Reality bites

when they make a Bravo show about me it'll be called "Reality Bites"..actually a name of an Ethan Hawke movie, whom I didn't obsess once about him in the travel journal.  (Besides, it's all about  Jimmy KImmel now) But it does bite, like a shark or a Trump supporter.

  I did not wake up today to the calming sound of surf and the smell of the sea.  I woke up to the sight of  Luke's new  hole in the newish bedspread, and the smell of his  peculiar streak across the newish carpet. I came home to newspapers I probably won't and( should not!!) read,  but I need those cryptograms for my mental health, so except some bad punctuation, incorrect use of the caps bar, and wrong words. Puzzles and cryptograms keep me in shape, so maybe I'll toss the news and just concentrate on them. Mail has been sorted, "This is Us" has been watched and loved, but bills have to be paid and the rest of  DVR is going to collapse from its heft.  (Who tells me to tape the News at Noon every day?) First world problems again...when will I stop? I face the reality of peeling skin and a swollen lip, three pounds up(I anticipated 30) and hair that could scour a pan that someone just fried bacon in, plus  a nor easter in the forecast.

Reality bites, but  recreation/relaxion is it's kissin' cousin.

DO go to Turks and Caicos if you love this look I described earlier..a swath of ivory, topped with turquoise. then white, then sky blue. DO go if you love the idea that smokers on the beach will get fined.  (Although I find that difficult to enforce , since nobody carrries ID onto the beach while staying at a resort.) DO go if you like to tour upscale towns and if you're lucky enough to have the wind blowin' the right way, awesome water activities and snokeling that will make you feel like you've been submerged in your dentist's waiting room aquarium..

DO NOT go if it means your return trip will be on a Saturday during spring break on a holiday. We stood in line for two hours(I hate to complain about petty crap like this--what are YOU supposed to do about it?) and this time, Jim was the one randomly searched.

 We were whisked off to an isolated room where his luggage was picked over, piece by piece. (You've already seen all the stuff he's had in there via photos--it could have been worse.  Could have been MY wardrobe that was mauled)

 After countless lines and putting bare feet into god knows what, , we were finally ready to board..the last two on, when Jim gets stopped again for another search.  Don't suggest he shave his beard  to look less menacing: .His chin is as weak as my willpower.  So I was annoyed, saying"OK, I'll just wait here" and the TSA bitch says"no, your plane is right here."  So I say: "I'll wait outside then" and she practically lunged at me, saying "that is illegal..get on that aircraft this once!!" So I climb that staircase, schlepping the stuff Jim usually schleps, and I am really upset. I find my seat without him, I sit down without him, I buckle my seat belt without him.  I hear:  "Flight attendants, we are about to close the cabin doors..prepare for takeoff"..WITHOUT HIM!!  My smart inner self told me dumb inner self not to scream or panic..that would make me look like a crazy woman who needed to be ejected.  An attendant read my face and smirked "not to worry". 

 I stow my carry on  and  put my passport--the one Jim usually holds onto for fear of me losing it-- in Jim's empty seat, where it disappears within a minute.  NOW I'm panicking.  The guy in Seat C looks nothing like me.  He has unruly brown hair and goofy glasses and a beer gut and..oh shit!!  He could be my freakin' twin!

 I say, politely, "sir..my passport was RIGHT HERE (pointing to Jim's empty seat) and my husband is right there!"(pointing the the terminal)  He holds it and  says to me, "this is MY passport" and apologizes immediately.."Oh wait..it IS yours"..The pages flipped open and he looked like he was going to quiz me about Barcelona, but I hear the pilot threatening to close the cabin doors one more time, and I am started to freak.  I gaze out the window and see that tuft of grey ascending the steps..Jim is boarding!  He contorts himself to wedge into Seat B, the dreaded middle, and tells me we're never going to be the last to board again.  I wasn't even thinking about what life would be without him..I was thinking about who was going to deal with the luggage and the limo once we landed in Newark..

Still think I'm entertaining?

The road not taken

Au revoir, Club Med and all you rude servers in the kitchen. (except for you.  You know who you are.  You cleaned up the vial of vanilla syrup and made me an addict.  One more meal , tonight’s grand buffet, and then I head for rehab)

It was the perfect little getaway overall, but there was room for improvement on the resort’s part. Like..bathroom doors that actually lock?  And front doors that don’t lock you out?  And maybe schedule a nightly show for those of us only here a few nights?  Add some activities that can be enjoyed by the athletically challenged?  Install a hot tub?

These are the improvements Club Med could make, but other elements were out of its hands.  We deliberately chose to go away in the dreary month of March, and even ‘though we’re not suffering from any consequences of a nor’ easter, this was not the Caribbean we’ve grown to love.  It’s a gorgeous beach—when you squint your eyes, (or in my case, remove my glasses) you get a perfect stripe of ivory sand, then  turquoise water, then  white puffy clouds, and  finally an azure stripe on top.  Lovely to see, but a little too rough to enjoy. I’ve always read that April is the cruelest month, but  its big brother March apparently taught it some of the meaner tricks—like drawing us to the tropics where the weather isn’t  quite tropical.

And yet…

We met incredibly fun people, mostly Americans.  Ran into adorable Katie today and got some Woodloch on. I promised to buy her a drink if she joins us this summer, which may be tough since I never got her last name.

And Jim did get to snorkel at least one good day.  And I did enjoy the waves on three occasions,

And for the last time in 2018, I got ribbed in water aerobics, literally and figuratively.  Brown Sugar had us gripping the wall while facing the one on the opposite side of the pool, instructing us over and over again to push!  Push! Push! Problem is, he didn’t offer an epidural when it was over.

And my snarky little husband can be just as cruel as the weather gods and the sexy  aquatic athletes.  He gets his bearings within five minutes of every destination, I need a month.  We reach a fork in the road today en route to breakfast when he suddenly stops, just smirking and giggling.  He asks:  “would you know how to go if I didn’t lead the way?”  I answer:  “Could I do ANYTHING without you leading the way?”  Don’t pity him..he gets a good brisket every now and then, and a fun conversationalist even more often, so it’s a wash.

Thanks again for reading.  I promise to never make this a blag(portmanteau of blog and brag) and if I do, I give you permission to kick this habit. Thanks to my cousin who commented on my writing style, saying stream of consciousness is acceptable, but there must be paragraph breaks.  He’s right, of course, nobody needs a trip to the ophthalmologist (HA!  Spelled it without Spell check!) or a drink with this format.  The drink part, maybe, but your eyes should no longer be strained.

In summation, and it’s the best way to end every travel blog…

..Next stop:  Woodloch!

First world problems redux

It's our last full day to enjoy these turquoise waters, which I hope calm down.  Jim deserves another snorkeling trip--one that isn't life threatening. Tomorrow we fly, like all the revelers celebrating in pubs across America. I'm looking forward to going home, to catch up on TV(which probably won't be possible) and to eat normally. (what she said) It's been so nice losing myself in novels instead of that damn TV, but I am an addict.  I'll dust off the Kindle in the summer when reruns will force me to stop being so freakin' obsessed.

Speaking of addictions, I am really glad that I didn't discover the vanilla syrup until last night, our third to last meal here.  I always saw it, next to the ice cream dispenser but it was always yucky and sticky with rainbow sprinkles clinging to it's drippiness.  Well curse the  vile staffer who cleaned the vial, because I sampled some last night and it is so delectable that I'm gonna grab it the minute I enter the dining area even if it's covered in flies.  I'm going to pour it on everything and don't judge me until you taste it too. It could solve major wars. 

 Club Med Turquoise has had its pros and cons, and yes, I am reading your collective minds with every word I type..there are no cons on vacation.  (Accept, ironically, my cousin Alicia Kahn--she's literally on vacation!  Hi Alicia!  Thanks for the opportunity for the shout out!) The number one pro, at least for someone like me, is the strict smoking restrictions, It is nirvana to be able to sit on a chair outside of your room, or in the common gathering areas, or by the pool, or most important of all, by the beach where the air you breathe is clean and salty and wonderful for the lungs. The beach is everything I remembered, but it's been too rough to use more than twice. And the service is not up to snuff.  They care, but they're not bending over backwards like the service people on a cruise  ship might. Also, the schedule could be plumped up a bit, especially for those us us who aren't athletes or water sports enthusiasts. Would it kill anyone to organize a trivia game?  Name That Tune? Nobody's telling Club Med or any other resort that they have to be Woodloch, nobody can fill those flip flops, but there could be a better effort.  There was no night entertainment last night..just a walk to the disco along a route that offered shots of rum periodically. Drinks and dancing should be offered in ADDITION to a show.

I know, I know..I should be stabbed in the head with these First World Problems, but they should be documented in case you're considering coming here.

The smoking stance alone would make me consider a return trip

Guess who we ran into?

It never did rain, but it was overcast and cool and OMG, I’m small talking about weather.  Next thing you know I’ll be talking about returning a towel to Target, or the D-minus I got in water aerobics today, or the malfunctioning room keys. 

We sat on a porch overlooking the white sand and the sparkling ocean eating corn fritters with pico de gallo that tasted as good as it sounds.  We sat with an Italian couple, who spoke no English at all, and with the NY attorney Christine, who did. She told us about an experience at this same club last year with an Italian couple who DID speak English..they spoke it all right.  When Christine lugged a beach chair out of the sun into a space near their pavilion, the guy goes ballistic and says to her, “don’t you realize you’re In Europe?” to which she replies, “don’t you know that the Caribbean is on the other side of the Atlantic?”  He spent the rest of the afternoon cursing at his wife in Italian under the pavilion they shared with Christine.  

This reminds me of our first Club Med in 1991, to Huatulco Mexico,  where we were talking quietly in front of the dive shack, located high up on a cliff.  A non-guest(the telltale sign being that he wore no wristband) screams at us:  “You woke me up!  I have been sleeping for two hours!”  We weren’t playing the tuba, we were talking..and by this time, praying that one or both of us wasn’t going to be shoved over that cliff.  He adds:  “This is why the natives hate the gringos.”  I was officially called a gringo.

So I am as about to be as angry as the sociopath napper or the geography deficient Italian as I exit the ladies’ room,  and Jim informs me that someone took one of the pool chairs we had reserved with a tote bag and towel. As we get nearer to our parking spot, I see the chair is occupied with pretty young millennial and I decide not to make a fuss, ‘though I did grab the towel crumpled by her pretty pedicure a little aggressively.

We then meet twenty-two year old Katie who was sipping her Cosmo, who is here on spring break with all her gal pals and said:  “I’ve been waiting like  half hour for the owner of the tote bag to get out of the pool..you guys have been to WOODLOCH?”

She might as well have asked me if I hate Trump or love ice cream or play Scrabble—the chair thief suddenly becomes my BFF as we talk about the joy of winning a medal, the delirium that comes from a horse race, the pure ecstasy of winning at Scavenger Hunt. She’s been going for years with a large group of neighbors where the camaraderie flows like wine, saying they always go in early June and play as the “Woodloch Monkeys.”  I tell her we go in late June, and we’re the award -winning Woodloch Pickles.  So here is this pretty spring breaker sipping her cocktail in paradise who offers:  “great as this is, it’s not as much fun as Woodloch. Woodloch has to be experienced to be believed.”

I will now tell everyone reading this that you are cordially invited to Woodloch in 2048 as Katie’s grandson finally marries my granddaughter Lucie(named for Luke) I will finally get all my friends and family to my favorite place, an ideal spot for a wedding.

And speaking of beautiful sandy beaches and because I have a compulsion to segue, I will now refer to Sandra/Sandy/Maude as Sandy Yaygo, since it’s easier to remember. This is my second attempt to post this before heading out for floral night—let’s hope this one takes.

Happy meal!

Full disclosure:  I am writing these notes in the bathroom with an open window. Our room is right next to the snorkeling shack, and I should be worried that all these noisy divers are going to get ill in a few minutes after the ship departs in these choppy waters.  Instead, I'm worrying that they're hearing me and hearing Jim screaming things like "the water is low--flush multiple times!"  Why am I embarrassed that I have bodily functions?  And not embarrassed to talk about them with everyone reading this blog? I'd better get an early start on journaling today because I'm probably going to explode by 2:00 PM. Look, it's not unusual for me to eat three times what I normally do at a buffet(most vacationers do) but just because the variety isn't what I'm used to at Club Med doesn't mean the rich and creamy foods aren't there for the taking. Give me a bowl of the best french onion soup I've ever had and a helping of browned cheesy scalloped potatoes with a side of beef bourgeon (no way I'm going to attempt to spell it) and I am a ten year old with a burger and fries and a toy in her Happy Meal.

We sat again with those wonderful dinner companions from San Diego, Harold and Sandra. I always feel a little stilted using a formal name, so I asked if she ever goes by a nickname, which she does, so I will now refer to them as Harold and Maude. 

Sandra/Sandy/Maude is a petite blond and a pistol! She is full of zest and a zestful hatred for Trump. She has the right amount of quirkiness and kookiness to endear her to me, like how this little woman's dessert last night was a plate of chocolate ice cream accompanied by a grilled lamb chop. She and Harold have been to exotic places like Papal New Guinea.  How was "Survivor" ever filmed in a place where natives die because they can't get medical care? There is death and bugs and no water, and Sandra/Sandy/Maude made me want to go because I'd probably  have a lot of blog followers on my death bed. 

Harold and Jim almost drowned on that snorkeling excursion yesterday but you won't hear a peep out of him.  In fact, yesterday was his birthday and he kept it on the QT. Ah, to be no fuss, no muss...I asked Sandra/Sandy/Maude when her birthday was and she replies:  "I don't have one."  Classic Sandra/Sandy/Maude! 

She is a wonderful conversationalist--much better than I pretend to be. She was way across the table from car salesman Mark from NY but still asked him interesting questions ala Dale Carnegie. Jim was sitting right next to Mark and didn't speak nearly as much, but I think he was skeeved because Mark had eaten something white and creamy that made him look like he was foaming at the mouth. Although later, when we were alone and played our usual "Name That Doppleganger!" game, we said at the same time, "Patton Oswald if Patton Oswald had rabies." We were also seated with a stunning GO, a staff member from Japan.  She couldn't stay long--she was preparing for her role as a dancer in the Moulin Rouge show.  She had layered teeth but a beautiful face and body, and she told us she was in "selling."  I asked if she worked in the office with group sales, Jim asked if she sold sarongs in the boutique, and she then clarified that she may be off tomorrow(now today) due to the weather..she teaches SAILING. 

Sandra/Sandy/Maude looks at me in all seriousness and says:  "Karen/Kar/Snarky Rosie O'Donnell look alike bitch/...I didn't like your blog."  There was a dramatic pause and acceptance on my part--sure she's brilliant but she had grilled lamb with ice cream  so to each his own--Sandra/Sandy/Maude says:  "I didn't like your blog..I LOVED it!"  I can't tell you how much that means to me, coming from a complete stranger. Thank you so much, Sandra/Sandy/Maude...hope to run into you later to talk about Broadway or malaria  outbreaks in some of the exotics spots you go to.

The theory of 4 inch stilettos

A lovely way to start the day with a plan of play and a CDA! (Celebrity Death Alert) I got on line first, but it didn't take Jim too long to ask if he's ever been in a sitcom, and then to narrow that down to "The Big Bang Theory" and then to assume that it's a guest artist, where he proceeded to bury Bob Newhart prematurely until he made his way back to Stephen Hawking. This is a great day because it's March 14th.  I've been mocked about being a "world traveler"(hardly!) but I HAVE met enough people all over to say with confidence that the funniest man on the planet is celebrating a milestone birthday today, and that's my amazing brother Steven, who I think has given up on these blogs.  Not to say I blame him.

Jim grabbed my shoulders and rode me hard today and it was at water aerobics perv, go grab a Jackie Collins novel. The ocean waters were very beautiful but very rough.  He attempted snorkeling anyway, and came back with tales of dizziness, nausea, and aching arms with very little payoff.  So not sorry I skipped this one.  The portmanteau of the trip:  He snorkeled, I s-n-a-r-k-l-e-d. (Auto correct isn't accepting anything but "snarled")

I'm catching up with things on my Kindle,  Entertaining reading, but every female protagonist is described as lean and tall and bejeweled.  She's always sipping Chardonnay  and wearing things like sheer lilac sheaths with a thin silver choker and four inch stilettos.  The women in my life are too busy eating crap to drink, they don't care about jewelry, and they wear black stretch pants and whatever shirt doesn't have any pit stains on it.  Oh wait, that's just me.  But still, I'm not attracted to sophisticated women.  I love snarky, lovable zhlubs.  Witty feminists,  Great cooks who would rather serve a homemade meal on a paper plate to be eaten with a plastic fork than serve garbage on fine china.  I love women who share dirty secrets and complain about their husband's snoring.  I could take or leave those who talk about returning towels to Target.  I told you, that story actually happened and the only way I could bear it was imagining the  storyteller being cursed with my Philly accent, and hearing how she tried to return the T-A-L-S.

It really sounds like I don't have much to say today, doesn't it?  I still love Club Med(although the flying trapeze show fell a little short--not saying' I could have done better) and this particular village is magnificent.  The thing I bitch about in most of these travel blogs--besides everything--is smoking and I am delighted to report it's absolutely forbidden on the  beaches by the Turks and Caicos government.  And it's not permitted anywhere really in the entire place--LOVING that but wish they could have an activity level like that found at Woodloch. Especially with rain in tomorrow's forecast.

I'm thinking that someday, this journal may be read by a great great great grandchild, niece, or nephew. I'm hoping that'll be the case..that they get a feel for who Karen was.  (I don't even know the names of many of my ancestors)  And I hope by the year 2080, the crazy gene will have mutated enough.  May they appreciate my sarcasm and zest for fun, but may they be a little less obnoxious then me..and maybe dress a little better. In sheaths and stilettos while sipping Chardonnay.  Even the guys.

Damn Yankee

I am officially a bird watcher. Not the kind that spends a year's salary on a camera to capture a rare sighting of a quetzal(now I want to play Scrabble) but of avian behavior. We arrive early at the infinity, infinity, infinity pool to be greeted by a flock of feathered friends, drinking in the sun and apparently, the contents of the infinity, infinity, infinity pool. I have the entire pool to myself--it's only 9:00 AM and the entire resort is sleeping off a collective hangover, yet pool chairs have been miraculously reserved with errant flip flops without owners. I get used to the water and then notice an avian turf war that would rival anything I've ever seen on "The Sopranos."  The brown and white bird challenged the white and brown bird to a shouting match.  Each had their own followers, trotting off in a different path. I started to laugh at the absurdity of this sight, and yes, I am paranoid, but I think they united with the sole purpose of  retaliation. Alpha A and Beta B seemed to chirp in unison:  "yo!  Bitch in the Yankees cap..why don't you mind your own business?  Are we going to laugh at YOU when you attempt to ascend the ladder and avoid a leg cramp?  STFU and leave the bird shit to us"

Even as I anthropomorphize  birds, I gotta get on my rant about small talk.  What's that real life example I've been using? Oh yeah, someone returning towels to Target and then discussing it for a half hour.  I write dialogue for angry birds more interesting than this. Now, if you're talking about returning quilts and bedspreads and comforters to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, THEN I'd listen, because it meant that you too had a psychotic poodle. 

While Jim went out to sea to snorkel and see a hundred varieties of fish, I was thinking of a hundred excuses to get out of another water aerobics class tomorrow. I did not want to be the only one at the pool(everyone sobered up by this point) who wasn't participating, but I knew I wasn't going to keep up with the flow, especially since I was so preoccupied with the anticipatipated NJ snowfall that would knock out the cable and my chance to see the season finale of "This is Us." So into the infinity, infinity, infinity pool goes I..The sexy instructor suddenly halts in mid gyration:  "hey..you!  You in the NY Yankees cap!" A dozen of us freeze in the water, until he clarifies:  "The PINK Yankees cap." I acknowledged that he could only be speaking to me. "Were you just PRETENDING to kick your right leg in that last step?" I answer:  "How can you tell if someone is cheating at water aerobics?  The action takes place beneath the surface." He asked if I had directional dyslexia(I do) but I reply:  "Listen here, you buttery hunk of brown deliciousness, be glad I'm not peeing in here!" and the woman in the BLUE Yankees cap offers:  "You mean you're not supposed to?" Class resumes and I force myself to calm down.  Jim is facing possible barracudas, I'm just trying to blend in. The beautiful brown man then instructs us to cover out chests, Pledge of Allegiance style, and then to grab our..oh, I'm not going there..Donald Trump style, but nobody seemed to mind.  Especially the woman in the blue cap..she probably was warding off defouling the infinity, infinity, infinity pool. I did not want to be expelled..I was really enjoying holding hands with wet strangers and breaking the circle, I was, But I love watching beautiful people dance and pulsate to lyrics like "my anaconda don't unless you have buns." (That is verbatim) I excused my awful behavior to everyone in the pool and told them about my earlier experience with the gangsta birds.  They all seemed to buy it. 

Jim did his thing, I did mine. (Surf, sun, pool, book)  I coaxed him into the ocean where we spoke with Irinia from Siberia, whom I referred to as Svetalana and she was offended by my stereotyping.  She was FASCINATING..has six college degrees.  She lives in suburban Philly now and was a brilliant conversationalist..and a rapid Trump supporter, which is irrelevant, because I'm obviously back in the room typing this, so nobody drowned anyone and tried to make it look like an accident or the dirty work of quetzals.

Tonight's color theme is red and black..the red is my sunburn, the black is my humor.  I am good to go and I am excited to see the Flying Trapeze show after, where I know I will be the only one not enjoying it, because I'll be too worried that a cable will snap.

Do you know the way to San Diego

what can you say about a place that delivers a hairdryer within minutes of you calling saying your room didn't have one? What can you say about a place where at your first sit down meal, you meet a wonderful couple from San Diego who talk about their dislike for Trump and their religious irreverence and love for well written sitcoms--all within that awkward "where ya' from" intro stage?  What can you say about a place where you're so exhausted from a 5:00 AM wake up call that you snap at your husband, but decide to suck it up and see a show with wonderful music from Abba and Journey and the Rolling Stones?  You say, "damn, I'm elfin' exhausted but let's stay up for another five--uh..ten--uh..fifteen minutes" and you're so glad you did.  And finally, what can you say when you see sexy gods and goddesses and their boundless energy, getting you to not only sing along to, but dance to "Hands Up?" like you did when you were here in 1992?  You say thanks!!  Thanks for the great entertainment and the husband's nice bonus that financed this trip, and thanks that it wasn't me who ordered the fatal meal last night at Texas Roadhouse.  You say you're grateful.  You say you are excited about tomorrow.  And you finally say good night

Carpe Diem

If you google Club Med Turks and Caicos, or Turkoise, the first photo you'll see is the amazing infinity pool that was constructed after last fall's major hurricane damage.  I think there's a reason it's called an infinity pool--if you're short and get charley horses and you are averse to unsteady ladders, you will be convinced that you will spend the rest of your living days in that pool--to infinity and beyond.     Club Med put us in a room with the name "salt" in the building.  It would be like putting an alcoholic in the "vodka" wing, but I love the long walk.  Because in addition to providing us with the furthest possible room, they are providing white chocolate bread, the closest thing this Earth will ever know to god given Manna.  I'm good for five--or forty five pieces a meal. 

Speaking of 45, that's the theme for tonight's dinner.  Jim is wearing his "45" shirt. And his tan already has an orange hue. And he's been wearing a bright red baseball cap with bright white lettering. It says "NY Yankees" but from a distance, it looks like he's trying to make America great again.  Oh, my snow flake little liberal husband!  Go lock yourself in the bathroom and look at porn with Kelly Anne Conway and Betsy De Vos..I'll forgive you, I promise.

We finally figured out why our high tech room key wasn't working--because it was programmed with the wrong number. I don't love technology.  And I don't love cats, but there are like 100 strays here, and they are admittedly adorable. And could I ask for anything more than signs saying it's illegal to smoke on any beach here or by the pool?  So if I try to complain, remind me of that. 

So I made it out of the infinity pool and my snippy mood.  Time to look at the ocean and indulge myself in a Sarah Pekkanen's latest. I will seize this day, even if it kills me

Forty five

And we are back for surf, mirth, and expanding girth..and look on the beach..it's Irene Worth!!  Okay, that's a stretch, but I am very grateful to have the chance to come back to Turks and Caicos for a few days of glorious fun and snarky blogging.  We're at Club Med, where the staff all wear the traditional "45" shirts, which used to evoke something wonderful(ergo..being at Club Med()but now I see all these 45 shirts and think of Trump. Which nobody wants to think about on vacation. This trip was planned long before last night's incident that shook me to my core.  I saw an ordinary man die before my eyes, walking into the same restaurant I did, maybe even ordering the same meal. I heard his wife's screams as he was choking, and all attempts at Heimlich failed,  I saw EMTS furiously giving compressions for what seemed an eternity, and nobody clapped by the time the stretcher came., which could not mean the outcome looked promising. I don't know the final outcome, but I have every reason to assume the worst.  So here I am, upset about a stranger who met a terrible fate, and it is motivating me to soak up every moment..live life to the fullest!!  (She says as she blogs instead of going to the beach..I will, I will, I just have some things I must say)  Auto-correct fixed my careless typing..I attempted "the pen is mightier than the sword" and it came out "penis" and since I don't now, nor have I ever, written for "Family Guy" I will fix this. I ate a crumbly corn muffin on the plane that filled my bra with so many crumbs that robins could build a nest there.  My bangs are so cowlicked and drenched with sweat that I don't even look like me. I am trying to describe the blueness of the water as we walked to our room and I have run out of superlatives.  I will try to describe the Shape of Water--triangular?  Short and squat?  OK, I am punch drunk and hot, forgive me.  We have a very high tech room key that's activated by a wrist band and it's failed three times so far.  But I will NOT complain.  I am in paradise.  I am grateful.  And I will continue to always search for my joy, especially after seeing what happened to a man just out to dinner on a Sunday night.  And for people that still read my blog, I promise:  There WILL be snark.  Right now, I'm just trying to figure life out...