Happy "Hump Day" Tators and "Happy Pistol Patent Day (Samuel Colt)"; it's a two-fer day! So, if you need to break out your deuce-deuce and take out that co-worker who keeps using your fav coffee mug with the kitten and hearts on it; today is your day! If you need to flash your Hello Kitty AK-47 (NOTE: And "YES" they do make these; I asked for one but Carl-e said I do not need it) at the nasty sales lady at Neimans who would not call another store to find out if they had the Fendi flats that you really did not need; well go for it (NOTE: Does this story sound familiar?!). And if you just want to have some fun and whip out the super soaker and loving dretch the people that you do not love; go for it!
Ok, the last full day...
we were to spend it soaking up the sun on the cruise line's island. We awaoke early, filled out bellies with yummy breakfast vittles, and boarded the boat to the island. Apon walking on the soft sand (NOTE: Not that gritty Florida sand that sticks to everything and is so itchy!) we encounted a sea of lounge chairs. We staked out our land, and sat our tushes down, made freinds with the server boy, and had frosty beers in our hands by 10:30!
The weather...
was perfect; a cool breeze and warm sun. So, we decided to switch up our drinkin' a bit and order fancy-smanshy tropicaly island drinks. I ordered a "Pain in the Ass" (NOTE: Half Rum Runner and half Pina Colda; so luscious), Sophie, Nyia, Yevette had Bahama Moma's, I think Frannie has a Margarita, and as far as Carl I have no clue. Now, when you are dishin' out 10 dollas for a drink you expect to get a decent amount of liquid courage.
So...
Sophie snapped her Theta fingers and next thing we knew, we had more delish rum in our drinky-poos! Now, siting behind us were some guys. They were not working on at the bar because they were not sporting the nifty yellow polos and we did not think they were on the cruise. When Nyia got up, she was flashing her new tattoo,; the symbol for Caner; then we heard the now legendary cat call, "69! 69!"
At first...
we ignored them, but then it was like they were everywhere that we were asking, "Where is 69?" Finally, to assume ourselves, we began to talk to them. It winds up that they were island security! Can you believe?! Well, one of them took aliken to Sophie. And, what does a proper man that wants to court you do? Well, show you a naked photo of himself on his cell phone of course! No lie, homies! And, I can say he does not know about man-scaping! Come on it is 2009!
Now...
Blue/Black (NOTE: He had the darkest, prettiest color skin, so Nyia knighted him Blue/Black) took alikin to Carla. Now, Carla has been learning how to booty clap, and I knew she had had a few drinks, so I gave her my IPod and let her throw her azz around the beach to the Ying Yang Twins. I thought Frannie was going to die trying to get Carla to stop shaking that jelly!
Back to Sophie...
and her new beau. He was totally mac'in' on her. He might not groom, but he must be smooth, because next thing we know they are married and we are getting free beers! Then it was time to leave the island and return to the boat. Sophie said farwell to her new husband and I grabbed the rest of the free beers.
It was one of the best trips I ever took, and I cannot wait until next year. Yes, ladies and gents this will be a yearly deal!
Peace out, mo fos!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Feb 24: Soon to Be A Jail Bird?
Oh happy day, today is lots of things, tators! For one, it is Fat Tuesday! So, y'all shorties flash 'em if you gotts them to get those beads (NOTE: They are not priceless pearls; not even fresh water. There are made-in-China-man-made-material-cheap-ass-orbs-that-cost-a-whole-.01-cent-to-make!) But, for some reason we become obsessed with getting those damn beds as if we were at a 80% off Burberry sale (NOTE: A girl can only dream!). In addition, it is "National Tortilla Chip Day!" So, intead of keeping the days seperate, let's have a number 2 combo! Toss chips instead of beads! Well, whatever you toss or flash, enjoy because once Lent starts you must give up one item. I know you are wondering what I am giving up; shopping at Wal-Mart! It will be hard to resist the temptation, but I have a will of steel!
Now...
I know I owe you part three of the cruise, but I must divert, because today I went to court. I was sooo nervous, because I have never stood in front of a judge before (NOTE: Unless you count the time I had to bail my mother out of the big houee; but that's for another time). A dear friend told me to dress fierce and fashionable. So, I brook out my "Mrs. Gillert" clothes; buiness-ish with just enough CA fabu.
Then...
Carl-E gets home, because he got a yellow ticket, too! The minute he sees me he says, "Why are you all dress up?" I respond with "Well, I am going to court, I must look the part." He just shook his head. We arrived at the court house, go to the room, and are told to fill out one of two forms; one form is for "Not Guilty" the other is for "Guilty." Well, I was perplexed!
Because...
I was guilty for not having my ID, but I was not guilty about my tag, because it was really registered and the glitch was on the State's end. So, I filled out both. I walked up to the lady to hand her my forms, and she (Note: Who will be referred to as Mrs. Personality 2009, because her's sucked!) said, full of ASS-ATUDE I might add, "Why you fill out two forms?" And, "Yes" Mrs. Personality 2009 did say it just like that. I began to explain to Mrs. Personality 2009 "Why?", but in mid-sentence she cut me off, and said "You need to plead not guilty." (NOTE: SHe is not an attorny nor does she play one on TV), I began to ask "Why?", but but I only got "WH" out before she cut me off again. This time Mrs. Personality 2009 put her hot pink air-brushed with gold bubbles taloned-hand near my face; NEAR MY FACE! NEAR MY FACE! Now, hold the phone sista! I began to clutch the papers in my fist, and I felt Carl-E knock the back of my arm, because he knew I was about to reach into my Jersey draw and put on my whoop-ass suit.
She said...
"You just need to plea not guilty and sit down, Mrs. Gilbert" Now, there is one thing that grates my last nerve is when people call me "Gilbert." When I was just a "Banacki" I was used to it being slaughtered, and no one can ever pronounce my first name. Hell, one of my advisors for my masters program call me Corrine for years. But, Gillert is not difficult, even if they pronounced it the En France way, I could understand, but I cannot understand GILBERT! (NOTE: And Gilbert just sounds nerdy; which I am so not). Now, do not think I did not correct her, cause I did, and I said, "It is GILLERT" and dragged out the "T" and made that "Tuh" sound at the end.
Well...
I just as I was about to say something else, Carl-E put his hands on my shoulders, and turned me towards benches. He whispered to me, "Please do not make me have to bail you out of jail!" Next, was Carl-E's turm, and all of a sudden Mrs. Personallity 2009 got sugary-sweet. She looked at Carl-E's ticket and said, "I am going to dismiss your ticket, since you and your wife both have the same citation." OMG! OMG! OMG! I thought, "So it is gonna be like that, bee-otch?! If I was tall, Latin, and of the male persuasion I could of gotten out of the ticket, too?!" (NOTE: I was taller than usual, because I did have on hot 5" black peep toes shoes, but I am not Latin or male). If she offered him a cup of coffee and a message with a happy ending right there, I would of not of even blinked.
Ok, back to me...
So they call Carl to the podium, and the judge says this and that and dismisses his ticket; bastard! Next I go up. Before I can say anything, the judge says, "Mrs. Gillert pick a date?" There on a yellow post-it note where three dates. So, I picked March 17. And then the judge says, "We'll see you then." OMG! My expression must of pure confusion, as if I stepped into the LV store and they only sold Guess handbags! So, the judge said "Mrs. Gillert you pleaded 'Not guilty,' so you have to have a trail." I swear I almost passed out. The judge went on to explain that it would not be a jury trail, but I had to come back, and then he asked if I wanted to consult council. Oh, I really started to feel the vapors. I said, "No" and the judge agreed that I did not council, and said I was done for the day.
On the way home...
I told Carl-E that he now owes me the LV Blackcherry case I have been lusting over, because he got his tush out of the ticket! So, tators your girl will be a-walking to the LV store tomorrow!
I gotts to go sew me a striped suit incase I has to go to the big house. I 'm a thinkin pink and black; instead of black and white. Whatch ya think?!
Now...
I know I owe you part three of the cruise, but I must divert, because today I went to court. I was sooo nervous, because I have never stood in front of a judge before (NOTE: Unless you count the time I had to bail my mother out of the big houee; but that's for another time). A dear friend told me to dress fierce and fashionable. So, I brook out my "Mrs. Gillert" clothes; buiness-ish with just enough CA fabu.
Then...
Carl-E gets home, because he got a yellow ticket, too! The minute he sees me he says, "Why are you all dress up?" I respond with "Well, I am going to court, I must look the part." He just shook his head. We arrived at the court house, go to the room, and are told to fill out one of two forms; one form is for "Not Guilty" the other is for "Guilty." Well, I was perplexed!
Because...
I was guilty for not having my ID, but I was not guilty about my tag, because it was really registered and the glitch was on the State's end. So, I filled out both. I walked up to the lady to hand her my forms, and she (Note: Who will be referred to as Mrs. Personality 2009, because her's sucked!) said, full of ASS-ATUDE I might add, "Why you fill out two forms?" And, "Yes" Mrs. Personality 2009 did say it just like that. I began to explain to Mrs. Personality 2009 "Why?", but in mid-sentence she cut me off, and said "You need to plead not guilty." (NOTE: SHe is not an attorny nor does she play one on TV), I began to ask "Why?", but but I only got "WH" out before she cut me off again. This time Mrs. Personality 2009 put her hot pink air-brushed with gold bubbles taloned-hand near my face; NEAR MY FACE! NEAR MY FACE! Now, hold the phone sista! I began to clutch the papers in my fist, and I felt Carl-E knock the back of my arm, because he knew I was about to reach into my Jersey draw and put on my whoop-ass suit.
She said...
"You just need to plea not guilty and sit down, Mrs. Gilbert" Now, there is one thing that grates my last nerve is when people call me "Gilbert." When I was just a "Banacki" I was used to it being slaughtered, and no one can ever pronounce my first name. Hell, one of my advisors for my masters program call me Corrine for years. But, Gillert is not difficult, even if they pronounced it the En France way, I could understand, but I cannot understand GILBERT! (NOTE: And Gilbert just sounds nerdy; which I am so not). Now, do not think I did not correct her, cause I did, and I said, "It is GILLERT" and dragged out the "T" and made that "Tuh" sound at the end.
Well...
I just as I was about to say something else, Carl-E put his hands on my shoulders, and turned me towards benches. He whispered to me, "Please do not make me have to bail you out of jail!" Next, was Carl-E's turm, and all of a sudden Mrs. Personallity 2009 got sugary-sweet. She looked at Carl-E's ticket and said, "I am going to dismiss your ticket, since you and your wife both have the same citation." OMG! OMG! OMG! I thought, "So it is gonna be like that, bee-otch?! If I was tall, Latin, and of the male persuasion I could of gotten out of the ticket, too?!" (NOTE: I was taller than usual, because I did have on hot 5" black peep toes shoes, but I am not Latin or male). If she offered him a cup of coffee and a message with a happy ending right there, I would of not of even blinked.
Ok, back to me...
So they call Carl to the podium, and the judge says this and that and dismisses his ticket; bastard! Next I go up. Before I can say anything, the judge says, "Mrs. Gillert pick a date?" There on a yellow post-it note where three dates. So, I picked March 17. And then the judge says, "We'll see you then." OMG! My expression must of pure confusion, as if I stepped into the LV store and they only sold Guess handbags! So, the judge said "Mrs. Gillert you pleaded 'Not guilty,' so you have to have a trail." I swear I almost passed out. The judge went on to explain that it would not be a jury trail, but I had to come back, and then he asked if I wanted to consult council. Oh, I really started to feel the vapors. I said, "No" and the judge agreed that I did not council, and said I was done for the day.
On the way home...
I told Carl-E that he now owes me the LV Blackcherry case I have been lusting over, because he got his tush out of the ticket! So, tators your girl will be a-walking to the LV store tomorrow!
I gotts to go sew me a striped suit incase I has to go to the big house. I 'm a thinkin pink and black; instead of black and white. Whatch ya think?!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Feb 20: And the Saga Continues...
Happy Friday and Happy "National Hoodie Hoo Day!" Hoodie Hoo Day is when you go outside and yell, "Hoodie Hoo" to make winter go away. I tried it, and it is still freezing. So, the fool that had the nuts to copyright this day should has his or her buttass kicked! But I do like the word, it is kind of fun! I have to apologize for making you wait for another cruise installment, but Carl-E has me running all over Hot-Lanta for this little dinner party he his hosting tomorrow night. The things you do for love...
Ok, here we go...
It is Saturday...
and the sun is a shining, the sea gulls are a screamin' "Mine! Mine! Mine!" and the scammers are out full force; ready to try to lift all of our American dollas for some lame ride around the island! But, before we can tell the scammers to "Take their fantastic Bahamin accent and step off" we must take 50 million photographs with the cruise line's photographers.
First...
It is the dolphin that looks like the 1972 moth-eaten mascot uniform from the local high school that has been stored in the gym locker room; this poor man must of been roastin' in that suit because it was just a tad bit warm. Sensing his misery, Carla gave his back fin a little squeeze.
B...
It was the lonely photographer that had no props; so we had no time for his lame ass.
3...
It was the makeshift railing-thingy with the faux life preserver. We all struck a pose, waved "Adios" to our adoring fans and the paparazzi and sauntered to the shops.
Strolling...
down the street we examined the numerous chochkees that every beach town has for the "fools-and-their-money-are-soon-parted" tourists. There was the token circa 1980's postcards that has the girl in the florescent thong and just a touch of sand on her badonk. The shot glasses with the "Bahama Mama" in cherry, bright colors that wash off in the dishwasher or that break in your suitcase on the way back to your land locked town in the middle of nowhere. And the piece-de-resistance the tacky, tacky t-shirts (NOTE: We almost succumbed to the tourist tackiness and brought matching shirts, but by some divine intervention there were not enough for us!).
After...
peering at all these "goodies" we decided to hit the straw market. If you have never been, you imagine a flea market with rows and rows of stuff. Now, shrink the rows, so that two people can barely pass each other with out touching some body part. Now fill the shelves very imaginable knock-off designer handbag made by the little hands of poor Chinese child laberors, shell jewelry, and a billzion straw bags, hats, and even napkin rings! While searching for our treasures, and being cat-called after; "Pretty Lady, what do you like?, Today I give you for $5" we became separated. After search high, and searching low, and all around the mulberry bush, we could not find Nyia and Carla. So, I turned to Sophie, Fran and Yvette and said, "Would it be mean if we just left them?" And with out missing a beat, Fran replied, "No!"
Off to...
Senor Frogs we went to have a bit of nosh and brews. While we were eating, there were triva games being played and if you got the correct answer, you got a free shot. There was this one lady, who will refer to as "She-who-will-fall-on-her-face" was getting everyone right; she possed more unusful knowledge than your's truly! Now, noticing that she was not in her 20's but probally late 40's and by the looks of it she had not cut loose from her sububan life in ages, she was out to tear it back with a vengance. And her husband was encouraging it 1000%! Well, it was Velentine's Day and I am so sure he wanted to hit that back on the ship! (NOTE: You are probally wondering what Carl-E did since his fabu wife was on a cruise; he did what ever non-date havin' man does on Valentine's Day, go to a strip bar!)
After...
We ate, I tried, I mean really tried to buy these fierce Gucci shoes I saw in a magazine, but they did not have them; boo-hoo! Next, we toured the Atlantis, and returned to the boat. The four of us split up to do our own thang for a bit. I caught up with Frannie, spotted Carla and Nyia, and then Sophie and yvette.
Well...
Nyia got a new tattoo; her zodiac symbol for Caner, or as the locals called it "69!" Her and Carla hooked up with some guy and partook in a few drinks at Senor Frogs. While they were there, a cart came out. Now imagin a long cart to stack boxes. But this cart is painted in wild colors and has the Senor Frog's logo all over. Nyia's new friend makes a comment that he had not seen that cart for a while. A few minutes later, the cart returns with a person on it. Before Nyia could continue the story I asked her, was the person it a woman with blond hair, wearing a hat, and a black short sleeve t? To which Nyia said, "YES!"
So tators, guess who was laying on the cart like a side of beef...
"She-who-will-fall-on-her-face"
They had to wheel her alcohol soak ass back to the ship. Her poor husband was not getting any booty that night!
And I am off to Target to pick up more plates, because I am not using the good China.
Hit me on the hip!
Ok, here we go...
It is Saturday...
and the sun is a shining, the sea gulls are a screamin' "Mine! Mine! Mine!" and the scammers are out full force; ready to try to lift all of our American dollas for some lame ride around the island! But, before we can tell the scammers to "Take their fantastic Bahamin accent and step off" we must take 50 million photographs with the cruise line's photographers.
First...
It is the dolphin that looks like the 1972 moth-eaten mascot uniform from the local high school that has been stored in the gym locker room; this poor man must of been roastin' in that suit because it was just a tad bit warm. Sensing his misery, Carla gave his back fin a little squeeze.
B...
It was the lonely photographer that had no props; so we had no time for his lame ass.
3...
It was the makeshift railing-thingy with the faux life preserver. We all struck a pose, waved "Adios" to our adoring fans and the paparazzi and sauntered to the shops.
Strolling...
down the street we examined the numerous chochkees that every beach town has for the "fools-and-their-money-are-soon-parted" tourists. There was the token circa 1980's postcards that has the girl in the florescent thong and just a touch of sand on her badonk. The shot glasses with the "Bahama Mama" in cherry, bright colors that wash off in the dishwasher or that break in your suitcase on the way back to your land locked town in the middle of nowhere. And the piece-de-resistance the tacky, tacky t-shirts (NOTE: We almost succumbed to the tourist tackiness and brought matching shirts, but by some divine intervention there were not enough for us!).
After...
peering at all these "goodies" we decided to hit the straw market. If you have never been, you imagine a flea market with rows and rows of stuff. Now, shrink the rows, so that two people can barely pass each other with out touching some body part. Now fill the shelves very imaginable knock-off designer handbag made by the little hands of poor Chinese child laberors, shell jewelry, and a billzion straw bags, hats, and even napkin rings! While searching for our treasures, and being cat-called after; "Pretty Lady, what do you like?, Today I give you for $5" we became separated. After search high, and searching low, and all around the mulberry bush, we could not find Nyia and Carla. So, I turned to Sophie, Fran and Yvette and said, "Would it be mean if we just left them?" And with out missing a beat, Fran replied, "No!"
Off to...
Senor Frogs we went to have a bit of nosh and brews. While we were eating, there were triva games being played and if you got the correct answer, you got a free shot. There was this one lady, who will refer to as "She-who-will-fall-on-her-face" was getting everyone right; she possed more unusful knowledge than your's truly! Now, noticing that she was not in her 20's but probally late 40's and by the looks of it she had not cut loose from her sububan life in ages, she was out to tear it back with a vengance. And her husband was encouraging it 1000%! Well, it was Velentine's Day and I am so sure he wanted to hit that back on the ship! (NOTE: You are probally wondering what Carl-E did since his fabu wife was on a cruise; he did what ever non-date havin' man does on Valentine's Day, go to a strip bar!)
After...
We ate, I tried, I mean really tried to buy these fierce Gucci shoes I saw in a magazine, but they did not have them; boo-hoo! Next, we toured the Atlantis, and returned to the boat. The four of us split up to do our own thang for a bit. I caught up with Frannie, spotted Carla and Nyia, and then Sophie and yvette.
Well...
Nyia got a new tattoo; her zodiac symbol for Caner, or as the locals called it "69!" Her and Carla hooked up with some guy and partook in a few drinks at Senor Frogs. While they were there, a cart came out. Now imagin a long cart to stack boxes. But this cart is painted in wild colors and has the Senor Frog's logo all over. Nyia's new friend makes a comment that he had not seen that cart for a while. A few minutes later, the cart returns with a person on it. Before Nyia could continue the story I asked her, was the person it a woman with blond hair, wearing a hat, and a black short sleeve t? To which Nyia said, "YES!"
So tators, guess who was laying on the cart like a side of beef...
"She-who-will-fall-on-her-face"
They had to wheel her alcohol soak ass back to the ship. Her poor husband was not getting any booty that night!
And I am off to Target to pick up more plates, because I am not using the good China.
Hit me on the hip!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Feb 17: Cougar Cruise Part 1!
Good morning, tators and "Happy National Battery Day." In my casa we have a designated drawer for these modern marvels. Without them, many things could not function, such as the guy's best friend; the TV remote. However, I cannot tell you which ones work and which ones have kicked the bucket. And, I admit this is my fault, because I just toss the old ones in and snatch out new ones. This drives Carl-E crazy; I like to call it "keeping him on his toes!" So celebrate the "A" "AA" "AAA" "D"; wait a minute this seems very familiar, as if I was in a Cosabella boutique. So, screw the batteries and go and gets yourself some new fancy unmentionables!
Well, let's start with Friday!
After sitting next to a toddler that just had to continuously sneeze all over me during the two hour flight, I arrived at MIA sporting fashionable vintage boyfriend Levi jeans, Burberry travel bag, and my suitcase bursting with up-to-the-moment outfits. About 15 minutes later, I met up with Nyia and Fran, next to show up was Sophie and Yvette. However we where missing one more...
Carla.
According to her text to Fran, something was wrong with her flight. We instantly all thought that was code for "Carla missed her flight."
Let me school you...
Carla is NEVER on time. She is on perpetual "CP" time. Now, if you do not know what that is; Goggle it.
So, the 5 of us jump in a taxi and head towards the port. We finally get on the boat, after Soph's bag was racially profiled and taken into custody. She was told that it would be returned to her only after extensive questioning and a full cavity search. As we wave "good-Bye" to Sophie's bag not knowing when and if she will ever really see it again, we trot to our cabins humming a happy little vacay tune.
Upon reaching our temporary residences...
we discover that not all our cabins are together. UH-OH; someone gotts some splainin' to do! We make our way to the so-called help desk to correct this glitch. Despite our first friendly attitudes which quickly began to travel south when we were told several times, "No!No!No! you can not switch cabins" we did not get our way! Well what makes a bad situation better; ALCOHOL! With swaggers and a bit of 'tude in our steps, we moseyed on up to the pool side bar to partake in a few pre-set-sail drinks. However, Sophie had to stick with to rums and cokes sans the rums, because she did not have her sea legs yet.
Now...
the boat is set to set sail at 5pm, and it is now 3pm and still no Carla. Frannie receives another text that proclaims she is on her way. Now you maybe asking, "Were we worried that she would miss the boat?" Oh Hell-Z no! Because the first person to inform her that she would not be able to board would have their life snuffed out within a nano-second. Then after the shock of frozen-fear wore off, to subdued the wild beast; the captain, himself would take her by her hand and escort her to the Presidential suite, hand her a stack of Benjies, and thank her for gracing the boat with her presence. Finally, with 15 minutes and 4.7 seconds before we set sail, Carla shows up in a whirlwind of hands a flying and mouth a-speaking about how it is not her fault that she is late. We just let her babble on with her tale of airline woes and we continued to consume our beverages. (NOTE: She is still sticking to the story that the airline over booked her, but I think her ass overslept! Wink! Wink!)
It is...
safety drill time. We don our not-designer-inspired day-glow life vests and listen to the instructions in like 50 languages (NOTE: I guess after all the recent "oops-over-boards" the ships need to cover their tushes!). After the less-than-stimulating safety drill, we stash our vests and head on out for dinner, convay, and drinky-poos. But before we can do this, Nyia needs to get two pairs of shorts and one shirt pressed; she cannot have a wrinkle in her threads, yo! She makes the steward swear he would throw himself overboard if her items will be returned the next morning. Now for those of you who do not know Nyia, she is a Harley riddin' mama that likes things her WAY; do not think about putting a tomato on her sandwich if it has the tiny green spot, it must be the only the ripest and the most perfect shade of red; do not give her fresh squeeze orange juice with pulp, it must be minus pulp and chilled to a perfect 40 degrees; and you best return her clothes when you say!
Saturday morning...
we are awoken to a lovely Australian accent. Actually, he promise a "warm wake-up" (NOTE: Sophie is still waiting for it. Hee! Hee!). So, we jump out of bed and ready for a day of one of my favs; shopping! We go down to Nyia and Carla's room where Ms. Nyia is on the phone verbally beatin' the person on the other line about the whereabouts of her wardrobe and threatening to walk around naked after she puts a hurtin' on numerous someones, and at the same time Carla is trying to explain that pirates are attaching the ship because the little voice that came over the intercom told her. The four of us just slowly backed on out, and shut the door, and headed for breakfast.
Next time...
Does Nyia really roam Nassau in the buff?
Do the pirates kidnap Carla?
Does Carrieann find anything to purchase?
Does Sophie ever get her warm wake-up?
Does Fran ever look bad?
Does Yvette ever stop smiling?
Until next time my tators!
Loves ya!
Well, let's start with Friday!
After sitting next to a toddler that just had to continuously sneeze all over me during the two hour flight, I arrived at MIA sporting fashionable vintage boyfriend Levi jeans, Burberry travel bag, and my suitcase bursting with up-to-the-moment outfits. About 15 minutes later, I met up with Nyia and Fran, next to show up was Sophie and Yvette. However we where missing one more...
Carla.
According to her text to Fran, something was wrong with her flight. We instantly all thought that was code for "Carla missed her flight."
Let me school you...
Carla is NEVER on time. She is on perpetual "CP" time. Now, if you do not know what that is; Goggle it.
So, the 5 of us jump in a taxi and head towards the port. We finally get on the boat, after Soph's bag was racially profiled and taken into custody. She was told that it would be returned to her only after extensive questioning and a full cavity search. As we wave "good-Bye" to Sophie's bag not knowing when and if she will ever really see it again, we trot to our cabins humming a happy little vacay tune.
Upon reaching our temporary residences...
we discover that not all our cabins are together. UH-OH; someone gotts some splainin' to do! We make our way to the so-called help desk to correct this glitch. Despite our first friendly attitudes which quickly began to travel south when we were told several times, "No!No!No! you can not switch cabins" we did not get our way! Well what makes a bad situation better; ALCOHOL! With swaggers and a bit of 'tude in our steps, we moseyed on up to the pool side bar to partake in a few pre-set-sail drinks. However, Sophie had to stick with to rums and cokes sans the rums, because she did not have her sea legs yet.
Now...
the boat is set to set sail at 5pm, and it is now 3pm and still no Carla. Frannie receives another text that proclaims she is on her way. Now you maybe asking, "Were we worried that she would miss the boat?" Oh Hell-Z no! Because the first person to inform her that she would not be able to board would have their life snuffed out within a nano-second. Then after the shock of frozen-fear wore off, to subdued the wild beast; the captain, himself would take her by her hand and escort her to the Presidential suite, hand her a stack of Benjies, and thank her for gracing the boat with her presence. Finally, with 15 minutes and 4.7 seconds before we set sail, Carla shows up in a whirlwind of hands a flying and mouth a-speaking about how it is not her fault that she is late. We just let her babble on with her tale of airline woes and we continued to consume our beverages. (NOTE: She is still sticking to the story that the airline over booked her, but I think her ass overslept! Wink! Wink!)
It is...
safety drill time. We don our not-designer-inspired day-glow life vests and listen to the instructions in like 50 languages (NOTE: I guess after all the recent "oops-over-boards" the ships need to cover their tushes!). After the less-than-stimulating safety drill, we stash our vests and head on out for dinner, convay, and drinky-poos. But before we can do this, Nyia needs to get two pairs of shorts and one shirt pressed; she cannot have a wrinkle in her threads, yo! She makes the steward swear he would throw himself overboard if her items will be returned the next morning. Now for those of you who do not know Nyia, she is a Harley riddin' mama that likes things her WAY; do not think about putting a tomato on her sandwich if it has the tiny green spot, it must be the only the ripest and the most perfect shade of red; do not give her fresh squeeze orange juice with pulp, it must be minus pulp and chilled to a perfect 40 degrees; and you best return her clothes when you say!
Saturday morning...
we are awoken to a lovely Australian accent. Actually, he promise a "warm wake-up" (NOTE: Sophie is still waiting for it. Hee! Hee!). So, we jump out of bed and ready for a day of one of my favs; shopping! We go down to Nyia and Carla's room where Ms. Nyia is on the phone verbally beatin' the person on the other line about the whereabouts of her wardrobe and threatening to walk around naked after she puts a hurtin' on numerous someones, and at the same time Carla is trying to explain that pirates are attaching the ship because the little voice that came over the intercom told her. The four of us just slowly backed on out, and shut the door, and headed for breakfast.
Next time...
Does Nyia really roam Nassau in the buff?
Do the pirates kidnap Carla?
Does Carrieann find anything to purchase?
Does Sophie ever get her warm wake-up?
Does Fran ever look bad?
Does Yvette ever stop smiling?
Until next time my tators!
Loves ya!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Feb 3: The Cheatin' Kind
Hola, tators and happy "Cordova Ice Worm Day" Now you are probably wondering what in the world is a Cordova Ice Worm, well so was I! With curiosity peek to the level of a cat, I Googled it!
Well...
It seems that it was a hoax created by a reporter way back in the olde days. But, today it is a rump-shakin' par-thay. Every year the town of Cordova, Alaska celebrates the mythical ice worm with a winter carnival that is held during the last week of January or the first week of February. The festival includes the election of an ice worm king and queen. So, if you desire to become the worm queen, you have a full year to prepare! Get your parka and snow shoes ready!
Ok...
We have all cheated in one way or another. I am so sure that over 90% of us cheated on a diet by giving in to rich chocolate cake, crispy french fries, or juicy burger despite the saying, "Once on the lips; forever on the hips!" Or, flashback to high school, and you totally forgot about a Social Study test on the New Deal (NOTE: Now we all know that you really did not forget about the test, you were doing more important things, such as your nails, talking on the phone, or writing your name over and over again with your last name replaced with that cute boy's sir name in your Science class). So, now you have to take a peek at your neighbor's paper in order to pass.
Even better...
You cheat on your college boyfriend with his best friend (NOTE: Well, he is cuter and older, so he can get you beers, beers, beers!!), or you cheat on your taxes (NOTE: Screw the government they do not need the extra cash; oh wait; they do!).
But, the worst cheat...
is when you cheat on your hair stylist. It is so bad, it should be the eleventh commandment; "Thou Shall not cheat on one's stylist!" Why is this so bad? Well, you develop a very intimate relationship with your stylist. She is like your mother, psychologist, sister, and spiritual adviser all rolled up into one. She know your crazy-ass cowlicks, dry-ass split ends, and what your natural hair color really is despite the fact you tell other that it is naturally the gorgeous color of a mid-western wheat field blowing in the spring breeze!
And...
your stylist knows all your deep dark secretes. You chat about how your husband said you have C-cup ta-tas, but a D-cup badonk; how you really hit the garbage can when backing out of the driveway even though you said someone hit you in the mall parking lot; and how you really hate your neigboro despte the fact that you are nice to her face.
But then...
despite this relationship, you meet someone else. While at the vet, you make a comment about the receptionist's fabu glossy, amber locks. She says a coy voice, "Thank you" and delves into a tale about how she found utopia in the hands of her new stylist. As you hang on every word, you are salivating at the sight of ease of movement of her layers. And then, she hands you the number. You take it and tuck it inside your LV wallet and try to forget the whole incident.
Now...
you cannot get the conversation off your mind. You want that beautiful, bouncy locks, and you want them now! You rationalize the phone call by telling yourself, "It's not really cheating, you are only going to talk." So, you meet the new stylist; she has an effervescent personality and hair that will make you want to kill half of the world for. She runs her fingers through your hair, and begins to suggest this and that. The whole time you are envisioning how the whole room will come to a halt when you step in, and it will not be because of your new Milly shift; it is because of your mane!
You decide...
to take the plunge and say, "Let's do it!" But, before she can answer, you remember this is just a "meeting" not a really appointment. You realize you have an out, the guilt begins to creep over you like an icky, scratchy wool sweater, but before you can head for the door, she says, "I have a cancelation, let's do it now!" Scissors start snipping, brush begins pulling, dryer begins drying, and the whole time you are not thinking about the "other one."
When it is over...
you feels fantastic; your hair is no longer limp, dull, and ashy! It is full of life, and so are you. You bounce out of the salon with an air of "I did something naughty,but oh so nice!" When you get home, your mood has changed. You now have to tell your other stylist that you cheated. It is not like she will not find out, your have superior hair. Well, you can always use that infamous line...
"It's not you; it's me!"
(NOTE: I can contest that it works for I used it numerous times!)
"Get a pedicure, get your hair did!"
Well...
It seems that it was a hoax created by a reporter way back in the olde days. But, today it is a rump-shakin' par-thay. Every year the town of Cordova, Alaska celebrates the mythical ice worm with a winter carnival that is held during the last week of January or the first week of February. The festival includes the election of an ice worm king and queen. So, if you desire to become the worm queen, you have a full year to prepare! Get your parka and snow shoes ready!
Ok...
We have all cheated in one way or another. I am so sure that over 90% of us cheated on a diet by giving in to rich chocolate cake, crispy french fries, or juicy burger despite the saying, "Once on the lips; forever on the hips!" Or, flashback to high school, and you totally forgot about a Social Study test on the New Deal (NOTE: Now we all know that you really did not forget about the test, you were doing more important things, such as your nails, talking on the phone, or writing your name over and over again with your last name replaced with that cute boy's sir name in your Science class). So, now you have to take a peek at your neighbor's paper in order to pass.
Even better...
You cheat on your college boyfriend with his best friend (NOTE: Well, he is cuter and older, so he can get you beers, beers, beers!!), or you cheat on your taxes (NOTE: Screw the government they do not need the extra cash; oh wait; they do!).
But, the worst cheat...
is when you cheat on your hair stylist. It is so bad, it should be the eleventh commandment; "Thou Shall not cheat on one's stylist!" Why is this so bad? Well, you develop a very intimate relationship with your stylist. She is like your mother, psychologist, sister, and spiritual adviser all rolled up into one. She know your crazy-ass cowlicks, dry-ass split ends, and what your natural hair color really is despite the fact you tell other that it is naturally the gorgeous color of a mid-western wheat field blowing in the spring breeze!
And...
your stylist knows all your deep dark secretes. You chat about how your husband said you have C-cup ta-tas, but a D-cup badonk; how you really hit the garbage can when backing out of the driveway even though you said someone hit you in the mall parking lot; and how you really hate your neigboro despte the fact that you are nice to her face.
But then...
despite this relationship, you meet someone else. While at the vet, you make a comment about the receptionist's fabu glossy, amber locks. She says a coy voice, "Thank you" and delves into a tale about how she found utopia in the hands of her new stylist. As you hang on every word, you are salivating at the sight of ease of movement of her layers. And then, she hands you the number. You take it and tuck it inside your LV wallet and try to forget the whole incident.
Now...
you cannot get the conversation off your mind. You want that beautiful, bouncy locks, and you want them now! You rationalize the phone call by telling yourself, "It's not really cheating, you are only going to talk." So, you meet the new stylist; she has an effervescent personality and hair that will make you want to kill half of the world for. She runs her fingers through your hair, and begins to suggest this and that. The whole time you are envisioning how the whole room will come to a halt when you step in, and it will not be because of your new Milly shift; it is because of your mane!
You decide...
to take the plunge and say, "Let's do it!" But, before she can answer, you remember this is just a "meeting" not a really appointment. You realize you have an out, the guilt begins to creep over you like an icky, scratchy wool sweater, but before you can head for the door, she says, "I have a cancelation, let's do it now!" Scissors start snipping, brush begins pulling, dryer begins drying, and the whole time you are not thinking about the "other one."
When it is over...
you feels fantastic; your hair is no longer limp, dull, and ashy! It is full of life, and so are you. You bounce out of the salon with an air of "I did something naughty,but oh so nice!" When you get home, your mood has changed. You now have to tell your other stylist that you cheated. It is not like she will not find out, your have superior hair. Well, you can always use that infamous line...
"It's not you; it's me!"
(NOTE: I can contest that it works for I used it numerous times!)
"Get a pedicure, get your hair did!"
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