what does one say to a graduate anyway?  Besides "Plastics?" My heart is so filled with pride and joy..so much so that I shouldn't even bother you with petty complaints.  But of course I WILL because I'm still me!!  How the hell we got so lucky with the weather is beyond explanation, but the torrential downpour only started when we got to the car.  The rain yesterday soaked the grounds though, and my shoes were mud covered by the time we got to the entrance to the stadium..where I was promptly told I couldn't get in with a pocketbook that wasn't the size of a 3X5 card..Mine is the size of a steamer trunk, so I had to lock it up..or rather, I made Jim walk to the lock up truck.  He came back with just my wallet--which meant I accused him of losing it every ten seconds. So we're sitting there in the bleachers, listening to moving marching band tunes and still having trouble differentiating "Star Wars" from "Superman." And I suddenly realize how much I miss my Mom on Mother's Day.  She was still with us for Evan's HS graduation, but was too sick to attend the ceremony.  I was missing her, and I, a believer in only things like the flying spaghetti monster, wanted a sign that she was with me and all of a sudden I look at the sky and there among the white clouds is a massive gray one..shaped like an "E"..for Evan, and thanks Mom!  Jim couldn't get a photo in time--by the time he looked up the blue sky poked through and it looked just liked the opening to "The Simpsons" but trust me, this indeed happened! Steven Van Zandt gave the best commencement  speech I've ever heard in my life!  He made me proud to live in NJ: he made me proud to be in the same stadium as someone who convinced his buddy Bruce Springsteen not to play in any arenas where bigoted governors could profit from revenues, even if there was collateral damage.  I cried when he mentioned Rutger's most famous grad, the late great James Gandolfini.  I cried when the band played "Pomp and Circumstance" because who doesn't cry when they hear that one? So the beautiful ceremony ends, and we are both sunburned, because we hadn't thought of sunscreen, or decorating the top of Evan's cap so he could be seen, or anything that made any sense.  I needed a quick potty break and we both wanted a quick lunch, and nobody, and I mean nobody, could be prepared for the hordes of people with the same idea. I must have had intimate contact with 400 people! This event drew bigger crowds than Time Square on New Year's Eve, then the beach on a hot 4th of July weekend, then Trump's inauguration.  We waited in line for twenty five minutes for the only thing offered--undercooked hot dogs.  They ran out of them as soon as we got to the top of the line. So after bodily contact with another 100 persons, we go back to the bleacher seats, hoping to see Evan's name on the screen.  The jumbotron's names were one eighth of an inch high.  Every name seemed to have three letters in the first name and two in the second, mostly Y's and X's and Q's and Z's.  I had a sudden urge to stop looking and play Scrabble but then I saw my son's name and my son's face and felt that pride all over again! By the time we got out of the parking lot and into the torrential downpour, we decided to stop for lunch, but a pretty blonde in the car behind us had other ideas as she ran into us.  (No damage, no pain, but now, no lunch) But I won't complain..Steven and Jane and Marissa and Todd came up for a celebratory meal and Evan was delighted to have experienced this special day with both friends and family--and a very careless driver.  Time to toss my cap into the air!

Missing Willy..

I'm so missing the Dominican Republic, even 'though my sunburn is peeling so much that it looks like I'm grating thin shavings of parmesan cheese into my bathroom sink. I miss the water!  The ocean, sure, but the water pressure in the shower was divine.  It gushed like one of those big mushroom umbrellas you see at a kiddie water park--the kind that might send those who it was designed  for down a tsunami river, but for adults, it sure  does wonders for our dirty bodies and when we use too much conditioner in our hair. I miss Willy, and I'm wondering if we put his job in some sort of jeopardy by standing him up for that time share demo.  It might not have even been that--maybe he was peddling quinine for a malaria outbreak, we can't be sure.  But I am sure that Slick Willy used the misogynistic phrase "a happy wife is a happy life."  THIS wife  was NEVER going to get excited about thirty percent off on a beach bag, even when Willy would playfully punch Jim's arm and ask him, "am I right?"  THIS wife wouldn't even care if that beach bag was one hundred percent off. Maybe if the beach bag contained an "electric necessity", like a new flat iron, yeah, that's it, a flat iron.. we'd talk...

Adios Punta Cana..

and..it's a wrap!  What a nice ending too..fine french cuisine in a restaurant decorated with eclectic clocks followed by this incredibly talented cast performing Broadway numbers as well as anyone I've ever seen on Broadway.  So before I get back to the reality of finding things buried under my back, (I miss Luke!) during my deepest sleep, and complaining about all the laundry and TV shows that have to be watched(I never DID catch up on so many after last fall's Mediterranean cruise) I just want to thank my wonderful travel agent for sending us to such an incredible place, and my Facebook friends who never tire of my insanity, and my husband, who made me laugh every day.  There wasn't a single moment of him being preoccupied with his phone, or me being  preoccupied with how mad I get at his pre-occupation. We shared food, gripes, laughs, and magical moments, like the one tonight as we tried to sing along to the ABBA numbers.  There's nothing like dodging waves with your better half without any electronics around to distract you, where conversations cover anything from "did I pay the electric bill?" or "I wonder which of our friends will be the first to develop Restless Leg Syndrome?"(I've given you the G-rated version of the actual question) Jim talked about his trip to Hawaii before we met, and how a person he encountered remarked that poi tastes so much like wallpaper paste.  He discussed the plot of "Passengers" which he watched on the airplane, and it didn't sound as bad as critics said it was. We talked about Luke and we reminisced about trips with Evan, and I complained that he makes too many pit stops and he complained that I was loudly snoring on a beach chair(!!!) but when married couples are in Full Vacation Mode, nothing is hurtful or insulting.  It's all about the laughter and the reconnect..and making more memories, even 'though five years from now we'll never remember if the pink flamingos were from the Dominican Republic or Jamaica, and then I'll remember, because I'm the one with the good memory, and I'll say "That was Punta Cana..remember we thought a flamingo snuck into the nightclub because someone's chair made a squeaky noise that sounded like a bird?" Or I'll say to him, "Is that the shirt that made you think you smelled like a horse?  Because it still kind of does" And we both realize we're not a perfect couple in real life--far from it--but wow, do we ever know how to not worry and be happy on vacation.  I'm thinking it's the desserts.  I'll end with a typical Karen anecdote:  Our server brought us a tray of delicious looking white balls that I thought was an exotic dessert, and I tried one, and I said "OMG Jim..this is a pure round-shaped cube of sugar...I can't believe I ate a coffee sweetener..!"  And then, when he wasn't paying attention, I ate another one ..on purpose.  Okay, that's a lie...I actually ate two of them. And I'm going to take it easy once I get back, although there's something ironic about a husband who smells like a horse and his wife who eats sugar cubes.  Next stop:  Woodloch!!

First world problems..

oh man, why did we choose to ignore the time share spiel?  Or not come here with a year's worth of singles for tipping?  Somebody is mad..so mad that I expect to find some broken toothpicks on the shower floor when I go in there without my glasses on.  You don't want to be around Jim before his coffee.  And YOU have a choice not to be--I didn't--for a whole forty minutes. Our breakfast tray was very late.  Unusually late.  And Jim, without his coffee, wasn't sure whether he should wait it out--or rush to the beach and reserve our chairs, with cheat stuff like nearly empty sun screen tubes.  I was wearing a sunburn friendly nightgown--which means I wasn't going to answer the door and let ANYONE in, even if sent proof under the door that he was Ethan Hawke. So an argument ensued and phone calls were made but still, no breakfast tray for us on  the balcony.  Jim leaves in a huff and returns in time for...still no tray. He needed coffee so desperately by this point that he decided to use the coffee  maker in the room..and proceeded to spill everything everywhere.  If you've seen him crabby without coffee, you should see him when the coffee is SPILLED!! Finally, there's a knock at the the door.  Jim is jonesing for fresh  hot coffee and his usual order--mueseli with raisins and granola. I want to see how they're going to outdo the iced coffee.  On day one, if was delivered in a parfait glass, covered tightly with a thin layer of cling wrap where one could see the dollop of whipped cream. The next day, there was a caramel drizzle and the day after, coffee chips and a dash of cinnamon. I anticipated a banana split in this parfait glass.  This is what we got: No hot coffee for Jim. No iced coffee for me. There was a carafe of something in between hot and cold, but it came without crunchy coffee sprinkles or a straw or anything to drink out of. Jim did not get mueseli but a distant cousin of it. No spoons for his cereal or my corn flakes, which I had to eat with a fork. The concierge is going to call any minute and ask how things were.  I'm going to say, in both English and Spanish, "oh..cut the crap..you know EXACTLY what went down here." Anyway, last night, we played our usual vacation game called "Highlights and Lowlights."  We usually wait for the last day, which is tomorrow, but we were at the buffet and bored even 'though Jim could finally  wear shorts. Without hesitation, he confesses his lowlight happened about eight minutes before I asked the question.  He told me he was scooping something up at the buffet with the only utensil they provide--a mini metal shovel with a slingshot in the back.  Only instead of grabbing a piece of sushi, this lethal utensil grabbed the fleshy part of the inside of his palm and pinched for like three agonizing minutes.  That was his lowlight.  Mine was the leg attack in the hot tub on day one.  My highlight was the beautiful water, and his would come an hour after the question was posed...It was the Rock Show that was waiting for us and it was spectacular.  The night life here is Vegas caliber.  I remember similar performances at the Iberostar in Jamaica, when contortionists could slip their entire bodies through hollowed out tennis rackets, while some of the elder guests watching them  had to pray they could remain standing once they got our of their chairs.  I can't tell you what dazzled most last night--the singing, the dancing..Jim said the guitar player and he posted a video to confirm. It was incredible and I'm sure I'll be saying something similar after tonight's show, Broadway, more my genre. This really is a great place.  Let me know if I'm complaining too much, would ya'?

Cigar bingo

I truly am having fun blogging on vacation, but I better exercise some caution before the blog becomes a b-l-a-g. I would have used B-R-O-G as the portmanteau of blogging and bragging, but I know a really nice fella with the surname and it would seem weird. But no matter what word, I should stop saying things like:  "I solved the bonus on "the Wheel" last night and it wasn't even in English!" or.."my brisket was so tender last week that the entire family asked for thirds" or "Evan is so elfin smart that he doesn't read my vacation journals!" Or how about: "Luke is so nefarious that when we took him to the beach, he dug holes in someone's brand new blanket and uncovered the remains of Osama Bin Laden?" Yep. no more bragging less I become not relatable, thus  not readable.  But I did keep the cowlick tame for almost an hour today--is that boastful? When we came across a language barrier in the French speaking  island of Guadeloupe for my 60th birthday, I relied a lot on miming, like pointing to a bread basket and then acting like I was buttering the back of my hand, even 'though the waitress brought over a small bottle of P-U-R-E-L-L. Today, a worker who spoke no English dropped off our breakfast tray and I asked him for more toilet paper.  He was so confused, poor thing, and kept repeating:  "Paper? Paper? Paper?" I thought maybe he somehow knew I was going insane because I haven't had a chance to solve a Star Ledger cryptogram in days, but I finally point to the bathroom and once again say "Paper?"  He still didn't understand and I wasn't going to try to act it out in a charade. The TP hadn't shown up by the time we left the room. I told Jim we should have forced ourselves to listen to the Time Share pitch. I'm so glad I bring a notebook to the beach everyday.  My memory is sharp, but not sharp enough to capture every nuance of the baby lamb chops, or that fact that a french Mom violated two  rules by bringing a drink in a glass to the pool area without her top on. Oh, and I told Jim he just had to try the gestapo soup.  That is not Auto Correct, that is just me forgetting the word gazpacho. I met a nice Mom in the ocean and the subject of Woodloch came up in five minutes--my doing.  She said she was avoiding the family friendly resort  next door because there were signs posted saying not to flush anything--including TP--into their commodes.  It must be both a sewage and a shortage issue, but maybe we ought to stay away for a day or two. Update:  There are people who share near death vacation experiences because they went hang gliding or jumped from a helicopter  or ordered seafood from a gas station food stop on a road trip. We just risked our lives on account of bingo. He recruited us and would not take no for an answer, dangling us with the promise of a great and mysterious prize, which turned out to be RUM that I would not have drank. So we show up for the 4:00 PM game at the swim up bar, and our stool choices were to be asphyxiated by a cigar or burned by the sun since we left our sunscreen on a chair. We chose sunburn, and then everyone was given out what was needed for Bingo, and believe me when I tell you we might as well have been handed Uzis and blind folds.  We were given flimpsy numbered sheets that went from one to 85 ((!!???)that were thinner than toilet paper. They'd shrivel up when wet, which is unavoidable when the only place to put them at a swim up bar is on a wet swim up bar. We were handed the sharpest toothpicks I have ever seen in my life and instructed to punch holes in the number once it was called.  My puncture holes turned into gashes and my card looked like it was hemorraging. The numbers were called loudly in Spanish and quietly in English and I so desperately wanted someone to win so I didn't have to breathe in that cigar smoke or set my shoulders on fire. They should rename this activity Torture Bingo, because we left the pool area, barefoot, of course, where we had to dodge a messy array of both whole and broken toothpicks..and drinking glasses..and drunks. At least we can say we tried an activity that didn't revolve around napping or eating. And then I hear this from a group of men playing pool vollyball once I got to the safety of my lounge chair.  I hear one of them say:  "This may be the marijuana talking, but I'm getting stirrings down south." And I wondered three things: 1) how'd he get by the TSA with weed? 2) What is it  about playing aquatic volleyball with guys  that prompted him to yell this out loud? 3) Was he positive those stirrings down south weren't caused by his wife who was careless with a tube of Ben Gay?

Everything you always wanted to know about sax..

I will not start tomorrow off with "I was too tired to blog last night" even 'though I am because I don't want to be boring and repititious.  "Chill Out" night was just that--sipping chilled strawberry daiquiris under the stars where the air was chilled but the people were not.  We had another gourmet dinner at the hibachi place, and trust me when I tell you this was not your Mama's Benihana.  We sat with husbands from Long Island--one looked so much like Mitch from "Modern Family" that we did a double take.  We didn't discuss daschunds: they discussed how divine Bette Midler was in "Hello Dolly!"  I guess I prefer a theater buff to a corn belt American, but I should keep an open mind. We saw these guys later at the show, which took place in front of the ship that has been converted into a bar.  The calypso version of Barry Manilow songs left one breathless, but I felt a little sad that our dinner companions and all the other same sex couples danced with sexy Dominican women.  Sure, it might have been by choice, but it's 2017, and these guys should have been comfortable enough dancing  with one another.  The Dominican beauties also danced with Jim a lot, because he is a gifted hoofer that deserves a partner who can keep up.  One was so tall and beautiful that there's no way I'll ever be convinced that one of her parents is not a giraffe. I've always had two left feet, and have always complained about how much they ache.  But dance we did to some Bee Gee classics and it was so nice that I won't even make a stupid forced reference to "La La Land"..we danced indeed under the "Moonlight" and it was sweet and it was chill. Our dinner companions told us not to miss the saxophone player  after the show and they were right.  Wow!!  It's like Kenny G and Lisa Simpson had an offspring with some Grover Washington Jr. blood in him.  His name is Elvis Sanchez and he is the most talented musician I've ever heard. I think I even saw the pink flamingos hoofing it up in the background. (And yes, "pink" is overkill--all flamingos are pink) Nights like "Chill Out" make staying at the Grand so worth it--it's nice to be an adult, at least at night. In the morning, I will be refreshed and coherent, and I will look forward to pretty pools and the sounds of screaming children as the buckets are dumped onto their happy little heads.  And I will get the succulent baby lamb chops again, and giggle as I think of my awesome friend Terri who read the entry today as "successful baby lamb chops", leading me to answer if they were that succesful, they would have made it to adulthood.

Close.. but no cigar..

You would think walking a few yards down to the other Iberostar, the family resort called Bavaro, would be a good idea but you'd be wrong.  Well, wrong and right. The pools there were infinitely nicer.  Aquamarine instead of cobalt blue, and there were no missing or dirty tiles.  Plus, the water was deep so I could do my treading exercising without triggering off intense agony.  (I didn't need a modifier there, all agony is intense) Sure, you had to put up with a kiddie water park, and the sound of bucket water crashing into screaming kids below it, but it was better than counting missing pool tiles in a pool that was shallow and small and not as pretty as it thinks it is.. Everything was just peachy until we encountered our first smokers.  You'd THINK we would have found that with the drunken, tattooed folks here at the adults only resort, but nope, the smoke was as annoying as the face of the walrus at the water park. (a pretend one for decoration) I am nothing if I'm not an exaggerater, so yeah, those were the ONLY smokers we dealt with all day.  Two of them and they were far away. I never said I was a good person. The ocean was calmer there too and we met a bunch of Bostonian hairdressers.  They didn't have Chicago accents!! They weren't from Chicago! The buffet lunch was accompanied by wonderful Dominican music, and it included stuff like succulent baby lamb chops and carrots, where the buffet at our part of the hotel offered stuff like mashed peas and Geritol. The guests were hopping and the staff was hopping because nobody was sitting there playing cards and praying nobody would steal their cane. We're entitled to go to the show at the family hotel tonight, but it's a magic show, and we've seen enough card tricks at this point in our lives that we can take educated guesses on how they're actually done. So we'll go to the show here, called the "Chill Party" and let's just hope it's not watching octogenarians crocheting stuff for their great grandchildren in the lobby. While Jim was getting details about the magic show we're not attending, he directed me to the bathroom(the situation was dire) only this bathroom had no toilets, just shower stalls.  By the time I ripped open the fourth of fifth curtain I was about to commit what I'm sure is a misdemeanor when I  thankfully hear Jim's voice from outside saying "the full bathrooms are in the next area!" Just in the nick of time.  So if you do come to the Iberostar in the DR, make sure your bladder isn't full and make sure you go to the family friendly resort for daytime adventures, and the adults only "Grand" for evening  pampering and time share pitches.  Try to come while the pink flamingos are still alive and kicking, 'though I'm not sure I've seen  one actually kick..We took a refreshing dip in our ocean when we hear a woman say"I thought I was standing on a large rock but I think it might have skin and it might have moved."  So we go over to them, and GUESS WHAT MIDWESTERN CITY they were from?? I stopped counting his tattoos by the eighth one and both managed to keep their beers dry.  Still, I was curious as to what the  one in the bikini(the wife) was standing on. They are here for ten days and he has no luggage.  He cannot go to any restaurant because all the airline didn't lose was the swim trunks he had on and the parka he bought from (spolier alert!)..Chicago.  So they've been eating at the buffet but they might have been too drunk to care. I ask the guy if the airline had reimbursed him for anything and he said if the luggage doesn't arrive today they will send him a check I think for one hundred dollars.  And he says, "I saw the prices for shirts in the boutique here and I'm not spending that kind of money, even if I can't eat in a gourmet specialty restaurant the whole time we're here." He adds: "do you know how many CIGARS I can buy with a hundred dollars?" and I answered that I did not, but I knew it was time for that conversation to end. Tonight we will have Japanese hibachi and I'm more positive than ever that the conversation is going to revolve around the end of the Cubs' losing streak.

The fourth flamingo..

I was way too tired to blog last night(and here I am, up at 7:00 so be prepared for the same opening tomorrow) The night started off weird.  Nights tend to do that when as you're leaving your room your husband says to you, "why does my shirt smell like a horse?" So even 'though you're jonesing for that Japanese hibachi dinner and fresh conversation with strangers(guaranteed to be from Chicago) you stop and sniff him and say"Well..definitely a petting zoo..not necessarily a horse" but still, there's a mystery that will remain unsolved. So Jim checks the voucher that the concierge Willy gave us on Day One and says, "nope..Surf and Turf tonight"..It was good we weren't sitting with strangers because one of them was bound to ask:  "does anyone else smell a horse in here or is it just me?" Oh..so Willy stops us en route and screams at me with delight, "oh..Miss Karen!  Miss Karen!" like this is 1960 and I'm hosting "Romper Room." Slick Willy, sweet as he is, made us stop and listen to his pitch and take some coupons and I think we accidentally signed up for a two hour time share presentation today.  It's not happening, of course.  I sacrificed the ocean yesterday because of the weather gods, I'm not repeating that today because Willy might save me twenty dollars if I book through him rather than the best travel agent in NJ, Christine Cherry Hommel. He looks at Jim with those charming little eyes of his and says, "a happy wife is a happy life, right?  I can get Karen thirty percent off on a beach bag" and we're both thinking that I need a new beach bag like I need more unwanted facial hair. I tend to bust chops a little when someone tries to talk time share. It's how I get my jollies.  Once, we had to go to one in Atlantic City because I won a raffle at a minor league baseball game and I knew I'd get a buffet dinner at a casino.  (Plus a free trip to a dumpy hotel in St. Pete's which wasn't exactly free)  The aggressive sales lady asked:  "wouldn't you just love to live in Atlantic City?" and I answer, "no..there's a reason I haven't been here in twenty years." Then she adds:  "Well, it's not just this time share.  How does strolling along a romantic beach with your husband in Italy sound?" and I reply: "it sounds like it'll trigger a sciatica attack."  She was not too pleased with me.  She finally shows me a picture of what an ordinary hotel room offers(bed, bureau, TV) in "Illustration A" and then what her condo would look like-bigger bed, full kitchen., flat screen TV in "Illustration B." She asks:  "Which one do you prefer?" and I answer: "Illustration A--I am a very simple gal" and then I blacked out, assuming she punched me, (But woke up in time for prime rib at the casino) Ironically, the time share she tried so desperately to sell was destroyed by Hurricane Sandy just a few weeks later, but WTF did we care--we got our potatoes au gratin.. Jim was very concerned after we left Willy's station and we only saw three pink flamingoes in the lagoon thing. (Damn you, auto correct!!) I WANT to say L-A-G-O-O-N-Y thing...why can't you indulge me just this once?  Jim was truly frightened that a flamingo had been eaten by the others. After the delicious dinner(where we were photo bombed by a waitress and the unflattering photo of me should have been titled "Surf, Turf, and Karen's Girth"(but I have no pride, which is obvious to anyone reading this) we sat on an abandoned ship with these Chicagoans, of course, who talked about everything from dachshunds to how good gas prices are in Illinois.  Jim listened attentively and for the first time in days I was wondering if I had caught that malaria  because I can't pay attention when conversations turn inane. Oh!  The show!!  Right!! (How in the world does ANYONE follow me??) Jim's eyes were transfixed on the stage, where the drummers were drumming and the pipers were piping, and the women wore colorful dresses and lots of fruit on their heads and would let out some primal screams along  with the singing and dancing.  I couldn't twirl the hem of my skirt like these women did, because I don't know where any of my skirts are.  But I misread Jim's face..he was exhausted too and ready to leave the show midway through..  All we missed were some high kicks and latin screams..maybe a patron or two who sat near us and said to their wife:  "There's a faint smell of horse in here." Willy is a great employee, as is everyone from the Iberostar.  A whole mess of them stood at the shoreline yesterday, rakes in hand in a very choreographed line as they loaded up a truck and the moved to Beverly..I mean..as they loaded up a truck and they removed seaweed.  (Sorry Ro) I need the ocean to be sparkling clean and seaweed free before I defile it with bodily fluids.  I will write later, when I'll hopefully have something to actually write about.  In case you're wondering, I too, am worried about that fourth flamingo.

What's Eating Karen Amster?

My husband, my hero..Saving Private Beach Chairs. I no sooner describe to you loyal readers the morbid details of "Celebrity Death Alert!" when we get to the beach and discover there has been one today. Jim warned me it would take a lot longer to guess than George Michael did on Christmas Day. With his amazing poker face, he says: "it's a name you definitely have heard of and she's known for a very specific movie--if you guess the movie, you'll guess the actress."  Oooh!!  Such fun!! So I ask all the great questions that a Master of 20 Questions would ask:  "did she play a criminal in this movie?  Was her love interest played by Ethan Hawke? Did her character die violently?" (Jim led me down the wrong path with that last answer, but I digress) I ask:  "We ruled out location, occupation, and favorite color, so is it important for me to guess an important physical characteristic of either the actress or the character?" He answers yes, and I don't know, I guess since the butler delivered that ice coffee with extra whipped cream a mere fifteen minutes before this conversation, I guess:  "Was there something about the character's weight that is significant?" He confirms and thank GOD nobody famous reads this blog, because you should of HEARD some of the fat actresses I was guessing.  He then gives me THIS hint: "there's something weight-related in the movie's title" and the first thing I say is, "Oh no.."My Big Fat Greek Wedding!"..Lainie Kazan died!!' So if you're reading this, Lainie, I apologize..you're not that fat but I'm still not sure if you're alive or not. Jim offers:  "I didn't say the word was "fat" per se" and I'm wracking my brains trying to think of a movie title that had the word "Obese" or "Zaftig" or "Pre-diabetic".  I guess:  "Does the title have the word "eat" in it?" and he smiles and I demand to know:  "Who the EFF was FAT in "Eat, Pray, Love"? and then I recalled reading that Julia Roberts gained seven pounds from all the consumed pasta in the scenes that took place in Italy, but if Julia had been the answer to "Celebrity Death Alert!" the whole resort would be abuzz. Jim is losing patience with me and hints that the word is only a FORM of the word "eat"so I guess "ate" and then "eaten" and I finally scream "EATING!!!" so loudly that nearby beachgoers probably thought the question was "What is Karen's favorite vacation activity?" In fact, Jim's earlier hint was that the activty was "something we had already done in the morning" but I couldn't think of a single movie title that even remotely mentioned "peeing in the ocean? "Also, this is a LIE because ONLY Jim ate breakfast on the balcony.  I drank coffee..that is NOT eating.  I have the same pet peeve with the ABC TV daytime exec who thought they were so clever and suggested"let's call our new show "The Chew" because it rhymes with "The View" and I'm thinking," I'm not watching the show on a day they make SMOOTHIES..gross! "Also, Jim had hinted that the character the actress played in the film didn't die violently, but they had to burn down Leonardo DiCaprio's HOUSE to retrieve his mother's corpse from a second floor bedroom!  RIP, Darlene Cates, but I asked Jim the same question I asked when we recently  played this and the answer was "Chuck Berry"..didn't that death happen a long time ago??  This beach is magnificent! Time to put down the snark pen and take another dip in the ocean.  (Euphemism for "I gotta pee") Late afternoon update: #Hashtag Sad! There was a cold rain most of the afternoon, but we just sat there like a couple of idiots, gazing at the turquoise water under the protection of a thatched umbrella, and yeah, describing a scene like that DOES give you the right to say STFU to me. I'm reading a great book inspired by "CastAway" and instead of wondering who the protagonost chooses, I can only wonder if there was a volleyball around. We came back from a very lukewarm(ooh..I miss my DOG!) hot tub when a guy who had been carrying a gun along the beach hours earlier approaches Jim with a bow and arrow and says: "I'm looking for Robin Hood." So he slung some arrows, quite poorly, and I blamed it on a delayed reaction from the Ben Gay in the air that caused his crotch to burn.  Because he's played archery before.My leg cramps are done.  One can't call them leg cramps,  They are more like violent attacks that last for eight to ten minutes, and you spend the whole time praying for a merciful death. So the cramps are gone, but then my hand started to weirdly lock up, like my pointer finger and thumb decided they wanted their independence from all other digits. Jim decides to be funny:  He says:  "doors. Vaults. Meryl Streep Oscar nominations.  Karen's extremities" and I say, "OK Dick Clark..things associated with the word "lock." You are usually a supportive husband but that was mean.  I hope the pink flamingos snub you tonight en route to our hibachi dinner and the Dominican show.