I know seeing the photos of the turquoise water and beautiful greenery is making some of you wish you were joining us, but trust me when I tell you that you don't want to go on vacation with me unless it's absolutely necessary.
I am very high maintenance.
First of all, you pretty much have to memorize the entire contents on WEB MD.
You have master the art of making the Colase Coffee Cocktail (so your colon can move like Trump on a porn star) and you have to have good bedside manner when my dear friend, Charley Horse, pays a visit.
You'd have to show great restraint when I'm practically sobbing and saying "Now I know what it feels like when you're in the jaws of a vicious Great White Shark for a full six to eight minutes!!" because you are not allowed to respond with, "Karen..nobody who has been in a shark's jaw for that long has lived long enough to describe the sensation." Nope, if you agree to go on vacation with me, you just have to deal...
You have to play doctor, beach boy, concierge, psychologist..you still wanna come?
Jim just made reservations for tonight at the sit down Mexican restaurant, and tomorrow night at the Argentinian Steak House.
These buffets are getting a little overwhelming, and it's not because I'm overindulging--I promise you I'm not. Even the White Chocolate Bread isn't doing it for me this trip.
But I'm tired of the crowds, and the little girls with moms who don't make them wear ponytails as they practically dump their long hair into the mashed cauliflower you were considering, and they don't make their sons use hand sanitizer.
Last night, the adult section was full so we had to sit in the family section, where you are pretty much ignored. The wait staff must be trained to tune out all the crying and wailing, which is why they weren't volunteering to fill our water glasses, even when I put incredibly hot Jalepenos into my tortilla soup because I thought they were sweet green chili peppers. My mouth was on fire and for the staff?? It was business as usual...ignore the screams of a spoiled brat.
Jim rescued my mouth with some iced tea and we were able to get up and refill our plates and guess what was waiting at our table when we returned?
If you guessed a pitcher of ice water, guess again.
Someone left us a plate of cheese.
I couldn't tell you why someone did that last night, and I couldn't tell you now.
Jim actually took a photo of all the different kinds of pureed baby foods that were available, and I hope he saves it for reference as that's what we'll be eating when we come back here in 2039.
I keep thinking about the sign they have near the iguana crossing that reads "Please Don't Feed the Animals." I'm thinking that sign belongs in the kids' dining room where whoever left us unwanted cheese could read it.
Don't get the wrong idea..I LOVE family resorts. I am not bothered by swarms of kids singing their hearts out and having a great time..I actually LOVE it..makes me think of being a Mom of a toddler myself.
I don't need to be an adults only resort, where it's all about cigar smoke and heavy drinkers and comics who tell tit jokes.
(Says the blogger with the running gag about pouring liquids into a tumbler from bare boobs)
Oh! So besides being the doctor, the shrink, the concierge and the food tester, Jim has to be my personal hairdresser.
He usually lets those bad hair days just fly by, but last night he wouldn't let me leave the room.
I looked like I put a wet finger into an electrical socket. It's like my hair had a life of it's own, taunting me with "gurl...YOU chose to come to this climate!"
I used gel, spray, clips, hot air, conditioner..I used everything but hot wax and my hair still made me look like I was auditioning for a revival of Medussah.
He insists on using the flat iron on me and then he pondered watching a You Tube video on how to do it, but I was hungry and I told him to "do what Tami does. You've watched her a dozen times turn my burlap into silk."
He tried to do what Tami does, he really did, but he burnt himself on the iron, fried my ends, and...
..I still looked like I wearing a head full of tangled Christmas tree lights.
But he tried..he really did.
He might have been tired..he tried to snooze outside on this wonderful lounge/bed thing we have on the porch, but the damn birds wouldn't stop yakking about..who knows what..how to use a flat iron?? Who's gonna leave the unwanted cheese?
The show last night was the Mayan show and we didn't understand a single part of it. It just looked to us like a bunch of B- movie actors from the 1950's with bad make-up and bad hair and no skills at all with a flat iron.
Maybe we were too tired when we got there..we had just watched about forty-five minutes of energetic fireballs shimmying and shaking in 12 inch high heels. Some of them were even women. How can people dance like that and not break a sweat?
So I notice Jim isn't paying attention at the Mayan show either, and he admits he was lost in thoughts.
I say "they better not be about work!" and he answers, "no..if you must know..I can't stop thinking about what appetizers we missed at the cocktail party tonight."
(My man is deep)
Time to start my day.
Fire up the Kindle with "Little Fires Everywhere."
Sometimes, this blog just writes itself...
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