“Cats!” The vacation

Good morning, sunshine!

 A little blogging before beach, a little blogging before it becomes a blag(my portmanteau for blog and brag, although what's to brag about?  That I finally figured out how to get into a bed that's higher than Snoop Dog?)

Nope..not going turn into a BUB(Brutally Untalented Blogger) 

There's enough of them all over the internet, but they're not all wasting THEIR vacation days making up unnecessary acronyms.

First impressions of our first night in Antigua:

Lots of twits. Lots of Brits. Lots of weirdly-placed fire pits.

(There was a fire pit every few feet..we'd pass by and hear random words from conversations among strangers like "universal health care!" and "France is going to close the Louvre!")

The layout  and architecture is so strange, like one of those dreams a person has about returning to their bunk at summer camp and opening  the moth-covered screen door to a fully-functioning car wash, or you're in  your elementary school and the coat room becomes a mosque.)

We saw bungalows, then hotel rooms, then buildings we couldn't identify, then structures that we were sure had the butlers and plunge pools we read about but didn't get, then older, lived-in buildings, then a bright out-of-place neon sign screaming the name of this resort like we were in Vegas...it was all so..weird.  But we didn't see the beach yet, so as always, I'm going to tell you not to listen to a word I've written. I am cranky and jet lagged.

We saw beautiful brown skinned people(the staff) and less beautiful inked people. (The guests)

We saw tats. Lots of tats. And lots of cats.

So many cats..dramatical cats. Fanatical cats. Cynical cats. Rabbinical cats. Cats with hats and cats with tats.

One showed up on our balcony, demanding the residue from my leftover Cheerios.  I told Jim to ignore the little bugger, but Jim has a weak spot for animals.  I can't use the excuse that I'm allergic to cats--I'm not--I've just never been a fan.

But Jim fell in love with this little Cheerios guy and because he's as twisted as I am, (which is why we're still married ) he decided to call him "Corona."

I suspect he'll be back..

(And that's my last joke about disease, even if this blog goes..uh..viral)

You know how when you get a 4:30 AM airport pickup, you look forward to your first night of good sleep?

As aforementioned, the mattress was so high that it might as well have been attached to the ceiling. I had to grab onto the bedding like I was Shelley Winters scaling a Christmas tree in the upended USS Poseidon,  When I finally got up, I was  sweaty and panting and exhausted, and I told Jim I was not going to move until the sun came out unless I sprouted another four inches overnight.

But then I had a nature's call..and it was 2:00 AM..and..I could not get back into the bed!  I told Jim I was going to sleep on a pool-side lounge, which meant we wouldn't have to reserve it at 7:00 AM with a tube of expired sunscreen, but he instructed me to haul myself up and shimmy in butt first.

which worked...until the act of shimmying set off approximately eight minutes of agony via those Charley horses that I get all the time from..shimmying.

The cure for a Charley horse is, of course, to walk it off until the pain subsides and then shimmy back into bed until another one is set off.

It was a vicious cycle but yes, I finally  got some quality sleep, thanks for asking.

And I called to order a step stool before making a reservation in the resort's most popular restaurant.

I don't think housekeeping is going to show, because they didn't show for the forty-five minutes our toilet was clogged because we're too dumb to work the automated Do Not Disturb sign.

I will have fun, I promise.

Complaining is fun.

Bitching is my forte.

I am Kvetching Karen, damn it!

And I'm going to relax with my Kindle in a few moments, and worry about what Jim is going to encounter on his snorkeling expedition.

Ugh..how are you folks still putting up with me?