The sword in the box

Uncovered today in the Amsters' non-stop Purge of the  Containers:

(Part III)

Jim's college textbooks from 1977, an Afro wig of unknown origin,  a samurai sword, a shoe box containing nothing but dozens and dozens and dozens of... googly eyes???

And, I'll try to do my best imitation of Faye Dunaway here, a cardboard box filled with nothing but :  "WIRE HANGERS??!!!"

Again: 

We are NOT hoarders.

We are NOT "real" hoarders.

We're not as bad as other hoarders, right??

(I'll ask myself that question, and answer it honestly,  after we clear a container filled with dead remote controls)

Still looking for Jimmy Hoffa...

Pack rat the sequel.. pack rattier

I am not a pack rat/hoarder.

I am NOT a pack rat/hoarder.

I am absolutely, positively, unequivocally NOT  a pack rat/hoarder.

I've seen them.

Been in their homes and cars.

I am NOT....

(Clearing my throat now) 

My name is Karen and I'm the biggest freakin' hoarder in the county, the worst kind, the kind that's in constant  denial.

Part II.

Remember that blog I posted just  a few weeks ago upon my return from a Cancun vacation, when I described all the miniature soap and shampoos and used razor blades in the hidden compartments of my expensive luggage? About how I tried to find them  permanent housing in the hall closet, but that was  bursting with dental floss and unidentifiable toiletries?

That closet could have been reorganized by Martha Stewart herself.  That luggage could have been vacuumed by Felix Unger, and I'd still be in desperate need of a twelve step program.

For Pack/Rat Hoarders.

It all started with a forty five inch flat screen  Samsung TV, that was retrieved from somebody's TRASH about a decade ago.

(not by us) 

 I loved that little TV, even with the tiny vertical red  line that would always be there.

It was my rescue TV.  I gave it a home.  Attention. And lots of love.

And it turned on me when we were streaming "Dream Scenario" as I said to Jim, "I know this is a weird movie about weird dreams, but why is absolutely EVERYTHING in weird  shades of blue and gold? "

He convinced me it was time..time to put it down(yeah..right..like we could put anything down or up or sideways that weighed more than the two of us together) and  he comes home from Best Buy today with something new and  bright and shiny.

"The thing is," he says, "this Fire TV (by Insignia) was a bargain, but it doesn't really have anything to stand on, and stands were like..two hundred dollars.."

"We spent that on lunch!!  OMG!!"

He then adds:  "Let's just move the white coffee table from the living room to the den.  No one uses it.  It only collects magazines..and remote controls..and bills.."

"And dust" I add. 

So, because both of us are still in denial about our pack rat habit, (for Jim, it's cables, cords, and wires.  For me, it's..absolutely freaking everything!!) we had no idea what was in store..what was in storage..for us.

While he did the heavy lifting, moving around bulky furniture, I decided to tackle the three stuffed to the gills  white wicker bins stacked neatly below the white, useless coffee table.

You have never in your life seen anything like this. I'm still shocked that we didn't uncover a kitchen sink. A nest of baby eagles.  Jimmy Hoffa. 

Each bin took about an hour to unload, as we bore the scrapes and cuts from old, rotting wicker. I'm an amateur caricature artist at best(I never captured a single likeness.  All my models look exactly alike) but I probably had thirty sketchbooks in there.  Three dozen boxes of colored pencils. Glue bottles that gave you a contact high by looking at them.  Inkless markers bound together by disintegrated rubber bands.  Piles and piles and piles of dead board games, with more missing pieces than useful ones.

Warranties. Guarantees.  Packaging from a variety of teas.

Sure..there was lots of treasures too..A poem  ten year old Evan wrote about the New York Yankees, personalized party invitations I drew that made me feel like I was the loving, creative Mom I didn't really believe I was...a really awesome Scavenger Hunt we put together for Evan's eighth birthday.

But among the treasures(that we've consolidated into a single bin) was a LOT of trash. Please, friends and family, I appreciate the sentiment, but next time there's something to celebrate, send me the acknowledgment in a text.  I have saved every single card for every single occasion.  I think an entire forest died because foolish people still like me and the U.S. postal system..

As of this moment, we have made great progress.  I am not the pack rack/hoarder I was less than twelve hours ago...I am free, and determined to stay that way.

Because if I find ONE more pair of scissors..!!

I have no idea what I'll DO  with them, but it won't be pretty.

We rewarded our hard work with a goofy matinee, a formulaic sitcom called "Anyone But You" and..move over, Carey Mulligan and Emma Stone and Lily Gladstone and  Sandra Huller..we've got a new front runner for Best Actress, because Sydney Sweeney was ..in a word..spectacular.

No.

No she was not.

She was dreadful, but let's see how accurate YOUR movie review would be if you spent YOUR morning sniffing bottles of expired glue??

Don't even get me started on the kitchen junk drawer.

Literally.

Don't get me started.

Keep an open mind..

"Murray Kravitz!" read  the group text today, started  by  our fictional  friend, Murray Kravitz.. 

"Merry Christmas indeed!" we answered, knowing WE'RE not the ones rushing out for last minute gifts and unavailable parking spots  at the mall, or worrying about tumbled trees from curious cats. WE'RE not stressing over the reaction from the women in our lives who we're going to  regift with bathrobes and candles.  We don't  have to care about burnt ham or drunken uncles, because we celebrate differently.

Well..SOME of us do. .

I have always LOVED Christmas, delighting in  the lights, listening to the delicious, jazzy score from "A Charlie Brown Christmas" on a constant loop, happily taping some cash to the trash can hoping that only the sanitation workers and not raccoons open the envelope..it's all wonderful.

I gleefully anticipate  the "Jewish Christmas"..I associate it with an annual  good movie and a great Asian fusion meal.

I start Oscar watching in early November, just like most film aficionados do, and we've pretty much seen everything that's been released.

As of now, the Best Actress Oscar seems to be Lily Gladstone's to lose, and she was exceptional, as was her movie, "Killers of the Flower Moon" but I could hear myself saying to Jim when the telecast is over, "Gladstone won!" but what I'll ACTUALLY  be saying is, "Glad STONE won!" as in Emma, Emma Stone, who was absolutely spectacular in "Poor Things."

We saw the movie yesterday and I expected to despise it. 

 I hate movies that take place decades/centuries  before I was born, hate hard to understand foreign accents, dislike sci fi in general, and I hate the director, Yorgos Lanthimos. (based solely on his filmography)

But..the movie I HAD to see because of the Oscar buzz was, in a nutshell..terrific!

It is NOT for everyone.  It is sick, and depraved, and sexually shocking, and the cinematography is both stunning and dizzying, but we laughed and we cringed and we totally loved it.

Emma Stone is MAGNIFICENT as the manufactured  woman/child Bella Baxter, with her quirky speech and jerky moves.  (And, because I'm a bitch, at one point I whispered to Jim that her robotic dancing as Bella was better than it was, unintentionally,  as Mia Dolan in "La La Land')

Willem Dafoe and Mark Ruffalo were outstanding as well.

But be forewarned:  You need to go with an open mind..the same open mind you'll see on that cold steel  table in the mad scientist's lab.

On the ride home, I'm  thinking it'll come down to a coin flip, at least for me, between Lily Gladstone and Emma Stone for Best Actress, and after streaming another contender last night, I was thinking that somebody now  needs to manufacture a three-sided coin, because we saw an absolutely  riveting performance from German actress  Sandra  Huller in "Anatomy of a Fall."

This was a totally engrossing courtroom drama, with some dull spots in the middle, but with a solid beginning and an ambiguous conclusion.  Sandra's character of a  writer named  Sandra is a marvel to behold..it reminded me of the volatile communication between the husband and wife of the classic Bergman film, "Scenes From a Marriage."

Again, we've seen pretty much  everything..but  Best Actress  is the one I'm most excited about for award season..

 And that's not even adding Carey Mulligan to the mix.  She was outstanding in "Maestro"..as was front runner Bradley Cooper, although neither of us LOVED the movie..just the performances.

"The Holdovers" is still my personal favorite movie of 2023, but it's been a really good year for movies in general, at least compared to last year.

Today we'll stream "Dream Scenario" to see what all the fuss about Nicolas Cage is .. then it's  Christmas Day with George Clooney.

For those of you who are actually celebrating the holiday, may this Christmas be a joyful and merry one.

For the rest of us:  Festivus!!

(And save me the aisle seat)

Pack ratism

We've got a tie when trying to name the most miserable, torturous, masochistic  part of returning home from vacation.

Is it,

A) Looking at  this upcoming  week's warm and sunny forecast with calm waves and dry grounds, when a vacationer can wear  clothes that never get damp from all the constant moisture in the air?

Or is it,,

😎 Unpacking those  damp-ish  clothes, realizing you never got to reap the benefits of that dampness, as  you would have if  they're still slightly wet from all that pool and ocean time you enjoyed all week, where drying them on the balcony with the gorgeous views didn't quite suffice?

 Where, despite losing your mind  and the angry French woman's petite-sized orange tee shirt,  you did NOT lose that bottle of Woolite after all, tucked away in a forgotten, meshed  suitcase compartment, which  opened just enough to spill all over... what was left of dry clothing?

Or is it

C) when you unpack and you realize what a  pack rack you actually are, despite denying you're said pack rat for two decades, and then realizing you have coconut scented body lotion   in another  hidden meshed  compartment that expired in 2003.

Oh." you say to yourself.."Let's just tidy up a bit. "let's just toss expired things from these multiple compartments and let's.... wait!!...really??  I had thirteen mini toothpaste tubes???!! Huh!   Would you look at that!"

Two hours later, you're drenched in sweat and tossing every freebie you got from every vacation, wondering if dental floss expires, wondering if mini mouthwashes from 1998 are now toxic, wondering how you ever let it get this bad in the first place.

We uncovered  bags filled with..I kid you not.. bags. Plastic bags. Sandwich baggies.  Bags and bags and bags filled with bags, like the  Russian Nesting Dolls of Zip-Lock

"Of course I saved all those decorative soaps, " I say to Jim.  "You never know when you're going to need them!"

"Which is why your suitcase weighs more than I do," he answers,  " and I DO know when you're going to need them, which is..never.  You're NEVER going to need tiny soaps that smell bad and look like  gangrened  scallops", he pauses, "even if you COULD get the cellophane off, which I assure you..you couldn't because..no one can, you will NEVER need them " and.. he's right.

I. Am. A. Pack. Rat.

An effin' scary one, that would make everyone on staff of a popular hoarders' show quit their jobs in disgust if they had to deal with me.

I started to transfer everything that was a duplicate or triplicate from the luggage into the hall closet, when I realized the hall closet looked like it had been through Hurricane Katrina.

We found full bottles of our twenty eight year old's untouched baby shampoo,  and enough dental floss when, woven together, could make a garment to flatteringly fit  your average water buffalo.

  Tissue packs and travel sized mouthwash and near empty cans of expired sunscreen and something unidentifiable that Jim swore was a dildo but I countered with "that's NOT what that is. I'd never keep a valuable in an overstuffed hall closet"

(It's anyone's guess as to what it actually  was)

Expired meds..used razors with hair that I told Jim would be necessary as DNA evidence for whoever kills the other one first for creating this monster closet to begin with.

(It was me.  It was obviously all  me, the non-hoarder)

The good news is the closet is now organized, and my luggage can breathe new life, as it's at least  twelve pounds lighter.

(Until the next trip, when I think I have to stock up on everything  all again)

The bad news is: 

 I'm jelly AF! 

 We ALMOST chose THIS week to go to Cancun..with a brilliant forecast, and where the "coffee trivia" music  games would all be Elton John or Barbra Streisand songs, or, as a bonus:

"Name all the unnecessary  toiletry multiples in the Amsters'  hall closet, where old toothbrushes go to die"

Thanks to everyone who clicked the "like" button or commented on the blog..it keeps me going.

Now to catch up with Jimmy Kimmel...

The black shirt mystery

Constant wetness.

Constant dampness.

Constant moistness.

This would be an ideal description for a thanksgiving turkey or a honeymooner.

A summary of the week’s forecast??

Not so much.

We actually adapted to the daily rain, since it was mostly at night, but the turbulent ocean was another story.

“It’s not a pool,” Jim says. “You’re not going to find the calmness you want anywhere else.”

We’ll see about that.. like when I hold my breath and scream until he takes me to Jamaica in .. I don’t know.. how long should we wait until the next trip?

The car service to the airport isn’t coming for another hour or so, so let me attempt to write an amusing summation, sitting poolside here, after breakfasting in that Mexican restaurant with stunning views of seagulls and waves.

With snotty waiters who expect gratitude for telling you where to fetch cold eggs and cold potatoes.

Last time we ate here on departure day, a raven swept in and stole my omelette as I was getting something to drink, and I told Jim we could finally answer the age old question of which came first, because my omelette, (the egg) was on the table before the raven (aka “chicken “)flew in to take what was clearly not his to take.

I will miss my one legged bird friend and hearing “Titanium” on a constant loop. 

The lavish buffets, the mattresses that made you feel like you were sleeping on a cloud. The nonstop laughter with Jim, where we’d look at one another and scream in unison, “ blog worthy!” 

( because we find humor in madness)

Let me describe the last day for those who care.

“Coffee Games” was a bust. We lost one thousand to seven, because the opposing team understood French and malfunctioning equipment. We played with a family from the District of Columbia who griped that the trivia games here can’t compare to that ones at Woodloch Pines, so guess who turned lemons into lemonade after hearing that???

I can totally relate now to Orange Tee Shirt Lady.

If I had a cane, I would have whacked someone with it.

We go back to the room, getting ready for Black Night and I knew exactly what I was going to wear.

Except it was nowhere to be seen. 

And I only had one bra on the underwear shelf in my cubby, and I could have sworn I packed more.

(Says the person who packed wet synthroid, a Chicago Cubs cap, and only one hairbrush)

“ I can’t find my black shirt!” I scream, literally shattering the closet handle,leaving shards of metal all over the floor that leads to where naked, barefoot people shower. 

“I know I brought it and was planning on wearing it tonight. And if you joke that the French lady with the missing orange tee shirt has it, I’m whacking you”

“Look!” Jim says, “it’s right in front of you! Black shirt, jeweled v-neck collar. The one you wore on Wednesday for “elegant night”

“No! It’s not the same! The one I want to wear tonight isn’t the same shirt!”

And honest to god, we’re late for dinner and I’m making Jim look through every photo on his phone until I found evidence that the missing shirt is real.

“Here!! Here!”I say, as we found a pic of me in that same shirt at my cousin Marty’s nineteenth birthday in 2011.

Jim yells at me that it’s the same black shirt I wore for “elegant night” but it was not. 

I didn’t even HAVE the elegant night shirt  until a few months ago when my friend’s aunt lost weight and gave it to me.

Finally Jim noticed the shirt in the 2011 pic had short sleeves and agreed that yeah, they were two different shirts but it doesn’t mean anyone stole anything. 

He then goes to my closet and, I swear, takes out a long, black lacy beach cover up and asks, “is this what you’re looking for?”

A beach cover up!!! That’s what he thought my shirt looked like??

We then go to reception to close our account but before we do, I insisted on filling out a missing shirt report. 

I thought it might have blown off the balcony but then I realized I hadn’t laundered it and set it out to dry on the balcony because I hadn’t worn it all week. 

I was saving it for “Black Night”

Wanna take bets that it’s hanging in my closet at home?

Our last dinner was lovely, dining with a French man and his wife who own a company that sells gear to race car drivers. Their English was quite good, their beautiful bodies and faces were even better than good.

This is what the ultimate Club Med experience is all about. Sharing wine and conversation and culture with Europeans while wondering who stole that goddamn black shirt.

The last show was spectacular, and would have been even better if they could have held it outside.

Human pretzels, cartwheeling with intertwined bodies and forming chains of human snakes while others danced to “Titanium”

I slept through most of it.

Au reviour, mon amis! 

Thanks for bearing with my often unbearable blog.. it’s appreciated so much.

Now.. which one if you stole my shirt?

And….

Guess what I just found out but won’t obsess about?

This past week.

Fatal shark ( or crocodile) attack.

In Mexico!!

At Club Med!

Possibly when Jim got that bee sting just hours away.

I’m trading in my vivid imagination for a new, brainless one.

Whack!

On this penultimate day.. we are getting bursts of sun, and showers that last under a minute, but they’re still strong enough to empty the pool area. 

Relax, people.

I’ve rinsed conditioner out of my hair in lengthier showers.

We got to the pool area nice and early, and got prime real estate. 

A queen sized  cushioned bed with two pillows surrounded by sheer white curtains and a bamboo canopy that sadly doesn’t offer protection.

I’m making my daily observations. 

Mr. Maintenance Man has returned with an enlarged pole today. 

The one legged bird  came over to say “hola!”

The music is piped in, kids are splashing in the shallow end. I’m drinking in everything while Jim is on the treadmill. 

I check the weather app every fifteen minutes because I am bat shit crazy, I admit that.

But you know what I’m not??

A thief, and I just got accused of being one.

Jim is back by now.

I wake up from a quick snooze to see the glowering face of an elderly French woman, waving her cane at me.

“Excuse me, “ she says in broken English. “We reserved this area at eight o’clock.. what time did you get here?”

“It was completely empty when we arrived” one of us answered, calmly. “We put our towels down.. and our beach bag.”

She whacks her cane against the wooden frame of our cabana.

“ I ask you once more.. what time did you get here??!!!”

“Why does that matter?? It was empty!”

“What did you do with my orange tee shirt??”

Whack!!!

I scoff and answer her:

“Do I look like I’d steal your orange tee shirt? Do I look like a thief at all? Search my bag. Search my whole body. You will not find an orange tee shirt or any orange colored clothing anywhere. I only wear black.”

Whack!!

Jim offers, “there are several more just like this that are totally empty.”

He points to the available lounge chairs, a few spaces down.

Whack!!

“I guess we could move,” he says sheepishly, right before we hear another “whack!”

Jesus Christ, is this structure still stable after enduring all these hits??

“ we did not take your orange tee shirt. We took an empty loungers, around 9:00, probably. We are not moving.”

She walks away in a huff.

 But now I’m scared to go to lunch, and I really want a hamburger!

If we leave and take everything  with us, she’ll take our spot.

If we leave our beach bag here, she’ll  probably go through it and try to take my kindle or my Chicago Cups cap or my  tee shirt that says “Karen, Calm Down!”  

We packed matching shirts with this apt slogan but haven’t worn them yet.

She may  even pilfer our sun screen or baby wipes.

Or worse.. she’ll go through my bag and discover…an orange tee shirt.

Whack!!

Titanium nights

Come September 2024, I am predicting a baby boom, kids conceived right here at Club Med, Cancun, because..there is nothing f*cking else to do today.

They will all be named Rainn(like "The Office" actor) or Stormie(Like the porn star who took down Donald Trump)

Creative vacation goers/new parents will name their child after the best, most memorable part of this week and call their newborn(s) "Bourguignon"  (with "Beef" for a unisex nickname.)

It was soft and seasoned and savory, with pearl onions and carrots and baby peas and probably a good dose of crack cocaine. And if spell check didn't correctly spell it, too bad, but the french cuisine is always the best night here.

We had beef wellington, encased in a flaky crust, and crispy onion rings, accompanied by a live performance of "Don't Stop Believin' by a Journey cover band.

Oh stop..without a contrived, corny  reference to something obscure from pop culture, this blog would be just descriptions of what we ate, and the weather, and photos of balcony shots with bending palm trees and..oh, wait.  

That's kind of what it is, isn't it?

Besides pop culture references and endless complaints about ailments, (although Jim is giving me a run for my money with that bee sting) my travel blogs wouldn't be MY travel blogs without  a reference to personal bodily functions, so trust me when I tell you this:  If your colon gets as angry as mine does about leaving the familiar creature comforts from home, invest in a three ounce bottle of "Pristine Bathroom Spray" as seen in "Shark Tank."  

It's a virtual flushable glove!

You will thank me from the heart of your bottom.

There is something eerie and beautiful about waking up to grey skies..we almost feel like we're on a cruise .

A cruise  on a day at sea, because venturing outside is a challenge.

Last night was White Night, and..I don't know why I'm telling you this.  I didn't pack anything white..grey shorts had to suffice..but Jim looked like a Ken Doll.

"Bee-Stung Geriatric Ken"..grab 'em while they're hot. It's not too late to put one under your tree!

The night shows are Vegas caliber and spectacular.  They're why we've almost made peace with the forecast. How many people from all over the world come to a place like New York City in December, just for fabulous entertainment?

They're not getting into the water either, and you don't see them writing bitchy blogs about it.

Jim says to me, "When was that Michael Jackson show again? I know it was a night that it was raining.."

I answer, "which means it was EVERY night except it wasn't."

Last night had no rain in the forecast, and the entertainment staff gathered in the kiosk, dangling from overhead trapezes with nothing below them but hard, dry, cement which turned into a pool from a sudden and unpredicted outburst, but you didn't hear THEM bitching.  Everyone runs for cover(except me, who turned into a paralyzed slug) but there were those trapeze artists, dangling in wetness without a care in the world. There was one guy dressed as the Iron Giant, dancing in all these lit-up boxes, telling the rain gods to stick it where the sun don't shine...what great spirits!

I just waved my long white balloon in the air, enjoying "Titanium" and all the other pulsating tunes, without a care in the world.

And the tram drivers treat this "old, handicapped lady" like royalty..They even pull out a step stool when they see me coming.

Oh wow..I got it good.

I got is so f*cking good!

Party foam to goes lady Chicago

Everyone is referring to me as “Chicago Lady” ( I don’t live there) or “Coffee Girl” (which I only drink iced, and rarely even that except on vacation.)

I’ve been referring to MYSELF as a “handicapped old lady” to gain sympathy from the tram drivers and to lie to myself  about being the inspiration for the Karen meme.

I am awash in bubbles as I write this, as the wind is directing the contents of the foam party being set up on the beach now my way and I’m not going to complain.

You know why??

Because I, selfish, self absorbed Karen, just did something for the greater good.. for the kids’ club that was  due to arrive shortly for some pool time and Marco Polo , and for all those folks of various shapes and sizes currently participating in Aqua Gym.

I’m doing my treading exercises, just me and the bees with the whole deep end of the pool to ourselves, when I see the maintenance man struggling with his net.

He spoke no English whatsoever but gestures to me that his pole needed lengthening.

Let’s hope I was reading him correctly, that he was saying only that.

He gestures, and I swam toward the unreachable  (for him) center of the deep end, where all the debris seemed to like collecting.

I thrash around like a madwoman, ferociously pushing piles of leaves and twigs toward his net.

There were candy wrappers, and clumps of grass, and.. who the f&ck  throws effin’ cigarette butts into the pool??!!

But I’m working myself into a frenzy, pushing like crazy, thinking “you are a caring environmentalist at heart, Karen!”

Also, I was thinking, “one  living bee and this ends. And I don’t even want to think about what I’m capable of doing if I find a condom wrapper. Why are people such pigs?”

The maintenance man and his pole were very grateful for my unselfish act, and I got to swim in a pristine environment. 

This is probably our last beach day, considering tomorrow’s forecast and Jim has gone all homicidal on me.

He wants to brave the waves, I want to live.

Yes, I realize this is our first and last beach trip for 2023.. and the idea for our last vacation  to be  a relaxing  one on the beach  was strictly mine, but who could have predicted this virtual tsunami? The waves cannot be conquered, and yeah,  I’m bummed about it, but I’d rather be a lazy beach bum than a drowned one. I prefer frolicking to blogging: I’d rather be in the water than in this lousy mood, but sometimes.. them’s the breaks. 

The treacherous breaks of these angry waves.

We just came back from our regularly scheduled 2:15 trivia game, bust a was it but.

Backwards  played was song every because.

“It’ll be a challenge!”.. promised the emcee. 

“ we have to play these songs in reverse because the theme is Disney.. too easy!”

“Old handicapped women and their bee-stung husbands aren’t going to know anything from “Encanto.” Can’t you just play it at normal speed for loyal guests like us who’ve been showing up daily?”

“ not can I sorry” he replies, so we basically spent a good chunk of the afternoon listening to what sounded like a broken record.

And anyone reading my blogs will relate to the “broken record” part and that’s okay.

The foam party looked great if you’re not an old handicapped lady from Chicago who spends her day drinking coffee with her bee-stung husband.

I’m into lather. 

A wonderfully constructed foam party on the beach.

The kids looked like it was the best bath ever, and foam parties are designed for them, not me.

It really is idyllic to sit in a lounge chair, listen to seagulls chirp, breathe in the salt air, and watch the beautiful churning blue  water,white with nature’s foam.

Next week reality sets in, when we’re  back to civilization, where we’re gonna fall asleep right after “Jeopardy!” 

And fight over who has to get up to let the dog out, so let’s enjoy the “today” part of today.

Because there really is a lot to appreciate here. 

Here, there, and everywhere with my favorite husband.

Darth Vader grooving

Mourning.

That’s not a typo, but the way we should all be awakening today, hoping that the Powers That Be wake up as well, as I want everyone reading this to take a moment of silence to honor all those angels we lost so tragically and so preventably in Connecticut eleven years ago.

Thank you for that moment and let’s start the blog.

It was the best of signs.

We saw clear skies, and staffers encircling the pool doing the “Crazy Signs”that this resort is known for, which is similar moves made by John Travolta and Uma Thurman when Vincent and Mia  had their memorable dance off.

It was the worst of signs.

If I have to see one more of those hard, yellow plastic sandwich board signs cautioning me how slippery it is when wet ,I’m going to have a cow. 

(Although  maybe not. The beef served here could crack titanium. Last night’s stew was savory and soft and delectable ,but served with prunes that made me think of Charlie Brown trick or treating, as I kept getting rocks. In prunes, which makes sense, but what kind of sadists lived in his neighborhood anyway? If it happened once I’d chalk it up to an oversight.. but.. come on)

The rain is getting old, even after the postcard perfect day yesterday. It drizzled last night during the fabulous synchronized swim show. These people dove into water that was probably sixty degrees.. or less.. at night, perfectly recreating what happened after Patrick Swayze reminded us that nobody puts  Baby in the corner. They danced and cartwheeled and leapt into the deep end, perfectly choreographed, while I inched my way across the atrium like a snail would move on an icy city sidewalk.

The swim show was followed by a salute to “Star Wars” in the indoor disco, and Darth Vader showed off some impressive high stepping’ to “Titanium”

I still mix up the themes from “Star Wars” with  “Superman” but we held our own in “ coffee games” yesterday, with a movie music theme. The staffer who runs it is a tad sadistic as he deliberately slows down the song to something unrecognizable. How else would I have missed the music playing over the dialogue when Kate Winslet gives her name as “ Rose Dawson” to the officer collecting names of survivors?

We are so missing machinery from home.

I want to do laundry!” Jim cried. “ I am so sick of wet socks!”

“And I miss that bidet! I felt less confined when I was in an MRI machine than I do in that enclosed toilet room!”

It’s a beautiful morning and we’re about to take full advantage of it.

Hopefully, the only thing that’ll sting us today is snarky barbs we zing at each another.

And I just used the word “zing!”

What’s better than that?

She’s sleeping.. beauty..

Thank you, Mitch McConnell and Lindsey Graham!!

Your thoughts and prayers worked!

I know that you guys know we’ve been obsessed with the hourly forecast since arrival day, and that you were the ones responsible for what the Club Med gods provided today.. abundant sunshine and the quintessential experience.

Thanks guys. 

I owe you one.

That bee sting was a blessing. 

Jim was very eager to participate in Aqua “Jim” because of it, and the it was run by a woman who loved disco music, from the seventies, and he danced under the bluest skies dotted with a couple of puffy white clouds and he.. and we both.. were the happiest we’ve been since we got here.

We watched the tanned and toned staffers line the pool with their gyrating bodies and their boundless energy, dancing to Sia’s “Titanium” and Gala Rizzatto’s “Freed From Desire” while streams of purple and blue smoke filtrated this outdoor disco and I thought, “ now this is something you’d don’t get if your  idea of vacation is touring the Vatican.”

The ocean called and we answered, ignoring the red flags. 

(The literal ones.. we ventured in where the yellow flags were planted, encouraging us to be cautious.)

And we were, cautious, but after a few minutes we felt like wet rags drying off in the tumble cycle, so we scouted out a perfect spot by the pool, where I drifted off to a wonderful hard earned nap and Jim read more of his terrific book, “Lessons in Chemistry.”

I thought I dreamt that a little girl threw a volleyball at me and asked if I was sleeping, and Jim answered, “she’s sleeping beauty!” 

But I don’t know if there was a comma after the second word, which meant he was referring to the kid with the volleyball, or if it was a sarcastic reference to me.

He told me that conversation actually took place, so next time I “dream” that I heard someone say I won the Powerball Jackpot, I’m bringing all of you with me to an all inclusive resort.

Off to “Elegant Night”,  tonight’s dress code and theme, and another entertaining show around the pool.

Ignore me from now on when I bitch about my first world problems. 

Like the wobbling bird I befriended in the rain yesterday at the pool, I don’t have a leg to stand on.

To bee or not to bee gee..

To Bee or not to Bee Gee…

Jim’s paranoid prediction of a complete washout has only partially come true: mine of one of us being attacked by a sea creature came true this morning, except it wasn’t a shark in the ocean.

There were three living creatures taking advantage of the sunny moments in the pool today.

They were me, Jim, and..a bee.

We were deep into a fascinating conversation about good versus bad fat (in steak) when Jim lets out a blood curdling scream: “the mother f&cker just stung me!”

Even ‘though I desperately wanted to continue our conversation about meat marbling, I swam over to the lifeguard for assistance.

“Help!” I scream out. “He(I point) just got stung by a bee! Do you have any Neosporin?”

The lifeguard looks at me and says, “sorry.. I do not speak English” and then I start wildly gesturing to my arm, making incredibly loud buzzing sounds which I think he interpreted as I wanted  an electric razor to buzz off those fines hairs that you can only see on a nice sunny day like today.

A staffer comes by with a better grasp of the English language and  a mop.

That’s right. 

Now we see a mop, to clean up a few grains of sand that beach goers tracked in, but when the path to the Mexican restaurant flooded worse than hurricane Katrina last night, there was no mop to be found.

“Excuse me,” I say to Mop Man, “ do you have any Neosporin? My husband just got stung by a bee”

“No” he answers. I have something better”

What’s that?” I ask

“Tequila!” He shouts, and soon comes out with two margaritas, one placed by the edge of the pool where I was doing my pool exercises, and one by Jim’s lounge chair.

The ice from the drink soothed the swelling, the alcoholic content of both tumblers were even more effective because as I write this, he’s participating in aqua gym, dancing his happy little head off to “Night Fever” by The Bee Gees.

See what I did there?? 

The Bee!

(Gees)

The skies are blue and my mood is not.

Let the good times roll!

Would you like to wait at the bar?

If I were a cat, I'd have seven of my nine lives left, but the week is young.

Everything is wet!  

Every surface and piece of  expensive furniture doubles as  a drying rack for socks, shoes, and souls. 

Even 'though we have a deluxe room, there seems to be water everywhere and every time we use the sink, shower, or toilet.  I wouldn't be surprised if sink water was what killed my Synthoid, and all of this wetness occurred even before the non-stop torrential downpours.

Every path is slippery--like it's coated in ice but not cold ice.  It's like being in Rockefeller Center, and  I'm sure it's drier and warmer in New York than it is  here in Mexico.

We go to the wonderful Mexican restaurant in this  exclusive section, just after we heard a wet outdoor concert on the pool patio.  The rain was so loud that when Jim complimented the guy playing the saxophone, I  only heard  him say the "sex phone."

Anyway, we're in this gorgeous restaurant which I'm sure is even prettier when the sun sets, and the waiter tells us the meal will be served family style.  He brings us a plate of apps and warns us that the green sauce is  "little spicy." 

 I like green sauces..verde, tomatillo, pesto..

I dip just the tip of my fork prong into the sauce and I  was positive that someone would have to call 911. My heart exploded, my tastebuds caught fire. Liquid poured out of my eyes, ears, and every other place that liquid can possibly pour out of. I coughed like I was Patient Zero at the start of Covid.

That pepper cost me of of my nine lives, the soaked rug and patio of the Mexican restaurant cost me the second.  If you moved an inch, you were sliding..sliding right in to the Frenchman who had the gall to light up a cigarette right there in the threshold. 

 I begged the hostess for a towel, a dry-vac, linen napkins..anything to save our lives, but she was about as useful as the woman who manned the glass ice cream freezer.

To paraphrase Forest Gump:  "Life is like a freezer full of unmarked ice cream..you never know what you're gonna get."

Jim got the coffee flavor, which slid right off his spoon and down my shirt when I asked for a sample, and then my billowy  shirt flew up in my face because of that wind.

The guy that tried to kill me with the pepper told me he called for a tram that would take us to the theater to see the Michael Jackson show, but no tram came.  Just a chorus of, "I just texted him and he said five more minutes" and.."don't you just want to wait in the bar?"

No, I did not want to wait in the bar.  I wanted to talk to the manager.

The show was about to start when Jim volunteered to go on a rescue mission.  The lobby was the equivalent of maybe three city blocks from the restaurant, but it was dark and wet and cold, and he was blinded, and I was terried I'd be stuck there forever, subsisting on nothing but exploding peppers.

I'm super mad by this point, but the same woman who ignored my request to mop up the floor escorted me to the tram, where Jim was patiently waiting for me, like a knight in shining armor.

"I am totally reporting those people to the concierge, first thing in the morning.  This is unacceptable.  Club Med didn't cause this rain, but they should at least provide us transportation to our destination!"

Jim says, "Karen..why do you always gotta be startin' somethin'?" which, coincidentally, was the first song played in the show, which we didn't miss but had less than desirable seats.

This was the best show I've ever seen at any Club Med, or any all-inclusive resort, for that matter, so my anger emoticom was short-lived, soon to be replaced by the sad emoji when we learned the world lost a beloved star.

RIP, Andre Braugher..Thanks for Captain Holt.

I know I sound madder than a wet hen, but I'm really not.  I know how lucky I am to take vacations like this with my wonderful and hilarious better half, and even 'though everyone complains about the weather, nobody does anything about it.

I would if I could.

I will survive!

I have a new irrational fear: palm trees toppling over us; coconuts splitting in half on our skulls. 

There is so much wind that I expect to take flight at any given moment.

We see the grim forecast and Jim says, do you want to take an excursion?” And I reply, “yeah.. to somewhere warm like Newark “

Everywhere you go, people are screaming, in multiple languages, “this is f&cking  Mexico!! Where’s the f&cking sun??”

After napping and complaining for the bulk of the morning, we decided to go back to “coffee games” where the theme was “disco.”

“I’ll pass” I say when Jim proposed that we go. “It’s going to be all disco music from the aughts”

“There was no music like that at that time” he answers, clearly miffed. “Do you even know what “disco” means?”

I answer, “I don’t even know what “aughts” means.”

We show up, and Mr. “my wife made me come” was a no-show, which means we can all draw our own conclusions about what he was doing on this drizzly afternoon.

Jim assured me I’d be fine, to just yell out “ Gloria Gaynor” or “Donna Summer” for every answer and we’d be guaranteed some hits.

We’re joined by Jim’s new friends from the power walk, Sandra from London and Peter from Singapore. Also, some couples who didn’t understand a word I said, but cheered for me wildly every time I called out the correct answer, which is every time they played a Bee Gees tune, because I’ve seen “Saturday Night Fever”so many times that I could accurately finish every line of dialogue.

Attica!! Attica!!

A staffer who I’m pretty sure is in charge of the disco here led the opposing team, but he got booted for cheating on his phone, which led to a pretty hilarious fist fight with someone from our team.

This would have been worse, of course, if it was not a disco-themed event but a Beatles one, because as soon as the deejay played “ Here Comes the Sun” he would have been thrown off his podium, the  lying bastard.

We are watching volleyball in the rain, being sprayed by the ocean, with wind gusts that are making us both look like Don King, but we’re on vacation, damn it.

We’re fantasizing about dirty crowded cities and bus fumes and depressing news on our local station and.. we can’t wait to escape  this paradise and go there.

I just saw a  one-legged bird, hopping by the pool, looking perfectly content with his lot in life.

I should be a bird.

There’s a salute to Michael Jackson tonight and we have reservations at the exclusive Mexican restaurant in our section of the resort, where we’ll sit in comfy chairs and be pampered and  we’re going to forget all about this unlucky forecast.

In the immortal words of Gloria Gaynor:

I Will Survive!

My wife made me come

This morning started off with fifty shades of gray, in the sky and on Jim’s head, but I was not going to let that dampen my spirits.

What dampened my spirits was dining at the steakhouse last night, where I ordered a steak but got a slab of granite that took an hour to serve, accompanied by cold mashed potatoes and creamed spinach that tasted like the secret ingredient in the cream was Elmer’s glue. We’re going to stick to the buffets and risk breaking forty plates when we fall as we’re looking for the table where the hostess sat us, but at least we’ll be fed. We saw an African themed show with incredibly talented dancers donned in neon, and it didn’t matter much that we only recognize tunes from “The Lion King” because we were enthralled.

The grey disappeared from the skies and from Jim’s head as soon as he covered it with a baseball cap before lunch, which suited us just fine as we napped and read by the private pool, where our every need was seen to before we even knew what they were.

I talked to a woman in the pool, vacationing with her nine year old son and husband, who makes his living as a professional singer/songwriter in an alt rock band, an apparently world renowned one that I never heard of because I only know Barbra Streisand songs.

We had a scrumptious Mexican barbecue lunch poolside and I discovered I like grilled vegetables.. I like them charred and colorful and in abundance. We watched the sun come out and bid adieu to all the grayness, and Jim agreed to accompany me to  the afternoon trivia game, called “coffee games” here. It  was well attended.. by the two of us and a guy from the District of Columbia who was older than us who said one and only one thing the entire game, which was “my wife made me come” and we didn’t know whether he meant to Club Med in general or this trivia game or even if it was a sexual thing, because he never said another word and we never saw the wife.

So we were a team of two, us against staffers who play this game weekly. The emcee told us to raise our hand and shout out “Opa!” When we knew the answer, which was a strange word to yell out, considering they probably should stop making awful sequels to “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”

The category was music, which I obviously know nothing about, since I never heard of the guy I spoke with moments earlier that’s in the biggest alternative rock group in the country.

I say to Jim, “there’s just us.. can’t they just play some Broadway or Elton John?”

If we upped and left, there would have been nobody playing trivia except the staffers who play this weekly and the guy with the bossy  wife who made him come.

Evan would be mortified that we missed “Take on Me” by the group “Aha” because he often talks about the urban myth surrounding that song. We missed naming  something popular that everyone reading this would know, but we got “”Dancin’ Queen” which gave us the win by default.

This same staffer is slated to run movie trivia at the same time and place on Thursday. That should be more in our wheelhouse, especially if the movies are Oscar winners or classic comedies, or, if mister “my wife made me come” shows up, porn.

The frozen hot chocolate

I got the best sleep I had in years last night.

No step stool needed to get to the matress.

No humping poodle.

No lying Mike Lindell, claiming that My Pillow is guaranteed uninterrupted sleep, that the cool side stays cool and it never flattens.  

It does the opposite of that, but I don't expect much truth in advertising from a coke head.

But despite that blissful rest, drifting off to sleep listening to sounds of the ocean, I found myself too tired to eagerly participate in the Aqua Gym.

The hot, toned teacher called me out for cheating several times. 

How could he possibly know I was cheating at Aqua Gym?  What could he see when my lower half was submerged? Isn't it true that what happens below the surface STAYS below the surface?

My mind was on intoxicating smells coming from the beach that staff was setting up, or if my comment on Jim's iguana photo, ("Iguana Trump--the far better choice!) would offend anyone. 

Couple this that I was mentally compiling a list of everything I forgot to bring from my packing list, which had been modified and memorized a dozen times. I neglected to pack extra bras(and unlike at home, they're required here) and I didn't pack a humidity-proof container for the Synthroid.  I forgot my Woolite, so my sand covered clothes are being laundered in hair conditioner. I forgot a spare hairbrush and worst of all, I forgot protective headwear.  My big floppy black beach hat and my Yankees cap.  I managed to find something deep in the crevices of an old tote--a Chicago Cubs cap, even 'though I couldn't name a single player from the team.

Bear with me..I'll get to the relevance of that momentarily.

So I'm basically just splashing my hands in the water like I'm in a kiddie pool, and Jim says to me, "you SHOULD be doing jumping jacks!" and I respond, "I SHOULD be displaying an Emmy award on a mantle, but that ain't happening either."

Around this time, the instructor stops what he's doing and yells at me:  "Hey..you..Cubs fan..why aren't you yelling "Opa" like everyone else in this pool?"

I answer, "because I'm..um..from CHICAGO, and I thought you said OPRAH, and I respect her too much to use her name in a silly little past time like Aqua Gym."

Nobody laughed, and I left the pool, smugly satisfied that I probably burned off 20-30 calories.

The savory BBQ was ...interesting.  One chafing dish  contained a single rib, like the kind that toppled over the Flintstone mobile.  Another was filled with steak that looked good but I'm betting that Lisa from Temeca herself couldn't cut it with a samurai sword. 

The salad was superb.  If I could be a rabbit I would..and eat nothing else.

When we were here in 2015, the specialty drink(both alcoholic and virgin) was inspired by Serendipity in NYC, the place with the thousand dollar sundae.  It's called a Frozen Hot Chocolate and it's as good as it sounds.

The bartender gives me the biggest smile..and a flimsy paper cup filled with scalding hot chocolate.

"I'm sorry sir..this isn't what I ordered.. Could you possibly.."

Well, did he ever turn on me!!

"You are a loco American! You say you want hot chocolate AND frozen chocolate, like that's possible.  Do you have any idea what you want?"  he said as he threw his rag in disgust, looking a lot like Guillermo.

"I want"..I answer, "the same bartender I had the first time I came here."

The ocean was calm, gorgeous, and inviting. Jim was applying his ninetieth coat of sunscreen so I approach two women that were frolicking in the waves, readying myself for the dreaded small talk, when I shriek..after seeing something white and skinny and slithering, with orange dots on its head.

Was it an eel?  A sea snake?  Is sea snake a thing?

Jim finally joins me and says I was hallucinating, that I was just seeing a stream of light from the sun, and I scream at him that "reflections don't slither!" but he made a joke that made me forgive him, and the joke was that an old man maybe just had his fly open.

Such is life in paradise.

We met a couple, Club Med veterans from Canada, who have been coming to this resort for twenty five years.  He looked exactly like Opie and was a fitness instructor who couldn't stop raving about the champagne, his wife was some sort of executive.  They told me that when their kids were young, they'd come here all the time, and they'd waterski in the lagoon that was  inhabited by sharks and alligators.  She said it so calmly, like she was saying we might see a sand flea or two, although her husband did pipe in that he was told that "hungry raccoons often run through the indoor corridors at night."

They told me not to worry about(or..because they're from Victoria, "a boot") sharks.  

Easy for a fitness instructor to say.

I guess I'm  finally assured that the sea creatures are harmless..unless one asks  them for a "frozen" hot chocolate.

Cancun-ing

Now THIS I like..waking up to discover that forecasters can be liars, as we breakfasted on the sunny balcony, watching calm waters and me wondering why an empty row boat was floating by but not letting it interfere with my enjoyment of a fresh iced coffee.

I should be sharing more photographic evidence of this paradise, but generic head shots with Christmas tree backgrounds get more traffic, so, head shots it is.

Last night was a real welcome back party, starting with those delectable burnt ends, ("even the fat in 'em is delish!" exclaimed Jim) and then a wonderful light show that looked like something that would make the finals on "America's Got Talent." We saw black skeletons lit up in bright neon colors, doing things like spinning in the air and moonwalking to "Billie Jean."   They really have their act together with evening entertainment here..not all Club Meds do.

We loved all the pulsating disco sounds, the European music that makes you want to just get up and dance if you aren't in your sixties and comatose. 

It's a nice stroll back to our exclusive "Jade" section where our room could pass for a city apartment. You walk through tunnels decorated for the holiday, and leave the tunnels to see even more sparkles, courtesy of Mother Nature on a starry night.  You listen to the gentle waves and you don't have a care in the world..except for maybe stepping on the tail of an iguana in the darkness, or dealing with a spiteful colon who does NOT like going away on vacation.

The pampering here is unreal...the fridge is stocked with regular coke and you tell the consiergere you don't drink that, and within minutes, your mini frige is stocked with DIET cokes and apologies.

And yes, this computer froze mid-sentence, while Jim was power walking, but it's fixed, and he's back, and we're going to enjoy things like crazy signs and aqua gym. 

For those of you who didn't realize I was experiencing technical difficulties, I didn't men to scare you about the concierge mid-sentence.  

Everything is fine. It's more than fine. It's fine and dandy, except..can anyone explain this??

I packed seven Synthroid tablets in an amber vial and when I opened the bottle this morning, there was a pile of wet, crushed, unusable dead Synthroid.

We'll see how badly I needed it when I start breaking out in hives..or worse.

A Shark-free forecast

There are  illegible blog notes from the past, the present, and the future..which...I have no idea what the latter  has in store for us this week.

I do know this:

Our limo driver Willie picked us up at 6:30, and regaled us with stories about how Tony Bennett would practice in his car en route to a performance, but I checked out as soon as he said, "When I picked up Mr. Bennett at Trump Tower.."..

I was about to start a VACATION, I didn't need to hear this.

We arrived at the spanking new terminal A in Newark, and they should find something to call it other than a "terminal" since it was bright and airy and fresh and it didn't smell like Newark. It's a rebirth, not an end.. not a terminal.

I remembered to wear socks! 

 So the only gunk to appear on my feet is gunk that was already there.  I see a sign that reads, "make sure you report verbal abuse to authorities" just as I was being scolded by a TSA worker for not following her weird hand gestures that she tried to pass off as helpful directions.

The "Barbie" movie played twice..TWICE..during our flight, on mute.  This movie is still going to be on the list for my top ten of 2023, but all that pink actually gave me a sore pinkie.  Gave me pink eye??  

Oh..enough with the stupid jokes.  

Let me find something interesting to say.

It is so nice to be back at Club Med Cancun, the first time since the pandemic. The airport experience was not something I want to talk about but I will.

Immigration went quickly--and the room had air conditioning, but everyone in line, no matter where they were staying, was consumed by the awful weekly weather forecast.  One guy tried to comfort his wife(and us) saying that quick sprinkles are nothing, that  torrential downpours are never an issue in Mexico, and his wife replies:  "Oh yeah?  That's what you said about Maui and we all know how that turned out!" The guy assures us that we would have a beautiful sunny forecast..today..our arrival day..but he neglected to tell us we'd be spending most of that time watching a carousel spin with about 2000 pieces of luggage. 

Jim was freaking out about the forecast, wondering what a non-alcoholic could do to pass the time. I pretended the forecast was just fine, and then I started googling things like, "what does it really mean when the app says there's one hundred percent chance of rain?" or.."do kidnappers prey more upon wet weary travelers who would sell a kidney in exchange for shelter?"

At least Jim's freak out is rational. 

 I am consumed with the morbid idea of death by sea creature, because there were two fatal shark attacks this week, one seven hours away, in another part of Mexico, and one in the Bahamas, but I am still obsessed. 

(and OF COURSE I googled what to do..and "but what if my nails aren't sharp enough to stab a shark in the eye?")

There was a victim of a sea creature at this resort a few years ago, but it wasn't fatal.  A playful crocodile that lived in the lagoon was beloved enough to be named, ("Albert") but that didn't stop him from chomping down  on a little kid's leg.  And that kid obeyed rules!  Unlike me, he heeded the "don't feed the animals" signs posted all over the walkway,  but I have never let an iguana walk away hungry and I don't plan to start anytime soon.

When we were here in 2015, a bunch of us were frolicking in shallow water when about eighty fish flew out of the ocean, forming a choreographed arc, and then attacked a French guest's back by fiercely smacking  into him.

I offered to paddle over and help, but all I know how to say in French is "mon chien et Luke!" and Jim pointed out that the guy being pelted would not, in fact, care that I have a dog named Luke.

The guy was fine, but we wondered what motivated the white fish to go crazy like that. 

It was white fish, with sable, onion, tomato, and capers, and Larry David was even more pissed than we were at the sight of it, still not over the fact that his favorite deli named a sandwhich after him--a totally gross, unappetizig sandwich, while Ted Danson got pastrami on rye.

(google the episode for a quick laugh)

I promise to limit the complaining, something I always do on that first day, weary from travel and loaded with pessimism,  because rain or shine, we're back in our happy place.

The ocean was shark free and seaweed free and clear as a lake filled with Windex...yeah..it's good to be home.