It's all because my late Aunt Ruby(like the gemstone) convinced her sister, my late mother Laurel(like the flora) not to give me the name my parents had already selected, Elisa.
"They'll call her Lizzy!" my Aunt cried, and.. to play Devil's Advocate her..what's wrong with that?
Unless you went to the same all-boys camp my brothers did, where that's the name that was given to the "john."
At least, that's what they told me.
For all I know, "Lizzy" was the only female in the camp, an exchange student from England who assisted the main cook with all the little wieners.
Because Elisa, or even Lizzy, would be allowed to complain to the manager without a guffaw.
We Karens are out of luck and patience.
Some of this is not Club Med's fault.
They are not responsible for the tsunami waves, or enough seaweed to choke a seahorse.
They're not responsible for what happens when you request to sit in a no fly zone and spend the entire lunch swatting away insects: that's all about Mother Nature being a Mother F*cker.
But man..would it kill them to fix a few tiles in the bathroom? Fix the wobbly table that Jim and I and the flies had to endure this afternoon?
Yesterday I said I didn't want details on the "exploding toilet" situation that seemingly caused this resort wide water shortage, , but now I do.
My poodle has stronger streams, even after he's been out three times in any given hour.
What a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation:
I paid for a very expensive hair straightening treatment before I left, and Margie, my stylist, said it's OK if some strands are exposed to chlorinated water or even the salt in the sea, as long as they're thoroughly rinsed later on.
You will not see any photos of me in with this "frozen conditioner" look. Think Cameron Diaz in " There's Something About Mary." (yeah, I mean THAT scene)
Too bad we Karens are not allowed to make waves anymore, because sometimes, we just gotta.
Also, Club Med should bring back their flying trapeze shows and cabaret reviews and all the other activities to tickle the fancies of we non-alcoholics, (they still have many evening activities that emphasize booze) but they're apparently trying to save water, and yes, I know, that makes no sense at all.
I always bounce blog content off of a barely interested Jim before I type, wondering if anything will earn some sympathy or some pity laughs. I say, "If I were a stand-up comic, I'd share ideas with you" to which he replied, "I'm glad you're not."
(I think we both have health concerns for me over the "stand-up" part of stand-up comedy)
We went to the aqua gym class today, where absolutely everyone--be he or she a life long friend or someone who just met the other person seconds ago--were talking about the awful shower pressure.
"It stops..and then it goes..and then it stops."
"It's a trickle. A cold to lukewarm trickle."
"If I had known there was that little water in the shower, there would have been no way in hell I would have let my husband do that new thing where he..."
The class was taught by the most beautiful body I ever saw. He was obviously made of something malleable, like clay. Like clay that bends it like Beckham.
Jim and I have the collective maturity of two three year olds, and we absolutely HATE when people make fun of other's appearances.
I mean..he can talk..a LITTLE..because he still gets mistaken for Michael McDonald of the Doobie Brothers, but I should not talk with this stiff un-rinsed hair of mine.
But we saw a guy who had what must have been a three inch spurt of wild hair popping out of the top of his bathing trunks.
Not the entire back.
Just these random tufts that made you want to scour a crusty pan.
And this poor other octagenarian, bless his little heart, tried to walk up three tiny steps leading out of the pool and I swear, he did some kind of backwards belly flop. He was so startled..
There are senior citizens here!
Lots of them!
We need railings in the pool!
And waxing stations for the poor little guy with the unsightly tufts!
We need defibs and access to Viagra, not dangerous shallow ends without rails and showers without adequate pressure..
The staff was working very hard--some guys had as many as a dozen chaise lounges strapped to their backs, to set up for elegant outdoor dining tonight by clearing all the poolside seating. We saw them setting up tables with elegant glassware and fine linens.
Jim is worried that we're going to fall into the pool.
At least we'll be thoroughly rinsed.
Tonight's theme sounds racist but isn't.
It's "White Night," and there's no way I'm wearing all white because A) It's after Labor Day B) I'm in my sixties and can get a tad urinary incontinent with every laugh or sneeze..I don't need visible evidence, thank you very much and C) I'd look like the marshmallow from "Ghostbusters."
It'll be nice, this "White Night" but when I hear that word, I can only think of "Mike White Lotus."
I am still obsessed.
So is the entire internet, apparently.
If I had to wait until we got home to watch that finale, I might have lost my mind.
I know..I know..how would one possibly tell if I had?
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