Nurse Follies: Merry Kissmyass!

Usually, hospitals are quiet on the holidays. Most folks have the good sense to stay away from the hospital for Christmas, and put off going to the doctor until after the holiday. It seems that only the truly sick and twisted remain on the reservation. That includes the staff.

Not so much this year.

So far, my holiday shifts have sucked and they have sucked hard. The diagnosis du jour is detox off of whatever the patient happens to consume the most of. Often leaving them deranged, psychotic assholes. One even attempted to strangle a staff member. So, we tied their ass down. Docs were not overly concerned. Why should they be?? It wasn't their air supply that was threatened. I called to complain to the Bosshole about the impropriety of it all. He told me to just keep him posted.

And speaking of residents...do the higher-ups select the dumbest fucking residents on the planet to fill in for the holidays leaving the smart ones to stay at home and enjoy a day off with their families?? I can't count how many times I've made the incredulous "You can't be serious" face.

And the unit smells like someone lit a campfire somewhere. It's not smokey, just smelly. A drug-seeking patient complained that the smell was causing them pain and could they have some more narcotics?? Nice try, Toots. Denied!

This hasn't been a good night. I'm submitting a list for Santa to add to his naughty list.

1. Drug-seekers
2. Alcoholics
3. Stupid residents
4. Crackwhores
5. Bosshole
6. That twit down in Admitting

The only thing that made me laugh was seeing Indy run around dressed like one of the Keebler elves. So much red and green on one person should be outlawed.

I have hope that Christmas night will be better, but I'm not going to hold my breath. Maybe I should, then I could pass out and have a legitimate reason for calling in.

Bad Wheel

Gorgeous, isn't it? Just so you know, I don't normally have cankles. That's how swollen this puppy is. My toes look like those little sausages you get in a can, that aren't really sausages, and you only eat when you have a nostalgic moment. Or at least that's when I eat them. Just don't read the ingredients. Lips and assholes...

Anyway...

I went in for my follow-up appointment, for my ankle, which is roughly the size and shape of a zeppelin. I had to wait over an hour before anyone saw me. Assholes.

The doctor rolls in, examines my foot, does a couple hmphs, and gives his ruling. Because he's a workman's comp doctor, you don't get opinions and suggestions, you get rulings that's based on how fast they can get you back to work. There are some people in the world that make a living off of getting injured on the job. They must be masochists or something. I think the best reason to avoid getting hurt on the job would be to avoid the Occupational Health office.

Anyway, no pushing or pulling or patient transfers, or anything involving an object more than 15lbs. I work on a floor where having a patient that tips the scales at 500lbs is old hat. There isn't too much on my floor that weighs less than 15lbs, and that's including the bullshit that Bosshole spreads around on occasion.

The doctor said I could return to work with these restrictions. I called Bosshole to let him know of the latest and greatest, and he had no idea I was even injured in the first place.

You know, someday, my eyes are going to stick to the back of my head because of all the eye rolling I do.

Anyway, after relaying the restrictions, he couldn't understand what the big deal was and why I needed such stringent restrictions. I mean, I still had one good foot to work on, right?? Right!?!?!

This should end well.

Super Klutz, RN

So, I was at work last night. It was going to be a decent night...my third, I had the same patients I had all weekend. I was planning on a nice, quiet evening.

Well, we know what happens when you make other plans, now, don't we???

I was walking down the hall to get report from the day nurse when she mentioned something to me. I did a little jig to express my pleasure, felt my ankle roll, and I toppled over. On my ass.

My ankle felt a little sore, but I was more embarrassed than anything. A couple of nurses appeared, we laughed it off, I got up, put my shoe back on, and limped to the back desk. When I sat down, my ankle began screaming. I just shrugged it off. I roll my ankle often because I lack the coordination to walk and breath air at the same time. I'd just walk it off, take some Tylenol, and I would be fine.

I finished getting report, happened to look down at my throbbing foot, and almost fell out of my chair. It looked like someone stuffed a baseball in my sock.

Fuck-fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck!!!

So, I called Smo (who was charging), she looked at my foot, and it was decided that I probably should go see the friendly folk in the ER.

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

A replacement nurse comes, and I gimp down to the ER. Go through the whole triage thing, taken back to a room, and seen by a nurse, a doctor, some dude with a computer, a radiology tech and her portable x-ray machine. They determine that my ankle is not broken, just badly sprained. I get a splint, a prescription, a note, and told to go home.

This morning, the swelling has gone down, but my ankle is still fairly tender. I finally get to use those crutches I bought my my surgery and didn't need. At some point, I have to go back to the hospital to be seen by the friendly folks in Occupational Health.

What do we learn from this, kids? That I should never make any effort to spontaneously dance ever again. It's hard to believe I did the drill team thing my senior year in high school and not manage to break my neck. I did, however, look cute in the short skirt.

Pondering...

I have DSL through AT&T. With that, comes all the perks of having a supercharged Yahoo account, which includes Flickr.

At least until January.

I got the dreaded email so many other AT&T users got...the salad eating days of the Flickr account users will be coming to an end, and we will all be demoted back to the crappy standard free service, unless of course, we want to pay a yearly subscription fee to maintain what we have enjoyed up until now.

I'm conflicted.

I like Flickr. I have a lot of pictures on Flickr. My files are rather large, so Flickr takes every last bit of my large files, likes it, and doesn't utter one complaint. Because if it did, there would be hell to pay.

I'm talking about picture hosting. Focus, people!

Anyway, I think I may want to pay for the "upgrade", but on sheer principle, the asshole in me wants to give them the universal one-fingered-salute and tell them to take their service and put it where the sun doesn't shine.

In the end, I will probably end up paying for an account. Unless someone can direct me to free hosting that is equally awesome as Flickr Pro.

Things That Make My Blood Run Cold

A text from Redneck Brother, inviting me to his house in St. Joe, for New Years Eve.

"Come for beer, food, pool, karaoke and more"

If he'd quit putting "karaoke" in his invites, more people might actually be inclined to attend.

Meanwhile, I need to find something to do for NYE so I have a legitimate excuse to decline.

Any suggestions???

*#%$!!!

As I was getting ready for work, some little nagging voice in my head told me to check the car. It's not that I constantly have voices in my head, and if I did, I don't always listen to them. But this was the voice of intuition, telling me that because I haven't driven my car all week, and it has just sat in the garage, perhaps I should check to make sure that it was good to go for the commute.

With 30 minutes until I usually leave for work, I went out the garage and inspected the car. Sure enough, I had a flat tire.

Intuition is a pretty good thing.

I called Mom and asked if Mr. Recommendation could bring his air tank over when he got home so I could air up the tire. Shortly after 6pm, Mom called to propose I just take her car to work. She hasn't been released by her doctor to drive, and I have been shuttling her around in Lil Red (her Jeep) all week (hence the no-driving of the PT).

So, I brought Lil Red to work. Truth be told, I've grown quite spoiled driving Lil Red. Automatic starter, four-wheel drive in the snow, sitting high enough to see all that lay before me on the road. And, it's red. Bright red.

I've been wanting a new car, and leaning towards something with four-wheel drive, but I won't make a move towards acquiring said new car until later next year. There's some bills I'd like to pay off first. Namely, the high credit card bill I racked up on vacation.

I'm still not feeling the Christmas mood, even after shopping all week with Mom. I'm having a family dinner the weekend after Christmas (due to working the entire holiday), and I wonder if the visiting children will be confused because there is no evidence of Christmas in my house. I've heard it muttered that Christmas is for kids, and so I wonder if that really is true. I miss that feeling that there was some sort of magic in the air of December.

On a much happier note, I brought some of my island coffee to work. Tonight's round of the fragrant brew comes to us from the Cayman islands. Smells like Kona, but it's not. The bag says it's rum-flavored, but it doesn't taste rummy either. It's just tasty. I'm also eager to sample the coffee I brought back from Jamaica, and maybe that coffee I may or may not have smuggled back with me that may or may not have come from Cuba.

I love coffee. I hate the embargo.

Hump Day Blather

I took Mom in for her follow-up appointment. As nice as the docs are, I still find it frustrating that you have a total wait time of almost 2 hours, only for your actual face-to-face doctor time not to exceed 10 minutes. Gah!

So, we sat in a dark, little waiting room. (It's kept dark for the patients who have had their eyes dilated.) There are a couple televisions, but all they play is education materials that pertain to the eyeball. Mom and I are the youngest people in the waiting room.

I run hot and cold with the senior crowd. In a professional setting, they are sometimes difficult. Personally, I love them. I like talking to them, listening to them reminisce about stuff. What I find really charming is watching the old, married couples. You can always tell the ones who have married forever. Not only do they look a like, but it's almost like watching two halves of one whole. A planet and it's orbiting moon. A right hand and a left hand. With the concept of "starter marriages", quickie divorces, and people who just don't want to work at relationships, old marrieds are a dying breed. Literally and figuratively.

I only want to be married if I can join that elite group.

Anyway...

As we were sitting in the waiting room, the Eyeball Channel features mom's doctor, who is relatively young, Latino, and ridiculously hot. Dr. Ridiculously Hot Latin Man is blathering about something to do with eyeballs.

An old woman sitting next to us mutters under her breath, "He's a handsome little devil..."

Five other women (including my mother) agree a little too enthusiastically. The husband of one offers, "He's a nice guy." I smirk to myself because I'm fairly confident that none of the women in that waiting room, aged 33 to 100 did not have his niceness on their minds.

It was that cute, little, Latin ass. Grrrr.

Old doesn't always mean dead, people.

After our ten minute visit with Dr. RHLM, we go to lunch to the newly opened Corner Cafe in Independence. It was their very first day of business, and half of Jackson county showed up for lunch. It was fabulous lunch, and I recommend it to everyone. After that, we do some light shopping and then go home. Exhausted.

I've only started my Christmas shopping. I had Mom's gift all planned out until Mr. Recommendation told me he bought her the same damn thing. Thankfully, I had an epiphany and thought of the next best gift. Evar!

So, tomorrow, we shall resume the shopping and hopefully I won't hate humanity by the end of the day.

Update

Mom had her eye surgery today. It went better than we expected.

Thanks, all, for your well-wishes and good thoughts.

Quirky Me

Candice tagged me for this meme listing 6 quirky things about themselves. Incidentally, if you haven't read Candice's blog, hop to it. Insanely hysterical. Nurses are pretty funny.

I'm not really quirky. In fact, me and quirky are not two words that usually go in the same sentence...unless the words "is not" is sandwiched between them. Quirky is used for perky people. Me...I'm just an odd duck.

But, I guess I do have some strange idiosyncrasies that most people would call quirky if I was Meg Ryan or Hannah Montana.

1. I have a strange texture-hate-thing with onions. I can tolerate them if they are fried to beyond a crisp. However, onions love to be crunchy and slimy at the same time. When I bite down on an onion in it's preferred state, I somehow get the feeling that I'm eating bugs (namely roaches), and I start to gag. It's easier to just say I hate onions than have to explain the texture thing.

2. My personal report sheet at work has to be immaculate. I have to write things down in a certain order, in neat handwriting. If there are a lot of things scratched out, or just garbage all over the page, my night is completely shot. My coworkers think I'm neurotic about it. I am.

3. I'm a watch whore. In this day and age that less people wear watches (thanks to cell phones), I apparently try to single-handedly keep watchmakers afloat. I don't know exactly how many watches I own, but it's a pretty good-sized number. Most of my watches are Fossil, but I did splurge on myself this vacation and buy a Citizen Eco-Drive watch. I'm slowly working my way up to a Rolex, WHICH I will own before I die.

4. I'm strange when it comes to my neck. It's a fairly sensitive place, and for that reason, I can't stand to wear turtle neck shirts, any type of jewelry that is tight on my neck (like chokers and short necklaces). However, it is my most favorite place to be kissed.

5. The month of December is my least-favorite month.

6. I'm obsessed with trailer park life. If I drive by one, I crane my neck to see if I can spot anything interesting. It's like watching an ant farm for the NASCAR crowd.

7. Some classical music makes me cry...so I try to listen to it when no one else is watching.

So, I just tag whoever wants to do this. You know who you are!

Fah-rah-rah-rah-rah, A Christmas Meme

In the nature of the giving/receiving season, I thought I would try to get out of Grinch Mode and do this meme.

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
If I have the time, I will wrap. I'm pretty handy at wrapping, unless the gift is odd-shaped. If I'm in a hurry, or the gift is odd-shaped, into the bag it goes.

2. Real tree or Artificial?
I like both. I'd prefer to have a real tree each year, but it always ends up dying before Christmas in spite of my almost heroic efforts to keep it alive. I like the smell of a real tree, but hate the needles. Artificial only if it is pre-lit.

3. When do you put up the tree?
When I'm in the mood, but not usually before Thanksgiving. Usually, I'm not in the mood, and I don't put up a Christmas tree.

4. When do you take the tree down?
When I get around to it or it becomes a fire hazard. Or sometime in March. Another good reason to not put up a tree in the first place.

5. Do you like eggnog?
Yes, but only in small amounts, just plain without any adult additives.

6. Favorite gift received as a child?
A red bike so I could ride to school instead of walk.

7. Hardest person to buy for?
My mother. She always says "nothing" when we ask, leaving us to try to figure out what to give her.

8. Easiest person to buy for?
Me. When I want something, I buy it. In terms of others, buying gifts for Toys 4 Tots is pretty easy.

9. Do you have a nativity scene?
No, unless I make one out of the numerous snowman figures I have packed away somewhere.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards?
Neither. I always say I'm going to mail out Christmas cards, but I never do.

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
Something given to me by an aunt on my dad's side of the family. I don't remember what it was, but I remember that I didn't like it.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie?
A Christmas Story. My life's dream is own a leg lamp.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Christmas Eve

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
I plead the 5th.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Honeybaked Ham

16. Lights on the tree?
Sure...

17. Favorite Christmas song?

O Come Emmanuel...and only if sung by men's choir.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?

If I'm not working, usually stay home. If I have to travel, it's usually no more than 50 miles away.

19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer?

Dasher, Pole Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Dumbass, Blitzed and Clyde

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?

My family's old tradition was one gift Christmas Eve (and it was usually new pajamas), the rest on Christmas morning. If I have kids and stuff, I'll resurrect that tradition.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year?

How retailers cram it down our throats in September.

23. Favorite ornament theme or color?

I like my Hallmark ornaments, but Christmas lights are my most absolute favorite.

24. Favorite food for Christmas dinner?

See question 15

25. What do you want for Christmas this year?

A leg lamp and a festivus pole.

A Letter to KC Meteorologists

Dear Weather People of Kansas City,

You guys suck.

You went on about KC getting one inch of snow, but now, we are told that at least 3 inches fell in Kansas City.

Most women (and some men) will tell that there is a big difference between 1 inch and 3 inches.

Sometimes, I think you use the Redneck Weather Forecast Module to get your weather information. You know the kind...you hang it outside. If it's wet, it's raining. If it's covered in cold, white stuff, it's snowing. If it's gone, someone stole it and you need to get another one.

Go back to school so you can get it right, assholes.

Sincerely,
Those Required to Drive in This Crap

Ship Happens: Irie, Mon!!

For our last port of call, we went to Jamaica. I've never been to Jamaica before, so I didn't know what to expect.

I'm kind of weird when it comes to islands. I prefer the poorer, more under-developed islands, like Roatan as opposed to the developed, bursting with money islands like Cayman. I find the main difference is in attitude. It just seems that the people who inhabit more financially strapped places are more gracious. Their friendly demeanor more genuine, instead of Cayman where it seems they are nice to you if you buy something, and maybe just cordial when you decide not to. If you can see through the poverty, you can see the pride of life these people have.

Having said that, I fell in love with Jamaica in less than a day.

At any rate, we booked an excursion that would have us being driven to a remote village, a drop-off point by a river, where we were given personal tubes to float down the river on. Our group had about twenty or so for this river tubing tour. It was a short tour, to last only 1.5 hours, allowing for everyone to return to the ship to do with what they pleased. This is important to remember.

So, our group takes a little trip through the island, our tour guide giving us some interesting factoids about the island along the way. We arrive at our starting point, given our tubes, plopped into the river by the guys who ran the tour, and then everyone began their float all at once so we stayed in a group. We encountered some rapids, which were just scary enough to be fun. At one point, I ended up perched on a rock while the rest of my group passed by. One of the tour operators had to help extract me from the rock because it's almost impossible to do when you are sitting in a big inner tube (they had flat bottoms made of fiberglass so no one got ripped a new one).

One lady overturned and had to be assisted back into her tube, which consisted of the tour guide hoisting her up in a bear hug. It looked all kinds of wrong, and I'm sad I didn't get a picture.

At the halfway point, we stop and there is a plank you can jump off into deep water. I was standing around with everyone when I see Mom dart up the stairs to the plank, and leap off into the water. I sigh, take off my hat and sunglasses and walk up the plank. I can't be shown-up by my own mother. So, I jumped off the plank, screaming as I did so. Thankfully, I didn't lose my bathing suit.

After a brief rest, we plop back into our tubes. The tubes we assigned as such: small boobs=small tubes, big boobs=big tubes. Indy told the tour guide that I would probably need two tubes. Ass.

We float down river the rest of the way and board our buses. We're looking forward to going back to the ship to change into dry clothes, and venturing out on our own.

Remember that 1.5 hour timetable???

Well, apparently someone decided that immediate shopping was in order. Instead of returning those who wanted back to the ship, the bus takes us to a shopping plaza where half the van is puzzled and wondering what the hell is going on. The other half, belonging to some halfwit that grandly proclaimed herself to be El Presidente, happily charge off the van and scatter like roaches. Tour guide tells us that the bus will leave in forty minutes.

I don't know what El Presidente was president off. I decided it must be the Village Idiots. She was one of those John Public Vacation Assholes because she loudly announced that "no one tells El Presidente what to do". Apparently, this was in reference to the forty minute shopping window that she personally deemed insufficient.

An hour later, the unhappy people (including myself), are waiting in the van while El Presidente are her cabinet are meandering around the plaza, buying cheap souvenirs and t-shirts that shrink ten sizes after the first wash. Had our tour made mention of a shopping excursion, we would have come better prepared. As it stood, we hadn't known, and we each came with no more than $20 each, which in Jamaica, will buy you a bottle of water and a post card.

Mutiny afoot on the bus as we wait, and wait, and wait. We attract the attention of the bus driver and tour guide and tell them that if they don't take us back to the ship, we are going to hijack the bus and drive ourselves. They immediately went to find El Presidente.

From my experiences, when faced with an unhappy situation, most people will quietly grumble to themselves and then to each other, instead of a direct confrontation with the offending party.

None of those people were on my bus that day.

When El Presidente and Cabinet boarded the bus, they were met with loud hisses, boos, some profane name calling (from my mother), and general insults about ignorance, inconsideration, and overall retardedness.

El Presidente tells us that it's our fault for not shopping. From there, a bad situation get worse. One passenger announces that she's a psych patient and pissing her off is not a good idea. I think this could have been a precursor to an insanity defense. It was certainly heading in a direction where one would be needed.

So, El Presidente and her gang has officially pissed everyone off because BY GOD they are on vacation and BY GOD they are going to get their shopping done at the expense of everyone else who had made other plans!!!

Meanwhile, the tour guide is pondering how to make the Jamaican "No problems, Mon!" philosophy diffuse the situation. The only thing that would have helped would have been a big ganja doobie. Sadly, none were available on our bus.

After much yelling and name calling, the bus finally arrives back to the ship. A couple more insults cast. El Presidente makes a scathing remark about one passenger's size, which is completely irrelevant to the day's events and totally uncalled for. So, I tell her to go fuck herself as I get off the bus. I don't know if she heard me, but it certainly felt good to say. Up until that point, I hadn't said anything because I was too engaged in observation...

And planning an escape route.

Valuable time wasted, we haul as back to the ship long enough to grab dry clothes and money, and haul ass off the ship so we can get crappy souvenirs, too. We would have liked to have spent some time in Margaritaville, but El Presidente saw to that. Incidentally, we saw El Presidente there, and we had very colorful ideas that involved her ass and a parrot.

On a happy note, I got some Jamaican rum. My Rums of the Caribbean collection is looking rather healthy. Indy did not buy any rum, but he was offered some weed, which he declined. I spoke with a guy in my cruise group, and he mentioned that he spent the day sitting on the beach getting baked...in every sense of the word.

I'm fairly confident that his excursion (mental and physical) was a lot more relaxing than mine.

That night, because Mom and Co. were too tired from the days events to go to the group 70's party, I went by myself. I met up with some folks who read this blog, and after a couple glasses of Grey Goose and cranberry, I dubbed them my Blog Bitches. The one guy who kept my glass full of GG and cranberry, hadn't read my blog, but promised to become one of my bitches when he got back home.

Sadly, the rest of the night comes to me in fuzzy bits and pieces. At one point, I made the announcement to everyone in the martini bar that I sold sex toys.

Also sadly, I paid dearly the next morning. I'm very glad the cabin steward kept our toilet meticulously clean, and considering my cabin mate, that was no small feat.

Despite the bad things that happened, I still love Jamaica. I do plan on going back to stay for a week-long vacation. Maybe then I spend a couple days getting baked on the beach.

By the sun, of course.

Ship Happens: Monkey Overboard!!

Instead of me blogging about the events of the ship in chronological order, I'll just blog about the events that still stand out to me and then cap it off with a big, steaming pile of a cruise review for those who actually read those sort of things. Besides, I mentioned on my Carnival comment card that I would be posting a review on my blog, in the event they actually check it, I don't want to come off a liar.

So anyway...now I shall speak of the Monkey Incident.

We had spent the day in Grand Cayman. This was my third trip to Grand Cayman, and unless you are dive certified, your options are limited.

1. You can go out to Stingray City and swim with the stingrays without the risk of ending up like Steve Irwin.

2. Or, you can take the "island tour" which has you going to Hell...which is a town the size of a postage stamp. This is ironic because the only thing in Hell is a post office that you can mail crap from so you can mail postcards from Hell to all your friends, which arrive weeks after you get home from vacation. This island tour also takes you to the Tortuga rum factory, which really isn't interesting because you don't get to see how they make the rum, it's basically just a big souvenir shop with a shitload of rum products. The next stop on the island tour is a walk across the street from the "rum factory" to the "turtle farm" and you can see sea turtles in various stages of growth. The final stop is to be dumped off shopping district of the island, where you can shop, shop, shop along with thousands of other tourists because five ships are in port that day.

The rest of the excursions are just variations of what I have listed above, or you can just go to the beach and vegetate on a towel for a couple of hours.

At any rate, we had booked the Stingray tour because Mom and Co. and never done it. However, the weather made the seas rough, so all water tours were cancelled. We opted to just go shop, then go back to the ship.

It was there that I bought rum. More rum. Some expensive perfume. And some rum cake.

We go back to the ship, do lunch, and eventually, we leave. Indy is in the shower enjoying the hand-held shower nozzle. I'm standing on the balcony, watching the ship plug away from the island, when suddenly, a four-foot inflated monkey wearing a t-shirt wafts by my balcony. I watch as it slowly floats down to the water, and is carried away by the wake of our ship. The departure of the monkey was witnessed by everyone who happened to be standing on the starboard side balconies at that time.

I go back inside the cabin and minutes later, the ship lists sharply to the side. I think we're going to do a barrel roll and haul ass back out on my balcony. If the ship is going under, I sure as hell do not want to be stuck inside my cabin when it does. On the balcony, I hear the alarmed voices of other passengers while our ship makes the mother of all U-turns. From there, the ship starts doing figure-8's in the ocean. Indy pops out of the bathroom to ask if the ship just turned onto it's side, or did he just imagine it?
Shortly after, the cruise director re-Todd, comes over the speakers and announces to those who may have noticed something different, that the ship was engaged in whatever ships do when there is a passenger overboard, and that there is a whole succession of things a ship has to do when this sort of thing happens.

Annoyed, I call the pursers' desk and inform them that it was not a person going overboard, but an inflated monkey. The purser tells me that at least a dozen people have also notified them, and thanks.

Eventually, it is confirmed that the man at sea was really a monkey at sea, but because of maritime law, they still have to account for everyone on the ship, so would we please go down to the lobby and swipe our boarding cards so we can resume our cruise?

I don't know if I mentioned this, but there were just over 3000 passengers on that ship. Two card reader machines. One lobby that can hold about 300 passengers, cramped. Almost everyone makes a mad rush to the lobby.

Almost.

The Assholes didn't show. Assholes who paid good money for their vacation, abandoned all manners, class, and reason at home, and BY GOD, they were going to do what they want, when they wanted because BY GOD, they were on vacation. Yes, you find MANY people like this on cruise ships. They are easy to pick out because they are always cutting in line at the buffet. These same assholes collectively decided that they would check in on their own time, and screw everyone else.

Anyway, three hours later, our ship is STILL at a complete stop, twenty miles away from Grand Cayman. So are three of the other ships that were in port that day because due to maritime law, all ships must come to a complete stop and stay there until the issue is resolved, one way or another. Meanwhile, the captain of the ship is getting pissed. You can tell this by the sound of his voice when he keeps making announcements about those who hadn't checked in. When the number got less than 50, he started listing names. Less than 20, he started listing cabin numbers.

So, we've got a ship full of annoyed passengers because we are sitting like ducks in water. The casino is shut down. The gift shops are in complete disarray due to the hard right turn we made earlier. To top it all off, our captain, who is Italian, sounds like he's going to go all Sopranos on some asshat.
Finally, the short-bus patrol check in (probably at the urging of everyone else, I'm sure there were threats involved), and the ships in the area can resume their courses. However, we've lost 3 hours of sailing time, so the captain has to haul ass to make up for it so we can reach Jamaica in time. For the rest of the night, the ship is pitching and yawing because some botards on vacation couldn't tear themselves away from the buffet long enough to check in.

Salad-tossing Douchebags. I hope they caught Norwalk virus.

I'm not sure what became of the woman who actually owned the monkey. Rumors were rampant that she would face charges, get fined, and/or possibly be banned from cruising Carnival again. It's not like she tossed the monkey on purpose, it blew off her balcony. But, those rumors proved to be false, and the monkey incident became the long-running joke for the remainder of the cruise.

But I am glad that I forgot to pack the inflatable sheep.

323?????

That is how many blog posts I have to read on my reader because I read no blogs on my trip. Internet minutes is expensive on a cruise ship, and their computers run about as fast as the ship does...which isn't very fast.

You people really ought to consider hobbies aside from blogging.

I just got home from my vacation.

I'll blog later and bring you up to speed on the events.

Ship Happens: Sea Blather

Here I am, on a 10,000 plus ton hunk of iron, complete with room service and mini bar, hauling ass in the Caribbean. Currently, somewhere just north of Cuba. Tomorrow is a "sea day", which means all 4200 of us are trapped on the ship, surrounded by water, with only the Hairy Chest contest to keep us from being bored.

We arrived in Florida on Thanksgiving, went to pick up the rental, found out we needed something bigger to accommodate all the luggage we brought. Luckily, the GPS didn't work so we had a good excuse to upgrade. Not to mention we couldn't figure out how to start the car with the push-button ignition. It's trickier than it sounds.

After switching to an SUV, and finally figuring out how to program the GPS, it proceeds to get us lost right away. After numerous U-turns, we finally make it to the interstate, and to our hotel, where we will spend the first three days of our vacation.

Highlights of this part of the vacation include: not having to cook a turkey, getting lost, going to a butterfly house and having a lorikeet bite my boob (he managed to slop nectar out of the cup and down my cleavage), going to a porn store with my mother, and not getting killed driving in Florida.

We board the ship on Sunday, which is magic. I love cruising for the simple fact that you get to visit lots of places, and your hotel room goes with you wherever you go. What I hate about cruising is the masses of asses that also travel with you. I've learned that I hate large groups of people in little places. Mealtime on the Lido deck is the worst. I swear, by the end of the week, I'm going to completely lose my shit and cause an international incident.

Today, we visited charming Key West, which is well known for it's magical power of recharging old people and making them run circles around you. Rather than do the traditional pub crawl, we opted to do some shopping. We did manage to walk down Duvall street, which is their big pub hub, and got to see folks drunk before noon. We had lunch at a place called Red Fish Blue Fish and I finally got some delicious calamari and probably the best mojito ever.

Initially, the weather was overcast, dreary, and somewhat rainy. By the end of the day, when I have blisters on my feet and I'm perilously close to becoming a raging bitch because it took Indy 2 hours to decide on which watch he wanted to buy, the sun was shining and the sky was blue.

Yes, Indy did come with me, and he is my cabin mate. It would appear that his main goal for this trip is to gas me out of the cabin and into my mother's cabin. Now, I can belch with the best of them, but I lack talent when it comes to farts. So, for 6 days, I get to try to figure out how to shove a dryer sheet in his crack without him noticing.

Dinner has been entertaining, and I have developed a small crush on our Turkish Matre`d. What can I say? I have a thing for the dark-haired male persuasion, especially when rocking a sexy accent. The uniform helps, too.

Now, it's another evening winding down. Tomorrow is formal night, and I will be doing something that few people get to witness, and that is me wearing a dress. It's not that I don't like to wear dresses...it's just that I don't have a lot of opportunities to wear them.

I'm told that temps will be in the 70's-80's. I also hear that there is snow waiting at home. I try to bring a little sunshine in the lives of friends and family back home by sending little messages via cellphone. I think the collective response can be best summed up by Redneck Brother when he responded with this simple phrase:

Kiss My Frozen Ass.