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.
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