Thanks for giving the photos

Okay, because I'm a KAREN. I will admit that I KNOW how obnoxious I sound every time I complain about everythi--..er..about Facebook pics.  

It's not that I mind the posts themselves, it's just that the responses are so.. robotic. 

 People post pics of running rivers and hiking trails and ocean shots  from balconies, and everyone, in perfect unison, replies, "looks gorgeous!"

Or they'll post pics of grandchildren or new hair styles, and the response is once again universal and unoriginal:  "Absolutely precious" or "great hair!"

It's like those old "Chatty Cathy" dolls we girls who grew up in the 60's had, when we'd pull a string attached to the backs of their necks(a cruel thought in itself) to hear Cathy  say then ten same things, usually a variation of "go bye-bye??"

I had a vivid imagination even back then, so I'd pull the string and ad-lib things like, "Can I have a new Mommy?  Karen is a bitch!" or "did you hear me??  She's SUCH a bitch!!" or.." can we go bye bye??..Please get me away from my bitchy Mommy, Karen!"

I know I'm meandering,  let me  me back to my point about posting pictures on Facebook, because.. take a wild  guess:  

What  kind of photograph  is  posted the most??

Did you guess...

Food photos???

Because you would be correct.

 Everyone's  string on the back of their necks gets pulled and we all say, in perfect harmony, "looks yummy!" or "looks delicious!" or "go bye bye and have some of that roasted duck with potatoes au gratin?"

But today, and just for today, I'm stepping out of this Karen body of mine(hah!..if ONLY!!) to say:

"Keep those Thanksgiving food  photos coming!"

We were all  ROBBED in 2020, we NEED to savor the morning after, we need to see the brownness of your turkey, the crispness of your brussel sprouts,  your  butter pat  melting on the mashed potatoes, your glistening cranberries...

Post away! 

 Show every photo of every vessel of stuffing and every stuffed house guest, sated and happy and vaccinated, grateful for the long awaited reunion.

You can even use the caption "gobble gobble."  ...I promise I  won't get mad.

I am not the least bit bored or annoyed by the Photos of Pheasts--keep 'em coming! 

I'll  type the words "looks yummy!" all day long  if I have to

Just don't show me anymore random  pics of trees or your cat, because I'll see THEM  for the umpteenth time I'll be forced to say,...

"go bye bye??"

Camelot redux

Seems like everyone is sharing their "where-were-you-that-day?" stories today, so here's mine.

My third grade teacher, Mrs. Schilling, was a little bit off..a little bit cranky. 

 She quieted us down and told us why:

"Class.." 

"Boys and girls"....

She began slowly, and I remember for some odd reason  that she paused and licked her upper lip, before continuing:  "Our President..(Here she took another long pause) ...of the United States, is quite ill."

She used the word "ill"

I don't remember any reaction from any classmate except from the kid who sat in front of me.  His name was Roy Taylor, and his mom's name was Elizabeth, and yes, I thought she was the famous Cleopatra Liz, but neither of us were one-hundred percent positive which president our teacher was referring to, until we both said, at almost the same time, "she must mean Kennedy."

We went home from school, where the bus driver was crying and the neighbors were crying, and before too long, Mindy from across the street would yell out, for all the neighbors to hear, "they just shot Oswald!"

We gathered at my maternal grandmother's house for Thanksgiving a few days later, as we usually did, watching her big screen TV before indulging in the turkey, and my Aunt remarked that Jackie looked radiant coming off the plane..and that she was smiling.(???)

My grandfather had a curious reaction,  somehow thinking that Lee Harvey Oswald was a southern vigilante who was responsible for the assassination as he proclaimed, "I'm not giving those tobacco growing bastards one red cent.  I'm not smoking ever again" 

We learned the facts as the days progressed,  and just hoped we'd recover.

Jim honored this anniversary by sharing the letter he got from Letitia Baldridge, Jackie Kennedy's social secretary, as a response to the fan letter he sent to his favorite president as a little boy..a man who inspired him to run for president of his own elementary school years later.

We remembered our trip to the Kennedy museum in Hyannisport years ago, where a family member was paying a visit  that day.

And while we were sharing our memories at dinner tonight, we did the only thing we both saw fit to do:

Alexa was happy to oblige our request, to hear Richard Burton, as King Arthur, singing the title song from "Camelot"

Oh Kenosha!

Oh, Kenosha!/where the wind bags try to run the courts/ where the ante’s upped/ they’re all corrupt/ they’re the ones who MAGA folks support!/oh, Kenosha!/where the judge is nothing but a sleaze/his head’s made of cheese/ with oafs like these/ who can rule while holding down this fort?/acquitted this shit!!/ WTF???!!!/ and justice has since run amok!!/ what’s left to say?? (Damn!) the verdict?? Read today??  ( a sham!) I’m only saying, “ you should feel shame, oh, Kenosha!/ this is far from...ok!

Duty free equals great AC

Airport fun! Filling out a zillion forms, sweating off a zillion pounds, making a zillion attempts to understand  a masked rep who wouldn’t understand a word you’re saying even with the mask off.

Ask me how much fun it was to take off shoes from swollen sweaty feet and then try to wedge them back on.

The only place with great air conditioning is the duty free shop that wants to make you drink and  make themselves rich.

My back was spasming so badly by the time we found  seats at the gate that I accepted a stranger’s offer of ibuprofen.

I’ll let you know when I start to see some wild monkeys in palm trees.

All this  as Jim draws attention by wearing the shirt that says, “Karen, calm down!”

And no, these hellish last ninety or so minutes will not deter me from traveling again.

I think I’ll plan my next trip to one or two towns over from home.

Seriously, everyone hates the inconvenience and unpleasantries of airport departures.

It did not leave a sour taste in my mouth.

That description is saved for the foie gras  from Jim’s birthday dinner.

Next stop: Newark!

People who need people… are the luckiest..

And so we reach the part where the Mom or Dad reads to the little kid and  says "and so they lived happily ever after" as I type this last entry into my vacation journal.

We will do just that, in our non-traditional way-- as we are so comfortable with each other that we can say anything(and we do!) and laugh about everything(and we do!) and the insults are so far and few between that they barely register as insults.

Jim:  You don't look as bad in what you're wearing now as you do in some other things

Karen:  Remember when you asked me if your shirt smelled like a horse and I told you it did, and later I told you that everyone sitting around us in the theater had to change seats? Did that  answer your question?

Both:  Courtesy flush, please!!!

When I recently saw the (annoying) "Scenes From a Marriage" (a remake of the Swedish classic with Liv Ullman) I could only think about how great the acting was, how loathsome the characters were, and how unrelatable every thing about the series was to my own relationship.

Back to the fairytale and its last chapter:

I'd say this is a Cinderella story, but my feet and ankles have swelled (as they usually do in exotic climates as the trip nears its end) so no glass slipper will ever fit. 

I'll be lucky if I can get on a flip flop.

Also, the whole Cinderella thing really bothers me and always did.

If the glass slipper was such a perfect fit, why did it fall off in the first place, and does the most eligible, desired bachelor in the village really make his decision on who is marriage worthy and fit to run a queendom based  on her shoe size?

Tangent again..tell the readers about your day, Karen. They've heard you complain about fairytales before, move on.

I so love our European friends..I will miss them so much, even 'though we exchanged FB into.  They are so easy to please..they find humor in everything--reliving their tale of woes upon arrival, after a long and exhausting flight from Frankfurt with two toddlers, only to find their room was occupied.

Or cursing in English.

 I can never hear the word "douchebag" again without thinking about them.

Or how much they loved one of my favorite sitcoms of all time, "Superstore"

My NJ friends wouldn't take my recommendation to watch it--but my unmet ones did..in..with German subtitles to boot !

  Such a bonding moment!

A young, sexy, athletic European couple(and their adorable children) made this trip so special, as did so many other things and people.

We met Hassan in the rough surf yesterday, a West African from Liberia who is Lebanese and now living in Toronto.  (I am showing off my geography knowledge  for a reason that will become apparent momentarily)

Hassan and Jim nerded out with tech talk and bless their hearts, it was fun to listen to  them and  enjoy their passion  vicariously, and to watch them dodge the anchored boat that seemed to be chasing us due to the current, like a hungry shark.

We were aware of the 5:00 PM  scheduled Covid test, and before we left for the the infirmary, I told Norika and Daniel how much we enjoyed meeting them, and if the test came back positive, they were both  invited to witness my suicide in the surf.

(It was negative, for Jim as well, but this time, the cotton swab was stuck so far up that I feared it was going to damage the part of my brain that controls my sarcasm, and then what would I possibly have to write about on vacation?)

We go to the beautifully lit sit down restaurant on the beach, and because I can't sit at a high top table, we were moved to the patio where we got the nice surprise of seeing Elaine and Monty next to us, and Tall Guy (Jim) and Carolyn next to them

We kept the conversation civil..no talk about armless people or  backpackers  who haven't showered in a month--just nice pleasant small talk, as we were entertained by a fantastic singer/guitarist who played songs we knew(and sang along to) from the 70's.

Beef:  It's what's for dinner.

And lunch.

And breakfast.

Jim got the wolf fish, which I nicknamed Chief Martin Brody, because as it looked at my husband with that fish face and those fish eyes, I'm sure I heard it say, "you're gonna need a bigger gut."

My filet did NOT have a face!

Well..it might have at ONE time, but not while it was on my plate, but Jim said it was the best piece of fish he has ever consumed.

We stroll down the beach(how much do I love listening to those waves at night??) wondering where the evening show was going to take place, because even though we saw a stage and theatrical lights, the seats themselves were large pillows, and if you think I was going to plop down on a pillow in the sand, even onto a large comfy one, you're living in some kind of fairytale.

We meet Akiva from New York, who tells us we could pull over a bench(which we did) and he asked us how we liked swimming in the turbulent Atlantic that day.

WTF??

The ATLANTIC????

All those jokes about the Jersey Shore, and we were NOT in the Caribbean, like I could have sworn we were all week ?

Jim pulled out his google maps and yes indeed, this part of the Dominican Republic is on the Atlantic Ocean.

I'm glad we're leaving today before I see all that disposed medical waste.

The ATLANTIC!!???

I know where Liberia and Lebanon and Toronto are on a map, but not the Caribbean???

We are so naive.

Everyone is bopping and bouncing to the "Bee" show presented on the stage, and we had no idea it was a Beyonce salute until "Single Ladies"..the very last song.

Time to pack, to figure out what to do with all the dampish clothes so they don't bother the unworn ones, and say thanks.

Thanks to Christine Cherry Hommel for your swan song, for planning one of the best Club Med trips we've ever taken.

Thanks to my friends who commented on my blog and stuck with it, even when it got more rambling and disjointed and insane as the week progressed.

But mostly, thanks to Jim, for celebrating our 32nd anniversary with such style.

 And so many lauughs.

One last question:

Will the seat belts still fit on the return flight?

Au revoir, mon amis!

The Tomahawk

So there!!

Screw you,  wolf fish, you mother fucking douchebag of an entree, you're NOT  the big cheese around here anymore.

 Tomahawk Steak is the clear victor.

Coincidentally, Victor was the name of our server last night.

Coincidentally ,Victor was the nickname Jim  once gave my vibrator, and good lord, Karen..have you no shame? 

 No filter?

Don't you see that it's TMI to disclose you had a waiter named Victor?

We spent Jim's birthday dinner at the Coal and Copper Steakhouse, where we were convinced to order the Tomahawk Steak(for two) that when you google it, it looks like something you'd use as a lethal weapon on a cheating ex, but when it arrives at your table, it looks like that brontosaurus rib that toppled over Fred Flintstone's foot-pedaled family sedan.

I'm getting ahead of myself, let's start with the appetizers before I do my hatchet job on the Tomahawk Steak.

 (I do have a photo of Jim gnawing on the bone from it and if he doesn't look like the  caveman spokesperson for Geico, then I don't know who does)

The included appetizer was foie gras, which I loved when I had it in 2016, but now it tasted like Play Doh, a taste I'm more familiar with than a grown-assed woman ought to be.

Then we ordered three little apps ala carte, a cheese that oozed something that was "probably" cheese when you stabbed it, but I wasn't taking any chances.

And then something that Jim swore was a shrimp cocktail, which was really good, especially in the dipping sauce, but then he told me it was prawns, so I had to stop eating them.

Jim:  I don't get it.  You said you were enjoying it.

Karen:  That's because I thought you said it was a shrimp cocktail, something I KNOW I like.

Jim:  But..you WERE liking the prawns..???

Karen:  We are done with this conversation.

The third app was something called "Bone Marrow" which Jim wanted to try because he never had before, but mostly because someone personally recommended it, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall who.

"Maybe you're thinking about someone you know who had a bone marrow transplant?" I offer, but nah, that wasn't it, and the bone came to the table with a slit in it filled with mediocre meat and veggies.

Finally our entree came, an incredibly delicious Tomahawk steak, that Jim swore had  a great crust, but even I would not eat a steak with a "crust"--it was obviously pan seared in something amazing before it was grilled and sliced on the bone.

Dessert was cheesecake  that tasted like perfume and dry, skippable  chocolate mousse, which was fine with us, because we indulged so greedily on the Tomahawk.

A big parade starts just then, with men in  all-white blowing on tubas accompanied by women kicking up their legs and handing out  firecrackers to everyone.

Jim, the conceited motherfucking douchebag says, "I told you not to make a fuss over my birthday!" but it wasn't about him..it was all about the penultimate goodbye to ALL the guests.

I sat there with my torch, fearing I'd accidentally start a fire, while Jim gnawed on every lass morsel of the Tomahawk.

We run into Tall Guy Jim and Carolyn, the one with the great stories about all the armless people in the remote areas of India, who were dining with a couple from Toronto, but she curiously forgot my name, as 'though it's possible for anyone to forget MY name in  2020/2021.

We ran into Elaine in the open area, who enjoyed her massage.  We were talking earlier about all the devices she  usually packs on vacation, lots of tablets to offer lots of Netflix options, but she only packed one this trip, which meant she could watch the show.

Last night's theme was "Carnival" and we got great seats , which meant we could see everything, which was basically more shirtless men dangling from something, and dancers, and singers, and dazzling costumes.

I know this resort attracts guests from all over the globe, so this is what they HAVE to offer--something in a universal language--but I wanted to hear a raunchy comic who wasn't a sexy German woman talking about douchebags on the public  beach.

(Yes, Norika,  I'm talking about you)

I miss  topical comedy and lusting for Jimmy Kimmel.

It's been so long since I've watched that at this point, I'd make Guillermo my "hall pass", but I've taped a week's worth of shows that I'll watch if we're ever allowed to leave the DR.

If we're able to get back to the US tomorrow.

We're scheduled for yet another Covid test this evening, and even 'though we're triple vaxxed, Birthday Boy might make us one of those "breakthrough cases" as he was pulled into a Conga line last night, probably because someone on the staff saw how coordinated he was as he bopped around to tunes from "The Greatest Showman" at the earlier "Carnival" show.

Or maybe he'll order that  wolf fish tonight, a cure-all for anything???

Wouldn't you know it, the one day we decide to skip the Name That Tune Game it's a salute to TV shows--American TV shows..but c'mon, how much entertainment do we actually need?

Jim is easily entertained by joining a disease-ridden Conga line.

Me?  

I was content just waving around the balloon I was handed, one that resembled a  long white snake.

I can easily amuse MYSELF if I have to, like when I rehash funny moments in my head, like the one that happened earlier in the evening when I answered a knock at the door once again with wet hair while only wearing a towel.

It wasn't a lost babysitter. this time...it was  a thoughtful staff member with a birthday card for Jim.

Now it's time to start my day.

Hoping for sun..and something to blog about later.

MR. Saxobeat

Jim is bathing in  all the warm birthday wishes, and I spent the day bathing in warmer, gentler waves.

The Jersey Shore has left the Dominican Republic.

There were waves, but the fun kind.

The kind you'd pay for if waves were hair, while yesterday's waves were unruly kinks that frustrate your hair stylist.

Yesterday's were the  kind of waves that knock the wind out of you while you're tumbling like a dryer sheet.

I was too weary and too freaked about the return of Corona Two , the frog who dropped out of apparently nowhere, to blog last night, but there wasn't really to much to say.

We saw the "Grease!" show, and while I wouldn't exactly call it lousy ("with viriginity!..Won't go to bed 'til I'm happily wed--I can't..I'm Sandra Dee!") it wasn't the "Grease!" production you've seen a half dozen times at a dinner theater or your kid's summer camp.

The women wore poodle skirts and ponytails, but the shirtless men(again with the shirtless-ness..any excuse!!)  wore bath towels and carried foam back scrubbers with bars of soap in their free hands, and I just don't recall Travolta doing this in the film version.

Also:  There was never a dog that looked like Clifford, the Big Red Dog, in any production I've seen, even 'though this dog had brown fur.

Again, I'm not the target audience for this highly improvised presentation of the musical, but what we did love was the live music after dinner.

Jim calls it "Euro Disco" although I'm not sure if that's a  real thing.

They are songs like "Free From Desire" and "C'est La Vie" and "Titanium" and  "Mr. Saxobeat"..songs that make you want to don a sequined blazer and  kick up your heels and shimmy--IF, and "I GOTTA  FEELING" some readers will relate to what I'm about to say--IF you could possibly get your sixty-something body out of the  comfortable chair.

One woman sang all of these and more in her sequined dress, without stopping to take a breath, without missing a single choreographed move, with apparently  not giving one iota that she is not a size six, bless her chubby little heart.

I told Jim to make a mixed tape of this awesomeness--I'll never leave the pool when we open it next May if I do pool exercises to  these songs.

The "Chief de Village" stops by our spot and tells us about the barbecue taking place momentarily, and he adds, while looking me directly in the eye,  "and this time..there WILL be meat!"

WTF??

How the hell could he have possibly known that he hurt my feelings by raving about the French Canadian's "wolf" fish, while ignoring my filet mignon?

Have any of you shared the blog?

(It's okay if you have.)

But it didn't matter anyway, because as we started to walk to the grill area, it started to drizzle, and by the time we got to the grill area, the drizzle became a monsoon. 

 It was so freaky! 

Staff members were pampering us and throwing dry towels our way, but I could nonetheless pass for a drowned rat by the time I reached a covered structure.

And we walked by the BBQ and saw more octopus anyway, so there's that.

OMG..I almost forgot to tell you about the most important part of the day!

We saved four beach lounges early this morning for Norika and Daniel, who've become readers of the blog.  She was a good sport about my implication that she's an exhibitionist, saying that Europeans don't think twice about changing on the beach.

We shouldn't either, especially considering how filthy the changing rooms are at the Jersey shore.

Norika sets her stuff up but then disappears, for what seemed to be a long time.  I knew she wasn't changing into her bathing suit, so where could she have possibly gone?

Jim and Daniel are engaged in a conversation about socialized medicine and immigration,  free college tuition, etc.  It was so interesting to hear two bright sexy men exchange ideas, when all of a sudden Norika appears.

..With a birthday cake for Jim!

He was so touched and so stunned!

There were no candles(they could have been hazardous in that wind) but  there were nice bite sized pieces of a tiramasu cake with a creme brulee glaze, and I honestly couldn't tell you what was sweeter, this delicious little surprise or the beautiful woman who served it.

They are the loveliest of the lovely couples!

After the efficent (very efficient!!) staff mopped up the remnants of the storm, we opted for the buffet lunch.

There were tons of choices, but it's really hard to convey exactly what you want when everyone's masked and nobody understands what you're saying anyway.

You just point at what you want included in your Asian Rice Bowl and hope for the best.

As long as masked are  still required, the resort should provide dry erase boards and markers, so a person could "draw" what they want to eat.

I personally would love to have a crack at drawing that "wolf" fish.

I wouldn't EAT it, but I'd love to sketch it..maybe add a fake mustache and a monocle and a beanie cap just to be whimsical.

If   a contestant on "Survivor" caught a fish that size, they'd never get their torch snuffed out.

What's the expression?  Give a man a fish and he eats for a day, teach him to fish and he'll eat forever?

I don't know why I'm taxing my brain to remember this, I wouldn't eat a fish that size under any circumstance, even if it had a cute little beanie cap.

We are going to a very special sit down restaurant for the birthday boy's dinner.  

All kinds of expensive steaks for a nominal fee. 

 (right..like I didn't influence THAT decision)

The theme tonight is "all white" which bothers me, not because of its racist implications, but because nobody wears white after Labor Day.

A great f*cking day!

So exactly when did these calm, peaceful Caribbean waters turn into the Jersey Shore? 

Like, after Hurricane Sandy?

I half expected to see Snooki  in those enormous waves that made me tumble like a dryer sheet.  

The water reached our beach chairs and I feared they'd eventually flood our ground floor room, perhaps drowning a frog or two in its furious  path, which would serve those little motherfuckers right, they shouldn't be squatting here.

I am praying that the angry weather gods calm down in the next few days and give us gentler, more serene waters in which to frolic.

(I  call it my "Serenity Prayer")

The day started off a little overcast, which does not matter when you're just staring into the hypnotic sea anyway.

Our German friends came back to be our  beach neighbors, the Julie Delpy/Patrick Swayze lookalikes, Norika(rhymes with "Topeka" and spelled with an "N", not the "M" I've been using) and the sexy Daniel.

We started comparing cultures and language idioms once again and then struck gold:

The conversation turned to curse words. 

A potpourri of porn, the universal language.

Norika asks,  and not too softly, I might add, "what is a douchebag?" and I reply, "a name used to describe  Texas senator Ted Cruz" but then I demonstrated (as in a charade) what the word literally means, and  if you're picturing me pantomiming the use of a feminine hygiene product on a public beach, then yes, you are getting everything you need to get out of  this blog.

That led to more random cussing:  

"We fart in Germany!" she says, and I'm thinking, "yes, I know.  I've been there and have sampled the bratwurst"

We talked about the (very real) town of Fucking, Austria, and how Germans pronounce "shit" with a long "I" and by the time the lesson concluded, we were  laughing hysterically and  were grateful that we weren't kicked off the beach for using profanity.

Norika actually said the "c" word, the same word Julie Delpy 's Celine used to describe Ethan Hawke's Jessie's ex-wife  in the "Before" trilogy, and looked even  more like the french actress  then she had previously.

You can translate this into German if you're so inclined, but I said to her, "wouldn't it be funny if your daughter Lilly's first sentence was something like, "Mommy, do you remember that fucking douchebag who drew my caricature on the  yummy cardboard the other day?  Maybe you'll let me eat some if we ever visit them in the States, because rumor has it her motherfucking  breaded chicken breasts taste exactly like it?"

We became so comfortable in each other's company with all this camaraderie that we became friends on Facebook, and I even sent a blog link, but not before apologizing if I made her sound a little bit  like an exhibitionist.

I saw a flash of butt and a hint of side-boob in that neon pink bikini the other day, and that's okay.

If I changed on the beach like that I'd be under arrest, but I swear, my new German friend, I am not a peeping Tom.. I was not ogling.

Lunch was a BBQ on the beach..a real one, with luscious burgers and skirt steak(my least favorite kind of steak) and yes, of course,  that fucking douchebag thing they call octopus.

And steamed clams, but no steamed glasses, because masks were not required.

Not on the BBQ menu:  Frogs legs.

My cousin Lori Sanders Stoltmann read last night's blog entry about the frog, saying she would have asked for a room change or at least the chance to speak with the manager.

Easy for someone named "Lori"to say..

Jim texted me not to bother showing up for Name That Tune (all music we didn't know, played by a deejay we couldn't understand) so we headed out to the adults only Zen pool with the swim up bar.  

It was too hot not to take a quick dip.

My quick dip turned into a three hour conversation with a lady in a hammock who asked if the temperature was cold, which led to swapping life stories.

Elaine is a former HS principal from Morristown NJ, now living in Boca with her husband Monty, who is obsessed with "The Phantom of the Opera."

Not the musical per se..everything and anything about the whole  Phantom shebang.

But his obsession led us to finally get my "Broadway Name That Tune" fix.

Elaine thought she could name more show tunes than I could, and you know me when I get a challenge like this.

Jim played too, and even 'though we  collectively sang not much better than our pet frog, Corona Two ,would, we had a BLAST humming tunes and naming the show.

It was so much fun!

Tonight:  "Grease" is the word for the early show  and we'll then sit down to the buffet dinner.

They'd better be serving more than that fucking douchebag octopus.

Frog Blog

You never heard a banshee scream come out of me unless you were in my house when the election results of 2016 came in, or if you were a neighbor in an adjacent room when we got back to this room last night.

Jim's in bed, I'm in the narrow hallway, naked as a jaybird, reaching for a fresh nightgown, when I suddenly hear a deafening  thud sound come crashing down to the floor, and what do I see in all my naked nakedness but an 'effin' FROG, and God knows which of my clothing shelf it had been rustling through before the fall.

It's stared at me with those beady frog eyes of his and I am just ..screaming,,as it hopped all over the hall and the bathroom.

Lizards on my patio lounge, a frog in my bathroom.

What's next..locusts??

I guess it could have been worse. 

 I could have been my Facebook friend Lisa Childers, whose cat awakened her with a live mouse the other day.

So the frog is going crazy, and I'm going crazier, and Jim reminds me that the last time we had a pet visit our vacation accomodation was in Antiga, exactly one week before the global lockdown, but that was a stray cat who never ventured inside, who only hung around our porch to lap up leftover milk from my cornflakes.

We called that cat "Corona" (because..c'mon..who could've predicted that would have been no laughing matter in a matter of days) and we called the frog Corona Two, and I realized the only thing I could offer him to eat was the chocolate mint left on my pillow by the housekeeper which he wasn't going to get because A) it was mine, and 😎 I was too busy screaming.

Jim, meanwhile, was sweet-talking Corona Two with more affection than he does when he talks to Luke, or especially, to me.

No wonder when I answered the door in a towel with wet hair last night the babysitter assumed a little kid was staying with me, because apparently, it's true.

Jim is trying to coax Corona Two into a folded sheet of paper, the room service menu, saying things like, "c'mon, little fella" and "ignore my screaming crazy wife."

The frog is leaping everywhere and I'm just..okay, I'll go there..croaking..when Jim finally gets it trapped..into MY shoe..where it was set free into the outside world.

I'm betting Corona Two was probably instantly devoured by those lizards on our chaise lounge, but that's not the point.

The point is that he was in my SHOE!!

And my nightgown shelf!

Anyway, before my naked body got accosted by an amphibian, we did have the quintessental Club Med evening.

The buffet had a lot to offer(no, not frog legs, you doofus..leave the forced jokes to me) but the required mask steamed up my glasses so badly that I almost spilled my tray of kebabs and teriyaki all over an innocent bystander, which definitely prevented my usually gluttonous self from  going up for seconds.

The show was the best one yet, taking place in the outdoor pool with it's constantly changing beautiful colors.

The staff had set up a..what do you call those things..a frame that you hang swings on in a playground--let's just call it a frame for now, and shirtless acrobats were swinging from dental floss, even after it started to drizzle. 

 My gosh, it takes three grown men to help me negotiate the three inch curb to gain entrance into the shallow end, and here's a guy, who I bet didn't get a single charley horse(which I didn't yesterday either, thankfully!) suspended on a slippery frame in a pool.  

As in a pool full of WET water.

Then more shirtless guys came out, swallowing swords and twirling batons that were on fire, and even showering under the sand-rinse-off nozzle while throwing flames.

I don't know exactly what it is that I'm destined to do with the remainder of my life, but I guarantee it's not swinging from monkey bars in the round part of the pool shaped like the letter "P"

The long part of the "P" showcased a synchronized swim display, and it made me so sad because it made me miss my friend Terri Seiple, who coordinated shows just like these when we worked at summer camp together in the 70's.

She always gave great responses to my vacation journals, and f*ck, you, Covid, for striking this beloved lady in her prime, in December, before vaccines were available.

The dress code for tonight is a "45" t-shirt, something  ( a number)that's been associated with Club Med for decades, but you'd see me in a Maga hat before you'd see me in a shirt with the number 45 on it. 

Jim will wear his. 

He honors tradition.

I think I'll wear that shirt that Jim gave me for my birthday, the one that says "Hello, my name is Karen (the "Karen" part is written to look like a real name tag) and I'd like to speak to the manager"

That is, if that shirt doesn't smell like a reptile. 

 God only knows where Corona Two was lurking before he hit the floor.

I am so pre-occupied now.

If that frog gets in here again!!

(I'd  say I'd capture it and then give it a big, wet kiss..but I already got my handsome  prince.:)

Attack of the Lizard People

I wanted to nap on our patio lounge chair, which is as close to the shoreline as our beach lounge chair, but both patio  chairs were being occupied by lizards.

I don't know enough about lizards to guess whether they'd tolerat being  being uprooted, so I didn't  try.

Look at poor Carolyn with her attempt to illegally feed bananas to lemurs in Madagascar..she could have lost an arm.

I should have asked her when she described all the armless people in India and China how they were going to hold all the money they begged for.

Also:  I should have told her to audition for   Phil Keoghan, who actually hosts TAR. 

I have no idea who this Phil Keough is that I blogged about yesterday..maybe I'll meet him on the buffet line.

Ugh..the buffet..

That shouldn't be an "ugh"..that should be an "aaah" but when you're masked, and your glasses fog up, and you can't see what you're odering and the tray is heavy and you forget where the hostess seated you because you have a touch of ADD, buffets are nothing special.

But the roasted chicken with pepper sauce was..yummy!  And then we split the made-to-order rice bowl that had everything but rice in it..onions, carrots, noodles, chicken.

Why can't I be like everyone else on Facebook and just take photos of food and scenery?

Or grandchildren, but that one I can answer because I don't have any.

Guess what we did on the beach today??

No you pervs, not that.

We napped.  (and yes, I know you're wondering why I needed another nap at the lizard lounge if I had a beach nap)

Don't ask me questions like that..I have no idea why I do what I do.

We napped, and read, and napped some more.

We met no kindred spirit: we met nobody who shared detailed adventures of her trip to Greenland.

It was just..an ordinary day, not that there's anyhting wrong with that.

We attempted to go to the trivia game, but it was all pop songs with mash-up titles, but not something people our age could solve, like "The Impossible Dream a Little Dream"

(I thought of that example just off the top on my head.  I think I have a good brain game tonight if insomnia strikes, which it has not thus far)

The water had a little more seaweed today, and it was rockier.  Rockier and rougher.  So in my effort to avoid being strangled by kelp, I paddled out way to far in the other direction and I realized I was alone and vulnerable.

I then see Jim enter the ocean but by this time my glasses were drenched and my hat flew away three times.  I'm calling out to him, but he's just waving and smiling.

Then I start to wonder if that actually WAS Jim, if perhaps I swallowed so much seawater that I was hallucinating.

He had Jim's hat.

He had Jim's beard.

He had Jim's man-boobs.  (thanks, prostate meds!)

But he wasn't coming out to help me!!

I wondered if he stole a set of bathing trunks from our neighbor, because I don't remember him packing bright blue shorts with an orange stripe, but then, I lost my own bathing suit bottoms, so what do I know?

Anyway, it turns out it wasn't him, and I felt like a fool.

The real Jim joined me for frolicking a few minutes later, when the waves calmed down and the seaweed dissapated.

Oh, if only I had worm my "Karen..Calm Down!" t-shirt!!!

THAT I remembered to pack!

The Pyramid Scheme

Good morning, you Princes of Maine, you Kings of New England, who are likely reading  this as they sip their hot coffee in their cold cities, while I'm about to sip my iced coffee in a warm and sunny climate and okay, you're right, it's way to early to be such a be-yotch.

This is gonna turn into the dreaded "blag"..a bragging blog, if I don't stop boasting so I will stop.

Last night's theme was called "elegant" night, and I wore a navy sleeveless top with gold-bullet trim, with a white blazer that was too hot to keep on.

And because it was elegant night, I fussed with my hair and wore not just lipstick but eyeshadow.  And eye liner.  And  mascara, but it has been so long since I've worn mascara that the wand actually dried out.

We took a short romantic (well, our version of romantic) stroll to the gorgeous lit-up restaurant overlooking the sea.

The server was challenged as he tried to interpret Jim's Midwestern mumble and my harsh Philly accent, but how many English words does he actually have to know with this job?  I could memorize the menu in an hour--in any language--if I were so inclined.

I did not get the grilled  lobster since they did not have it,  (I don't THINK--there WAS that language barrier)but we both got a scrumptious ginger pumpkin soup and then  split a shrimp appetizer, and then I got  an incredible filet mignon that was curiously accompanied only with a sliver of grilled onion, tomato, and eggplant(and/or zucchini) which I gave to Jim.

It's not going to kill me to eat healthy every now and then.

Jim ordered the red snapper wrapped in some weird banana leaves with seasoned rice, and wasn't too crazy about the fish.

We didn't say much to the men sitting beside us at first, but later learned that Francois and Michel went on this trip because one of them(I forget which) had to fill in when one of their wives couldn't go because she had to attend to her sick mother at the last minute..

We only got to know these lovely gentlemen because as our entrees were almost done, they were just getting started with the "catch of the day" which basically looked like each of them had been plated up with something resembling an angry miniature poodle.

The Chief de Village, Yousef from Morrocco, walked by and called it a "wolf fish" but had little to say about my filet mignon.

 It hurt my feelings.

When he left, I tried to remember some basic French to find out what that fish was all about.

I ask:  "Parlez-vous Anglais?" and it turned out they understood that and spoke English perfectly.  (If that failed, I was going to say, "mon chien et Luke!" but I don't think these French Canadians from Montreal cared one iota that I have a dog named Luke, a FRENCH poodle named Luke.)

These guys were so charming, talking about politics and life in Quebec,  One of them, Francois I think, was saying he got some rude reactions when he insisted some fellow guests here wear their masks in the elevator, but then he offers Jim a hunk of that wolf fish--with HIS fork!

Jim said it was delicious--much better than the red snapper--and hey, if if means we get to come back to this elegant sit down restaurant later in the week, then Covid be damned..

I wanted Jim to take my picture since I was wearing everything but mascara for "Elegant Night" but I wanted to hide some of my arm flab by hiding them behind my back, which resulted in Jim taking a picture(that you'll never see) where I looked like Venus de Milo.

I learned later that evening that armless people are very common in remote areas of China and India, but I'll get to that in a second.

The show was fine..actually, great, if you were seated in a chair that would give you a view of something others than the backs of peoples' heads.  (We got there late)

More aerialists dangling from empty tuna cans and Q-tips to Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" which is the opposite of the good romance I've been having.

I love having my vacations heavily scheduled like this.  I like the options.  If I want to sit on the patio with a book all day, I want that to be MY choice, and not because it's all the resort has to offer, which is why I LOVE Club Med (and Woodloch) so obsessively.

There was an after show dance party going on after this "Ruby" show(I don't know why it's called that) but I didn't feel like schlepping all the way to that Zen pool.  I got to hear Club Med's theme song for decades, the familiar "Hands Up!" in the distance, and that was good enough for me.

I was barely coherent as we walked back to the room when we run into Tall Guy(from the flight) and his friend from Arizona via Malaysia who I thought was named Gerilyn but it's actually Carolyn. They had just left the dance party over social distancing issues, as in 1000 people were on a dance floor built for twenty.

She is here for the plunge pool and the relaxation, and she's a veteran of Club Med, back in the days when it attracted drunk singles and was called "Club Bed"

Carolyn recalled those early years, when bedtime meant 4:00 AM, which I was convinced would be the time we'd get back to our room after listening to her regale us with all her adventures.

To be fair, she really WAS fascinating, but I was just too tired to hear so many details, as I plastered on a smile and nodded, saying over and over and over again how much she needed to audition for "The Amazing Race."

She has been to 120--120!! countries and to every continent but Antarctica, but she back-packed with a budget of maybe twenty dollars a week, so I'll assume her "bidet" was a "pile of leaves" in her makeshift campground where they'd feast on canned goods and then wrap themselves in mosquito netting.

"You and Tall Guy(only I said "Jim" because I'm not an asshole)  really, really REALLY need to try out for "The Amazing Race" I say, trying to keep my eyes open, as she told us what it was like to be stranded in India, with armless people begging her for loose change, or how a young man who joined her eventually reeked so badly from going weeks without a shower that he was offered one while visiting a pizza parlor in west Africa. I can't believe they have pizza parlors in west Africa, yet alone one with a shower for customers.

Again, as I stifled a yawn,  I reminded her that she needed to audtion as soon as possible...

She talked about illegally hand feeding bananas to lemurs in Madagascar as I passive-aggressively kept asking what time it was, but even that tired, I wondered why a starving backpacker didn't eat the banana herself instead of wasting it on a  viscious lemur. They were so aggressive.  She's lucky she didn't lose an arm.

The subject came back to the present time, and she was talking about the perfect beach/ocean experience, and even 'though Jim and I think the Domincan Republic comes pretty close to perfection, with water-color that alternates between Windex and Top Job, she disagreed.

"No!" she screams.  "This is NOT beautiful blue water.  If you require beautiful blue water, you MUST go to the Red Sea!" and 'though I'm sure I'm not the only person observing the irony in that statement, I have no desire to travel that far.

Carolyn was very persisent.

"Oh, you must go!" she says, and I answer, "and you MUST audition for Phil Keough"

She kept insisting that even with all the high rises and congested streets and crowded condominiums, there was nothing bluer and clearer  than the Red Sea.

Sorry, but I'm not flying all the way to Egypt for that.

Sounds like a pyramid scheme.

Off to breakfast on the patio, a day of sun and sea and reading and trivia games("TV Mash-Up" is slated today and I hope one of the answers partially includes "The Amazing Race.")

Not bad..not bad at all...

Zen and the Art of Karen Maintenance

Did you ever have one of those days?

Usually, when I start a sentence like that I'll be referring to something bad, like an unruly cowlick or a broken washing machine.

But today..today was one of those days, but in a good way.

A great way.

A damn near perfect way.

Jim got his room service just as he ordered it.  There wasn't an ounce of passive aggression in his demeanor.  

Shane has left the White Lotus, hopefully for good.

We are literally thirty-one steps from the shoreline, and the water was calmer and prettier than usual.  It started off more on the green side of teal, an opalesque green, if you will, and wound up to be the aquamarine color of a Windex bottle.

Or am I thinking of Top Job?

I don't want to be thinking about ANY cleaning products on vacation, let's move on.

We found beach chairs near Morika and her sexy husband, Daniel, once again.  He is tatted and so hot..the perfect match to her Julie Delpy.  I've never heard anyone make English sound so soothing when it's not their first language.

We talked a little politics and a lot about American customs that are making their way to Germany.  Morika never celebrated Halloween as a kid, but her own children do.  She showed me their picture..they were bloodied zombies.

 

(Must be from all that cardboard consumed by Lilly.)

The General Manager stops by our chairs to tell us about the wonderful BBQ lunch that would be taking place on the beach in a matter of moments.  I heard the disco music from several yards away, smelled the smoke wafting from the  grill and even saw some of the staff members  in their sequined blazers, making their way to the center of action.

And even 'though I didn't feel like reapplying sunscreen and putting on flip flops and walking, I was consumed with the idea that the fabulous beach BBQ was moments away.

My mouth watered for the steak, the ribs, the perfectly seasoned chicken.  I wanted a burger so badly that I would have auctioned off a major body part for one.

And what do we see when we finally reach our destination?

A grill filled..with octopus. And a table filled with already grilled OCTOPUS(and mussels)

Effin' octopus!

I became the passive-aggressive Shane this time, saying that a "plateful of pico de gallo would suffice for lunch, thank you very much" while Jim  tried the octopus, an experiment that made him miss the entire afternoon trivia game, while begging for mercy as the octopus worked its way through his GI tract, making him thank every deity known to mankind for the invention of Imodium.

He didn't really miss much at trivia, called "Coffee Games" here.  We were divided into two teams which I decided to call The Rude Smokers vs. The Ones With Healthy Lungs.

(I wasn't sure what team I belonged on..neither seemed to fit)

The game was music trivia, where the emcee would play the tail end of a famous song("Reverse Name That Tune") and needless to say, I pretty much sucked at it.

Jim comes over and says that I had to meet the new couple he had just greeted who made a fuss over his t-shirt with a Yogi Bearra quote, insisting that Ariel really wanted to meet me because he told her I was from Philly.

Blah..blah..blah..

I wasn't sure if someone named Ariel would be interested in anything I had to say about any topic at all, but Jim really wanted to make a match.

And..

For the next forty five minutes of so, we met the most wonderful people we have ever met in all these years we've gone to Club Med.

Ariel is a therapist, married to Jessie, and our conversation was the opposite of the dreaded small talk.

  She would never tell me about her ordeal returning  tea towels to Target; we became kindred spirits within minutes.

Ariel told me about her two kids, staying at home with her Mom so they could enjoy their tenth anniversary trip, and they, the kids,  are the same ages as my great niece and great nephew, and that led to  me disclosing that I haven't seen them since our trip to Woodloch in July, and that led to her saying that a client told her she saved her marriage because of her skills as a mental health care provider..and  because of her recommendation that the couple go to Woodloch.

I was already smitten, and kept getting more smitten by the minute as we discussed our mutual hatred for creepy politicans and our mutual love for Scrabble.

And  nothing makes me happier than discovering a shapely soul like Ariel despises "fattism" as much as my plus-sized friends do. I am going to start the book she recommended later today, but this is where our small world connection took an incredible turn.

When I asked where she lived in Bala Cynwyd(in suburban Philadelphia) I told her that my nephew and his wife lived there several years ago, in walking distance to a terrifc kosher restaurant that was at the time called The Citron and the Rose.

Ariel knew the restaurant quite well--her brother Chad  worked there, and I told her my niece's fiance Todd Van Wagner worked there as well, as a chef.  

This leads to Jim texting Todd to ask if he knew the guy, to which Todd responds almost immediately with "he's one of my best friends!"

Then Ariel confirms this by texting her brother, who  is  indeed one of Todd's best friends..and knows his fiancee, my niece Marissa, as well!

An eavesdropper got so excited to hear we made such a personal connection in such a remote part of the Dominican Republic, but  that's how it is at Club Med.  

You talk, you relate, you connect!

What a perfect day..

It was capped by our visit to the adults-only "Zen" pool that smelled like mens' aftershave and has the look of an exotic jungle if exotic jungles had swim up bars.

And like magic..a staff member in a golf cart appeared as we were leaving and  asked us if wanted a lift back to our room and..of course we  (I) did!

Getting ready for a romantic sit down dinner and an exciting night.

Sometimes, even we "Karens" deserve that perfect day.

Glow-tacular

I lost the bottoms of my brand new two piece bathing suit.

Not in the ocean, you goofs. 

 (Had that been the case I'd still be there.)

I couldn't find it in  my bathing suit drawer in my haste to pack, so I figured it got mixed up with nightgowns or something, but no. 

 I only had the peach-colored flouncy top. 

..And I could not for the life of me remember what bottoms went with it, what I  had  exactly lost.

So I'm making Jim comb through 1000 pictures taken last summer at the family Woodloch trip, to see if any of those photos would tell me what the missing bottoms looked like, and we came up with nothing but pics of me blocking my bottom half with oversized beach bags, like when they  hide a pregnancy of a sitcom actress.

We spent..like a half hour doing this, when Jim remembered that he still had the original Amazon order on his phone, and we discovered that the bottoms were peach colored with blue flowers, so its a blessing, in a way, that they'll never be seen or worn again.

Last night's theme was "Black and Glow" and we both understood the black part, (as 'though someone my size doesn't wear black all the time anyway) but we couldn't imagine what the "glow" part meant, as far as suggested attire goes.

"Wrestling shorts, like in that Alison Brie show, "Glow", that we never watched even 'though everyone says we should?" I pondered.

Jim thought our semi-sunburns qualified as "glow" so it's off to dinner we went, only to discover that "glow" was for the glow sticks that were handed out later  at the outdoor disco bar that was either a lot of fun or a lot of annoyance, depending who you ask.

Jim suggested eating outside since there was a gentle breeze and it was the best thing he ever suggested, besides asking me to marry him and furnishing our home bathrooms with bidets.

The stars were out, both  celestial and the  staff  members who were  showcasing their specialties.   We were afraid we'd miss the staff intro show because of our dinner time conflict, but we saw everything from the second floor..all the glitz and glamour, all the various team members being introduced, accompanied by  the national anthems of their countries of origin, and it was beyond entertaining..it was spectacular!

I've always loved Club Med for this very reason--exposure to an international clientele that you'd never get at a Sheraton in the Bahamas.  I love to talk to people from abroad, to find out about their  cultures  and pop cultures and how their leaders handled the pandemic. I love hearing exotic names that I'll never be able to pronounce but are nonetheless pleasing to the ear.

So there we sat, under the half moon and the twinkling star, overlooking the gorgeous lit up pool. 

 (Which I was less impressed with during the day on account of that charley horse, but it also has a weird shape.  It is very long and narrow..at first, I thought it was some kind of decorative fountain or pond for a family of swans, that eventually flows into an oval shaped pool where toned Gentile Organizers(GO's) catch lazy Gentile Members(GMS like yours truly) cheating at water aerobics.) 

 The pool has a very odd shape, like the letter "P" ,but if pools could talk ,they'd say that I have no business criticizing anyone else's shape and they'd be right.

I was kind of done with the masking up to get access to the buffet, which is very safe because nobody serves themselves, the gloved and vaccinated staff serve you, so Jim waited on me, and he's a wonderful server as well as a hilarious companion.

My appetite improved as I had a small plate of the insanely good beef borgunion.

(hey Spell Check, are you awake??  You and I KNOW that can't be right!)  and..

(I just checked on my phone--it's bourguigon) but no matter how you spell it, it's delicious.)

After dinner, we stopped by reception to make outdoor, maskless, dinner reservations for tonight at a seafood place, which is not necessarily my thing, but I do love lobster, which I haven't had since we stopped going to Maine in 2005. And my skin tone will probably look just like one by the time we're seated.

We found great seats for the show and bonded immediately with a woman from Montreal who was with her twelve year old daughter, and we collectively guilted a very rude smoker into taking his disgusting selfish habit elsewhere, away from our semi-healthy lungs.

The Mom apologized for her impossible to pronounce French name and told us to call her Mary, and call her daughter with an equally difficult french name , the anglasized Augustine, which in itself is hard to pronounce after 8:00 PM.

They are Club Med veterans like us, and Mary said that her husband and the three kids who weren't on this trip have been searching for an ideal resort for families, something within a day's driving distance from Quebec, and..you're welcome, Woodloch.

You'll know who to thank when you get that sudden influx of French Canadians. 

 Just give me a table overlooking the lake on my next trip, that's all I ask in return.

The show was a great acrobatic spectacle, with scantily clad aerialists hanging from what looked like a chain of paper clips dangling from the sky, or  from a cube that looked surreal.  The theme was "Back to the Future" and I don't think my past, present, or future ever included me suspended in mid-air by a few sheets of fabric, but you never know.

 I'm still in my sixties.

The "Glow" part of the dance frenzy that followed the show was terrific.  Jim danced to all his disco/Club Med favorites while I aimlessly waved my glow stick. 

And I don't know what the Chief de Village(the General Manager) was thinking, but he got all these revelers to form a conga line after kicking up their heels to "Cotton-Eyed-Joe."

Jim did not participate and questioned whether the conga line's participants  were social distancing.

They were not.  

None of them wore masks or had six foot arms.

Today we'll look for naked Europeans on the beach, play some trivia, and then check out the adults-only Zen pool with a swim up bar.

It's beginning to look a lot like vacation, everywhere we go

There’s no “Karen” in Europe

So who is reading this that has also seen "White Lotus?" 

Because basically Jim turned into "Shane" today when he asked  room service for granola with yogurt and hot coffee and got Frosted Flakes and iced coffee.  Only difference is he didn't ask his Mom to join us on  this vacation(since she's been gone since 1996) and ...I'm not exactly Rachel, the Trophy Wife.

This room has the best location of any resort we've ever been to.  Literally, there are two lounge chairs on our patio that could double as beach chairs, that's how close we are.  A   hop, skip, and a jump away from the beach, pool, restaurant, entertainment center..but you know me and my buddy Sciatica, even a hop, skip, and a jump seems kind of far.

Seriously, thank you, Christine Cherry Hommel for making this dream a reality.

I called Jim "Shane" all morning, he called me "far out" but not in a radical hippie way.  I had no idea how far out I was in that gorgeous ocean, where we frolicked all day, practically.

I say to Jim, "one of my biggest fears in life is a shark" but he thought I said "one of my biggest fear in life is a shart" and..show of hands..Which is more frightening to you?  Sharking or sharting?

I'd call it a draw, even  after having no encounter with either one.

We meet a woman who looked like Julie Delpy(from my beloved "Before" trilogy )in the beach chair next to ours.  She is bottolmless, and she had the butt we all wished we had.  I try to whisper to Jim to have a look before it was too late, but he is kind of dense and didn't understand me until her heavily tatted husband did, just as she was slipping on her neon pink bikini bottoms.  Then the top came off(and quickly replaced by a bikini bra) but I wasn't going to encourage Jim to look.  This is the European way.  

(God, I've missed you Club Med!!) 

..but the woman turned out to be wonderful, as we discovered later that afternoon.  (I'll give details in a sec..some of you are still trying to picture Julie Delpy changing outside into a neon pink bikini, aren't you?)

I had already completed my aquatic exercising in the ocean, but then we decided to take an Aqua Gym class, where I was accused of cheating.  (How the hell did he KNOW when most of the action took place underwater??) but I still pretended to go through the motions, which I pretty much do with everything in life.

I then had to grab Jim around the middle and drag him to the opposite end of the pool, accidentally giving him a "handy" but I had to be a good sport and not break stride.

And then WTF happens but one of those classic charley horses of mine, the kind where if a shark swam by, you'd offer the leg  as a free meal just to stop the cramping.

A staff member sees I'm writhing in agony and asks if I'm OK, and I tell him I am not, and Jim explains that "she gets this way sometimes."

The staff member then tries to hand me a pair of star shaped novelty glasses with gold trim for a photo op--while I was in seering pain, which I did not know how to say in any language but English Moaning.

It lasted its usual ten minutes, and then I was fine, so we went to a sit down restaurant where the menu was electornically scanned but all in French.  Jim tried to use his translation app, but all that really helped us with was what the thing basically was--burgers, chicken, steak.

I asked the waiter to describe the "grilled steak"

(I wanted to know about the spices, seasonings, perhaps a marinade) but he only described the grilled steak as "grilled."

It was small but it was delicious, garnished with pico de gallo and curiously, a splash of yellow mustard on the side that looked very much like female anatomy.

Jim DID learn to bring up "my wife does not want lemon or lime wedges in her drinks" on his phone, and that's all I'll ever need to translate,  even if our next vacation is somewhere in Upper Mongolia.

We then go to the bar area for  the Movie Theme Song event, and even 'though our team was just the two of us, we did fairly well.  I was the only one who recognized Michael Jackson's song from "Free Willy" but that's because I was probably thinking about the near handy in the pool earlier.

I recognized the music from "Castaway" and was quite proud of myself.

Jim claimed he said hello to the guy from Chicago that we met last night, but said the guy answered his "hello" with a "woof!" and walked away.

I'd blame this on the guy's inability to comprehend Jim's Midwestern Mumble, but he was from Chicago, so no, he probably just felt like barking.

Anyway, we go back to our beach chairs and Julie Delpy was there with her adorable 11-month old, Lilly, who kept smiling at us and flirting with us.

Because I didn't know what else to do, I asked if it was OK to draw Lilly, even 'though I didn't have a sketchbook or colored pencils, only a single magic marker and the hard cardboard from the back of my yellow legal pad that I take blogging notes on.

It turned out really cute, but Lilly's Mom, Norika, had to yank it away from her curious little hands, aplogizing by saying "if it's made out of cardboard, Lilly will eat it" and I respond with:  "Then she better not come to my house when I try to bread boneless chicken breasts"

Lilly's Mom spoke perfect English as she described her long trip from Germany, and how Germany is handling the pandemic(not that great) and how Lilly was conceived when they took her three year old brother to Club Med Sandpiper in Florida right in the middle of the first days of lockdown.  They could not leave Florida!!  Florida..as in..Ron DeSantis!!

So they got kicked out of Club Med Sandpiper and found a hotel in Naples where their two week vacation turned into a six week one, but it resulted in Lilly, which is a very good thing.

Oh, and when I apologized for signing my name to Lilly's cardboard, her Mom had no idea what I was talking about.

My name is not a thing in Germany!

There's no crying in baseball!

There's no Karen in Europe!

She asked about the meme's origin, and I told her it started with Kate Gosselin, who is a KATE, not a Karen.

She then asked me if this is going to spread to all spoiled, privileged women with  name that starts with "K" and I thought about the Kardashians for the remainder of the day.

Coca Cola Ligera

Your  first day of vacation is never  your first day of vacation, that's what your second day's purpose is.

Yesterday was spent fretting about  van kidnapping and countryside donkeys, about who molested my bottle of Woolite, about surviving life in the wilderness.  (Translation: without a bidet.  Jim called the experience"torture")

But today's a new day, and it looks like a great one.  Jim's working out, I'm working in (by exercising my brain as I try to think of something to blog about.)

Our room is gorgeous, and the closest room to the beach.  (Also:  the closest to the disco, but the pulsations we heard throughout the night were actually kind of soothing)

That's an exaggeration--there is no disco or theater anymore, all victims of the virus. But comfy chairs are set up behind a makeshift dance area in front of the bar, and it's really nice being entertained outdoors, with only one or two smokers that I almost had to go full Karen on.

Jim desperately wanted to dance and I desperately wanted to sleep, so we compromised..I moved my arms and he moved his body..Man, this guy has moves!!

I know I'm in the same boat as everyone else, trying to get used to this "new normal" and I just used quotation marks for emphasis!  How dare I call myself any kind of writer??

But it's so different..we went to the very safe buffet, (we are triple vaxxed and were ambushed into taking Covid tests yesterday, and will have to again upon departure) but you can tell that this is not your cool older cousin's Club Med experience.

You had to mask up to choose what you wanted, then return to your seat, and then mask up for seconds.

I did not have seconds.

I barely had firsts, which, considering all I consumed all day was a half a piece of cheese the size of a Trivial Pursuit wedge, and two Goldfish crackers.  I didn't want anything!..Not the lamb, nor the fancy seafood dishes..nothing!  I wanted to  soft drink, and even 'though I've been off of Diet Coke for years now, the iced tea tasted like someone mashed up a bunch of wet twigs, put them through a strainer, and expected me to drink it.  

Nobody speaks English, so Jim vounteered to fetch me a Diet Coke, but claimed there was only regular Coke, two of them, until we found a translator who told us what the Spanish word for "lite" is, (which I'm forgetting now) but that's Diet Coke, and we now know how to get some.

There was a freezer with a rotating gizmo in it that served ice cream, but only the exotic, yucky flavors were labelled, so that was my dinner:  A glass of twig juice, a bite of a mini pepperoni pizza, a spoonful of pasta with meat sauce, and a serving of what we believed to be coffee ice cream.

I'll live.

The show was actually quite good, the Latin salute with incredibly nimble dancers and salsa music; with toned men lifting toned women high in the air.  I told Jim to take notes, that he'd most likely have to do the same to me when we returned to the room, but it turned out to be  fabulous bed.

Unlike Snoop Dogg, the name I've given to our much too high mattress at home, this one was very easy to crawl into, and we both had the best sleep in years, although I was waiting to hear growling noises from a poodle humping my leg or the sheets.

I heard only the crash of gentle waves, the nicest sound in the universe.

Today's plans:  Room service corn flakes to be consumed on the patio overlooking the sea; pool exercises, trivia games, and beach time..hours and hours of some long overdue beach time.

I am so grateful to Christine Cherry Hommel for this swan song..

It really looks like it's going to be an amazing week, and I thank you for all you did to make it a reality

Traveling to DR in the age of covid

I haven't been to Newark Liberty Airport in twenty months, and as soon as I get there, my luggage--my LUGGAGE--gets body shamed.

Oh, of course they denied it, saying that even 'though Jim's bag weighed 27 pounds and mine was fifty two, they said it was fine.

If that's the case, why did I arrive here, at 5:30(two hours later than expected?) dying to unpack anything that would cool me off, and what do I find?

A totally drenched compartment with spilled shampoo, a wet toothbrush, and all those medicines in cardboard that has 

disinegrated.

And you know how I know this? 

 I had a brand new UNOPENED bottle of Woolite, that is now wrapped in some warped plastic that looks like the person wrapping it was sniffing way too much glue they used to seal it with.

I am getting way ahead of myself..

I usually like our limo drivers, chatting about all the celebs they drove in the very seat I was currently occupying, but this guy..good Lord!..he was  really LOUD at 6:32 AM, bellowing like a game show emcee about the stock market  and crap like that.

Anyway, I really thought I had considerably lightened my bag.  I got rid of about a half dozen heavy Woodloch medals, which were leftover from the summer and I neglected to store them because of my insane need to brag about my Scattergories prowess.

I did try to lighten up by not packing any of those useless portable bidets, but man, did we ever get spoiled by the toilet paper shortage of 2020.

I was totally freaking out about having to don a mask for six hours(hich turned into more like nine but I digress again) but my hairdresser Margie gave me a few that are no more cumbersome than wearing a hat--in addition to the vacation hair she gave me.

I will never fly any other airline again besides Jet Blue.  Man, they  so they love their customers.  Their tall, plus-sized customers who worried that eating all that pandemic banana bread would mean a seatbelt extender, but I did not need one, and neither did the Very Tall Guy next to Jim on there aisle and no, I don't think I ate a single slice of banana bread during these last couple of months..or ever.

Tall Guy didn't say a word to us(his significance will come later) but I thought I detected a look when Jim and I were playing FREE trivia.  We did great the first two rounds, even 'though there were a lot of questions about international flags and soccer players--stuff that Evan could have answered if he had been with us--but we were pretty bad by the third round, and you know what phrase Jim used to describe how poorly we were doing?

Hand to God, on an airplane, my husband said "I think we're going to crash and burn."

So anyway, we arrive in the DR, hot and sweaty and...well, I was going to say hungry, but curiously I was not, and all I had all day, even up til NOW, ws a small wedge of cheese and two Golfish-sized crackers.

We're entering the airport and Jim, Tall Guy, and me get pulled aside into a random room,,for a freaking COVID-test!

Now, we didn't say a word to him on the flight, but it turns out, his name is Jim, and he was heading to this exact resort--like, the only other person doing so.

II thought maybe I was targeted because of what I was wearing.  Some might call it PJ's, and I guess they've been PJ's at times when I SLEPT in them, but it's basically a light material, two piece set that makes me look like a giant tomato.

We all tested negative(this was my first Covid test, I swear) and then Tall Guy says to Jim, "I don't think I've arranged for transfers to the resort" and Jim says, "that's OK..I'm sure they'll let you ride with us."

Jim gives Tall Guy his cell phone number but doesn't take his..for all we knew, Tall Guy called an Uber, and we were just sitting in a van, thinking about our eventual kidnapping.

A Club Med Rep finds Tall Guy and brings him to the van, where the three of us enjoyed the picturesque villages peppered with livestock and poverty.  This is our fifth trip to the DR, but we were always in Punta Cana, a short trip from the airport where you see nothing but resorts.

We saw horses and cows and dangerous drivers and mothers taking their children on bikes on dangerous, curvy roads and I'm pretty sure we saw a drug lord or two.

Anyone who follows my vacation journals knows I am obnoxious on arrival day.  Hot, cranky, bored..

But the last time I travelled internationally, my name was JUST a name.

God only knows what I'm going to complain about this week, now that it's expected of me because of the moniker my parents chose.

Have vax will travel

Dog sitter/house sitter confirmed: CHECK

Creams, lotions, pills, tablets, vials, every remedy for anything that could possibly beset a vacationing little old lady, organized and  ready to pack: CHECK

Resignation that said little old lady is  going to be quarantined while  out of the country despite being triple vaxxed and keeping social distance: CHECK

Fasten your seat belts(if you still can after a year and a half of Covid comfort food) it's going to be a bumpy..and likely  nauseating..ride.

But there's nobody I'd rather share that roller coaster seat with.

Thirty two years of lots of ups, a couple of downs, and deafening screaming.

Seems like just an hour ago when our reluctant ring bearer was checking out  that wedding cake a little too closely;  when I could easily fit into that off-the-rack-wedding dress that I bought cheap so I could justify spending that money on inviting twenty people that I'd never see again, when sixty percent (or more) of our guests were still alive.

Looking forward to a week of  reminiscing, frolicking, and fun...and being entertained at night by something other than Netflix.

My name is Karen, and today, that's a good thing, because I am Karen Amster, the VERY LUCKY  wife of Jim.