One Is Never Enough

The things I do for you, Reader.

Let me tell you about the things I shield from you.

Again with the vacation.

I am of the fairer-skinned freckly-faced complexion. I don't tan much at all, except for a darkening of said freckles and a smattering of sunburn in between. Knowing my tanning challenges, I still enjoying lying about and letting that warm tropical sun melt all the way into my bones.

Another thing you need to know about my challenges. I've got a scar on my stomach, in the bellybutton region from a car accident years and years ago (lacerated liver, required some exploration on my innards). So my bikini-modeling days were over before they had even had a chance to begin. That's the only thing stopping me from being a supermodel, in case you were wondering why I wasn't plastered high on a billboard somewhere.

So because of that scar (haha, that's the reason!) I wear a tankini thingie, which covers the midriff. I'm considerate to other's eye-pollution.

I alternate between a black and a hot pink tankini. On this past vacation I donned the black one, most likely because it was the one that was so carefully unpacked and gently placed on one of the walk-in-closet shelves. A place for everything and everything in it's place, that's my motto.

We had two back-to-back cruising days, Thursday & Friday. I sunned myself and read and lollygagged about both days. On Thursday I noticed as I undressed that the tummy scar was bright red, glowing almost. Hmm, tilts head to the side in curious wonder. Tummy scar is HOT. Well, it was hot out there.

Apparently, it was blistering hot. After an hour in the Friday sun (yes, just an hour, I know my tropical sun limits - and that's with SPF 70 slathered into my skin), I went back to my room to shower up and jumped back in horror as I undressed in front of the full-length mirrors on the walk-in closet doors.

Scar had morphed into a ginormous blister! I was afraid to touch myself (ahem. you know what I mean). I peered ever-so-cautiously over the edge of my "can"yons (you're welcome, Mr. M., for that pun, even though I'm not sure if it makes sense because they are really the MOUNTAINS and not the canyons, but ... oh well, nevermind) to get a good gander at this blister that had to be 2 inches long.

I took a picture of it so I could see it from other angles. It looked like a clitoris, surrounded by the pinkish scar edges.

Great. A stomach clitoris. As if what goes on under these clothes isn't enough of a medical journal, I now have one more thing to contend with.

Of course I couldn't wait to show Mr. Anderson. He wanted me to pop it. I told him, "No way, Pal, not ever going to happen, no sirree." I'm going to leave my tummy-clitoris right where it's at, until it decides to go away on it's own.

All I can gather about the creation of the scar-clitoris is that it must have gotten so hot underneath that black tankini that it literally fried my sensitive part. I've never had that happen before, but maybe I usually wear the pink one? I don't know, really.

It climaxed on Saturday or Sunday, I don't really recall when, all I felt was something wet and oozie. There was no good that was going to come of it, it's right at the waist-band level so it was only a matter of time.

Now? Now it's still angry-looking around the edges, with a mean-red going on, and it's turned black as it's scabbed over. It's actually somewhat frightful and I'm keeping a close eye on it. Kenny assures me that it looks like any normal scabby thing. Somehow it was sexier when it looked like a clitoris than a black scabby circle. But maybe not really.

And how does this all tie back to the nicey-nice things I do for you, Reader?

Well, I was out of space on my camera memory card and when the opportunity to get a photo with myself and Charo presented itself, I had to take quick and decisive action and choose one photo to delete. I chose to delete the photo of the tummy-clitoris. Otherwise it would have been my new masthead for this blog and you would have been greeted by it on every visit.

You're welcome.

Keen Marketing

If you've ever been on a cruise, or even talked to people who have cruised, you are familiar with the excitement of excursions that are offered at every stop. In the Caribbean, the words "beach", "painkiller punch", "snorkel" are noted throughout, and they are often qualified with descriptors such as "dream", "paradise"... well, you get the gist.

Whilst perusing the excitement that was offered up at our recent stop on St. Thomas, I stumbled across the following Explorations! adventure that was snuggled right between, "A scenic boat ride will transport you to St. John where you can shop, sip a free drink and enjoy 3 hours of leisure time" and "Two-tank SCUBA adventure allows you to explore both a coral reef and a sunken shipwreck."

Voluntourism: Royal Caribbean International's community outreach program enables cruise guest to participate in meaningful community volunteer work. The U.S. Virgin Islands...yada yada yada.....appreciate all help preserving America's Paradise. Various tasks will include coastal management, trail upkeep, eco-education, reforestation, community service and urban revival.

$50. Each. You PAY. To hack through a jungle trail, clean up the beach, plant some shit, dig latrines, paint buildings, build houses, etc. The possibilities are truly limitless with the vagueness offered in the description.

A full six and a half hours worth

On vacation. Where we went to relax and get away from it all. After cleaning up our own jungle of a house and helping with our own revival.

I guess we truly are selfish selfish a-holes because I can't think when I would ever sign up to do this during my tropical vacation. Vacation being the key word.

Kenny said it won't surprise him if the ships start offering, "Rappel down the side of the ship while experiencing a high-pressure water activity that thrills the senses." And charges you $50 to wash the ships windows and clean barnacles.

Like a Sailor, Only With Cupcakes Instead of Whores

Now, about those cruise cupcakes. They were crafted in a storybook setting:

Seriously, who could even resist the cuteness of the Cupcake Cupboard? It wouldn't surprise to find out they had cute little elves working in the back, baking and frosting and decorating. It was adorable. Inviting. Inviting me right on in, Day One, where I scoped out the tasty morsel that was to help lead me to success of my cruise goal of a different cupcake in every port.

I spied Red Velvet. Superman, meet your kryptonite. Holy-Mother-of-Garth, who could resist this?

It did not disappoint. The cake was dense and moist, not dry or crumbly, and the frosting was not-too-sweet heaping mounds of cream cheese confection. With sprinkles! Dear Garth, the Sprinkles!

I was on a sugar-high, high on life with the expectation of deliciousness for only $2.50. Our friends thought that was a ridiculous amount to pay for a cupcake, but I thought it quite reasonable, considering you're able to enjoy fresh-baked goodness out in the middle of the effing ocean, for cryin' out loud. I guess I just expect to pay more out there. Now, as all cruise ships offer, there were pee-lenty of free goodies for the taking, but for the girl who never met a cake she didn't like? Well, it had to be these.

And then on the second day, The Cupboard created Turtle Cupcakes:

The fudgy frosting held a melty surprise of soft and gooey caramel. Again, on the cake barometer of life, it was the perfect mix of sweetness & density. A cuppa milk and the treat was complete. I actually did save a mouthful of it for Kenny and plopped it between his lips while he was playing cards in the casino. Not being a cake guy, he admitted it was delectable.

On the third day? We had a little trouble. Red Velvet and Turtle were staring me down from behind the glass cabinet. I wanted to go with a tried-and-true, but alas, I succumbed to Being Adventurous (haha, that's as adventuresome as I was on this trip, no climbing waterfalls this go-round) and ordered the Flavor o'the Day: Root Beer.

What a way to fuck up cake.

It just....wasn't good. I grudgingly ate the entire cake, but I wasn't happy about it. But a goal is a goal.

And then, I missed the next day. I think I was subconsciously so soured by the trickster-cake that I kept myself too busy to go down there before they closed. And I could feel diabetes starting.

By the next day, I was saddled up and jumped back on the horse. Giddy-up, Cupcake. Again, after a gunslingin' staredown with the Turtle & Red Velvet, who were in cahoots and laughing at me for my debacle with the root beer mess, I shunned them once again and ordered up Peanut Butter flavor. How can you eff up peanut butter?? I love peanut butter. I love cake. I love fudgy frosting.

It was sure to be a hit. Right??

Zoinked. Again. So. BAD. I didn't even finish it all. I could hear Red Velvet and Turtle hardy-har-har-ing, those fucking gloaters.

And by then I'm experiencing a little anxiety. We're rounding for home, with Friday looming, which was technically the last day for cupcake goodness since they were kicking us off the ship Saturday morn. Translate to: no more cupcakes.

I panicked! That's the only explanation I have for what transpired next. Three of 'em. To-go, please. That way I could pretend they were for the party I was having in my room later that evening. Um, yeah. A party of one, what's it to you? It's impolite to judge, Reader.

I mean, in my defense, I had been foiled twice now! I couldn't risk my last chance cupcake being some disappointing suck-ass flavor. So it was back to the basics, with both a Red Velvet and Turtle awaiting to get acquainted with my mouth, and in the spirit of adventure, I tried another flavor o' the day: Vanilla. Nothing tricky or fancy. I thought I had learned. I poo-poo'ed the Orange Creamsicle and Coca-Cola they tried to push my way. No thank you, Sir! I will NOT be tricked again.

It was a long process to ingest that much sugar in a short amount of time, spacing it out between our lunch and dinner dates, but with some careful planning I managed to work 'em all into the day. I had to stay up until 3 a.m. to find time for 'em all, but gol'darn, I did it. My years of corporate planning & organization courses really paid off, too, because I had the forethought to bring up a few glasses of milk and store 'em in the fridge, knowing they'd be unobtainable in the wee hours of the morn.

So there you have it. The story of the Cupcake Cupboard. And, oh, by the way, the Vanilla cupcake sorta sucked, too. Maybe if those other flavors stood alone somewhere, like if someone just whipped up a batch and brought 'em into work unexpectedly and put 'em out in a common area, and you didn't have time to grab breakfast that day and you were wondering how you were going to make it all the way until lunch with no food and then oh! out of the blue appeared some free cupcakes? Maybe in a scenario like that, they could be adored. But next to a cupboard filled with Red Velvet and Turtle? They were just the unfortunate stepsisters in this flour & sugar fairytale.

I gained five pounds. Five. Solid. Pounds. Cake comes at a cost, it seems, and not just the $2.50 per piece.

More Cushion for the Pushin'

Here we are, back from vacation. Already. Blink. Gone. Next. But before we get too far ahead of ourselves, we have some Vacation Things worth discussing. Well, I'm not sure that you'll agree, but these are the little nuggets that I saved up just for you.

While on our most fabulous cruise ship, The Oasis of the Seas, we enjoyed luxury accommodations in a Grand Suite. We enjoyed them because last year while we were in Alaska we booked this cruise and at that time I was high on Vacation Life, where money is no object! And the good times roll! And it's the nation of Why Not! And my life mantra, "If not now, WHEN? If not us, WHO?" came into play. So we did. And then it was too late to downgrade to a much more sensible balcony stateroom because they were all sold out so we were stuck with our Grand Suite. Hardships, I know.

So what part of the Grand Suite made the price almost worth paying??

This was on the bed:

A fucking pillow menu. I thought Kenny was joshing me when I asked him what lovenote was on the bed and he said, "It's a pillow menu." When I realized it wasn't a josh, but a truth, I heard the herald of angel trumpets and saw glitter fall from the sky.

I love pillows. It's a bane of our bedtime existence, as I enjoy ensconcing myself in them and Kenny is of the one-lone-pillow persuasion.

Naturally, I got right on the phone with housekeeping and ordered me up a body pillow.

My side of the bed? Well, it looked like this:

p.s. - note the one-lone-pillow off to the side, with a head-indent? Guess who.

See how I fit perfectly right in the middle of it all:

Restful, blissful, cushiony sleep. Like I was sleeping on a cloud.

cuchi cuchi

Nope, your eyes are not deceiving you. That's me. Right there next to CHARO!!! Who doesn't just love love love Charo??! I mean, she was a Love Boat staple, and there she was, sailing right beside me on The Oasis of the Seas. It was a life-imitates-art moment. The only thing missing was Gopher.

I think we look a lot a like.

Butter Runneth Through My Veins

Hello Peeps!!

Well, here we are - one more day of smooth sailin' before we have to start packing up and heading for home. Joanne, luckily for me it won't be too much trouble to pack up since I did not unpack :) ~inside joke~ .

We just enjoyed our first dinner in the dining room, it was robster night so we ate 'em up. With prime rib. Kenny just informed me he's got only one more meal before his pants won't cooperate anymore.

For those of you who know my goal to eat a different gourmet cupcake every day, I was tracking on my goal perfectly until yesterday - I missed a day. I plan on heading down to the Cupcake Cupboard for TWO as soon as I'm done with you people :)

The ship is A. MAZE. ING. Far far far exceeded my expectations. What looked sorta cheesy online is really impressive in person. I even rode the carousel (sp? - no time for spellcheck) I hand-picked my ride, too - it was a tiger. I pretended I was Sookie Stackhouse riding a tiger around. You need to know the books to get that, but whatevs - as long as I understand my motives :)

We have had great weather. We did flipflop our agenda due to Hurricane Igor so we stopped in St. Maartin before St. Thomas. We had so much fun there. We took an Island tour which included a stop off at the airport where we watched the nutballs stand on the beach behind the airplanes that take off. There are giant signs that say "danger, standing there will KILL YOU" but people do it anyway. They line up on the beach and the force of the jet pressing down for takeoff is so fierce that it blows those nuts off their feet and into the water. It was something to see.

From there we went to the Nudie Beach, or "adam and eve" as the locals call it. We saw many many many Things. It was an experience in diversity for me ;) We did not partake in the nakey-ness. We milled about fully clothed and peered at everyone through our dark sunglasses. We were only there for 20 minutes, just long enough to see some things that'll stay burned in our memories for a long while.

Then we toured more but the highlight was on the way back to the ship. The tour guide showed us his local after-hours hangout, where all the taxi guys and whatnot get together at the end of the day and eat bbq and drink Presidente beer. I (of course, me) said, "We want to go!!" and he looped us right back in the round-about and took us over to the local place. We enjoyed many many beers and some of the best bbq on the island, I'm sure. We grooved to the music in the parking lot and they showed me how they make bbq fish on the grill. They had a whole cooler of fresh-caught that they clean and then stuff with fresh-caught crab and shrimp, and then put the whole fish back on the grill for bbq-ing. It wasn't done so we couldn't taste that, but we got the guides card for the next time we're in town. That's my 2nd island bbq I've managed to horn in on - the first time Joanne was with me and we were at Megans Bay in St. Thomas. I have a way about me, obviously.

St Thomas was fun, too, nothing out of the ordinary. We swam around in Megans Bay. Saw an Iguana. Got sand in all our cracks. Typical beautiful beach day. But I do think that Aruba is still the prettiest.

Our first stop at the beginning of the week was to the Bahamas. We weren't able to get up in time to enjoy the island there, the ship left at 2 and we slept til 11 or something crazy like that. Joanne keeps me on a much tighter schedule in the morning! Kenny keeps me up late at night in the casino.

We've seen a handful of shows and they've all been good. There was a heckler at the comedy show who had to get thrown out. It was pretty great, I don't think the cruise line ever dealt with that before so they didn't quite know what to do. Overboard? Well, whatever happened it was fun to watch the drama go down. I enjoy that when I'm safely on the outskirts.

It's been a really fast-feeling week - not sure where it all went. We've had no luck in the casino, but ya win some, lose some. Maybe tonight!

I'm only a little bit sunburned.

Mimi, I had a brazillian hair blowjob. Er. Blowout. Something brazillian on my head occured. It's supposed to keep it smooth and straight and so far it's feeling and looking quite foxy. In fact, last night I was trying to steer a complete drunkard to his room (pointing in the general direction) and he 1/ tried to kiss me square on the mouth and then 2/ told me, through unfocused eyes and teetering on one leg that i was a "hot biscuit." I wonder if that's because he could smell the melted butter that must be running through my veins...I eat a lot of butter on cruises. I like it. A lot.

Oh!! Yeah!! I WENT TO THE GYM ONE DAY!! HOORAY FOR ME!!! The running track has encouraging messages like "1 more lap and you can have dessert tonight!" My gym clothes go with me on every trip, but rarely make it out of the case.

Alrightie, have a fun Friday, landlubbers. I'll be home all too soon.

Life Lessons

What did I learn today?

For one, I learned the real reason it's great to eat in restaurants. Spill an entire glass of iced tea? No worries. A crew'll come right by and clean it up while you just sit there with your hands in the air.

I learned that I pass judgement on grown-ups who's dream 2-week honeymoon was spent in Florida at Disney World. Or Land, whichever is in Florida. Grown-ups who don't have kids. Just up & go spend a 2-week honeymoon at Disney. Seriously? It happened to be my new dentist. I wasn't good at concealing my shock and said something along the lines of, "I just don't like kids that much, I was exhausted after listening to 'em in your waiting room!" His new bride apparently is a Disney freak, and he's a newlywed and in that pleasing-pleasing phase of love. At least he took my comment in good stride, because it was really a risky conversation considering he was in the position to poke sharp and jabby things into my soft tissues.

I learned that no matter how much I plan, I still save a lot of shit to do the night before vacation. So I'm out, off to take care of many things laundry-related. I will not be spending my vacation in a kid-zone. I will be drinking frothy drinks with little umbrellas, sand in toes and book in hand. I've got the latest in the Sookie Stackhouse series lined up to go.

Go Your Own Way

Changes at work announced today. Find out tomorrow a.m. how that impacts my world. I *hope* it'll be to my benefit. That's what I'm telling the Universe, so it must be so.

Speaking of telling the Universe things, today I had this thought, "I haven't heard from ~insert girl name here~ in months, I wonder what she's up to?" and then she called about an hour later. Coincidence? I think not.

I really had better work on keeping my thoughts sweet. They are pretty powerful shit. I'm just so bitchy by nature, it's hard to keep pretty thoughts in my head.

Kenny told me something to the effect that it's no wonder I have no friends, I'm such a bitchy person. I informed him that I have the amount of friends I want to have, thanks very much, and find most people to be disappointing overall. The older I get, the more I realize why old people die alone. You just get tired of the bullshit and realize that people get a little too happy when they can put you down.

Cynical? Eh. What's it to you.

I go on vacation Saturday. If my mood is any indicator, I will be in full-fledged "spraying out of my blowhole" mode about then. At least I haven't eaten a packet of birth control pills to try and trick my vagina this time. It can flow at it's own pace.

Russell Crowe Would Kick Some Ass

Friday evening we went downtown for the Taste of Cleveland event. The very event that is sponsored - for the 2nd year in a row - by Ohio Natural Gas. I won't even go there because it's So. Obvious. (but by pointing it out, I believe I did just go there - and I forced your mind to go there with me).

We bought twenty-dollar tickets to see Weird Al play. As a result of our spur-of-the-moment decision (see! I am still spontaneous!), we were in the last row. Still fine seats, but certainly not close.

And I was completely annoyed and befuddled by the hillbilly lunatics sitting right in front of me with shit-ass cameras who held them up sporadically - directly in my line of vision - throughout the event to try and record the show. Why The Face? (see: Modern Family for the reference. Thanks, Eunice - very handy!).

Society. Here we go, I'm off on a rant about Society. Me, who blogs and owns an iPhone and has a Facebook account and likes to keep my life Right Out There for all three of you (Meggan!! Yoo-hoo, yes YOU! Hello!!) to read about my going's on. Please, allow me a moment while I position my soap box and prepare to mount.

We have become a society intent on providing Proof of Life. We have to tweet updates, provide witty little one-liners about whateverthefuck we're doing at a given moment, and capture said moment digitally to post somewhere - anywhere - to prove that we Lived Life and Had Fun doing it! So take that, you lame-o losers who haven't had as much fun as me!

My daddy had a saying that when you point your finger at someone, there's always three pointing back at you. Go ahead, I'll pause while you sit there and try it out. See? Three, pointing right back at ya.

Yep, I'm guilty of updating and straining for witty all the time. I even find that for some unknown reason, I'm actually a little proud of myself and feel somewhat superior for deleting my short-lived Twitter account. But yes, I've twatted. It was just too much pressure to please my two followers and someone actually shouted at me for not twatting more often - a stranger, no less! So I deleted.

But seriously. Back to people who feel the need to capture every moment without regard for it infringing on my life. Knock it off.

Because really, no one gives a shit about your grainy-ass garbled video from a Weird Al concert. If your hope is to upload it to YouTube and try to become the next Internet Sensation, I highly doubt this is going to do the trick. Try WATCHING life unfold before your eyes sometimes. You might be surprised at how nice it can be, to actually participate in your life and be absorbed in the moment instead of capturing proof that you were/did/saw something.

As for my own Proof Of Life? Well, of course, I did what anyone would do. I took a picture of the lady taking a picture.