Love, Jimmie

Don’t worry . . . . about a thing . . . every little thing . . . . is gonna be alright . . . . .

That song greeted the four of us as we clambered aboard the Norwegian Dawn, ready for our week of vacationing in the tropical sun to commence. Squash, Nurse Bananahammock, Woney and I took to that boat like a fish takes to water (for the most part anyway – there was a slight bit of barfer-ness on my part), and soon found ourselves with two buckets of beer, a rattan table, and a lot of people wearing resort wear to watch.

Don’t worry . . . . about a thing . . . .

Yeah, that’s catchy.

For those of you not in the know, cruise ships offer a lot in the entertainment department. Really, what are you going to do with 2796 other strangers on a moving city in the middle of the ocean besides be entertained whilst sipping on a cocktail in the sunshine as you (attempt to) get a suntan? Here I must ask you, though. What exactly does it take to get oneself a gig as a lounge singer on a cruise ship? Because if Joy, the woman shouting out the above song at the top of her lungs into a sound system that surely was designed to project sound in a venue MUCH larger than ours, was any indication, one only needs the ability to smile in a perma grin for seven days straight, have gigantic hair (even too big for me, if you can imagine), the ability to sway back and forth with your arms outstretched to any song the band plays, no matter the tempo or rhythm, and also a plethora of pants that fit you like a second skin from waist to knee and from knee to the floor in a violent flare reminiscent of a fish fin.

Every little thing . . . . is gonna be alright . . .

Still catchy. Right? WRONG! Seven days of that song, and in those seven days every time a meal was served or a drink was ordered or a kid jumped into the pool, Joy was up on the lido deck stage warbling about “Don’t worry . . .” Day one was great. By day seven we were ready to stab her with a shrimp fork right into her vocal nodes.

Speaking of entertainment, on our first night we were introduced via a variety show to Jose (pronounced Joe-say) and Patti, a lovely couple from New York who also found themselves in possession of a sweet gig on the Norwegian Dawn, one show every night and free reign to perform whatever they liked.

“By the end of this cruise, you will love Joe-say and Patti,” assured Dan Dan, our cruise director. “They are fabulous!”

Joe-say and Patti made their grand entrance onto the stage and started belting out their first tune. Patti was shimmying all over the stage, hopping around in her sassy, strappy Mary Janes, and whipping her hair all around. Often she would throw up her hands in the rock star gesture, two fingers out and head bang just ever so slightly. What was incongruous, though, is that Joe-say and Patti were singing “I Only Want to be with You,” a song decidedly not meant for the rock star fingers, nor the head banging. Woney looked at me with her eyebrows raised and Nurse Bananahammock snorted. And then Squash said, “You know, Joe-say looks a bit like Stephen King.” We all analyzed him and decided that yes, there was a definite resemblance except where Stephen King has some talent to detract from his admittedly odd appearance, Joe-say does not. Sure, he could holler out some songs with gusto but in a way that people enjoyed them? Not so much.

I am sorry to say that we, most assuredly, did not love Joe-say and Patti by the end of the cruise. Matter of fact, we did our level best to avoid whatever area of the boat in which they were performing. I think we might be in the wrong age bracket, though. Turns out the senior citizens on our ship loved them.

I sound like an old crone here, don’t I? I’m not. Truth is, we saw some really excellent performances during the week. Tim Kaminski did a fantastic comedy show that I Highly Recommend if you want to see a bunch of strangers make fools of themselves – something everyone should strive for on vacation. I have no idea if you can see him outside of the Norwegian ships but try to YouTube him or something. He’s hilarious!

We also watched some kind of Bollywood something or other. It was a bunch of dancing and singing with an Indian flair, and what I took away from that is a lot of people have muscles that I didn’t know existed. One couple who performed in the Bollywood show had their own Cirque de Soleil-type show the next night which Woney and I very much wanted to see. After watching that couple do the splits on top of each other, the husband hanging upside down in some silks with only his feet holding him up, and the wife doing the splits on top of his splits only right side up and both of them swinging around in a circle above the stage, I felt that perhaps the time has arrived for me to incorporate a stretching program into my workout routine. I mean, I can’t cross my legs with any comfort because my hamstrings are so tight and these two are holding themselves parallel to the floor ONLY USING THEIR ABS AND THEIR FEET. I never felt more American in all my life. I have no idea if you can see them but in case you want to look them up, their names are Alexei and Sally. Have mercy, Alexei is probably the most beautiful man I have ever had the fortune to clap my eyes on. His muscles are astonishing.

A final word about the entertainment on our boat. According to Squash’s father, Norwegian has a GREAT library so we sniffed that out, too. Why you need a GREAT library on a cruise ship is a little beyond me, but he was pretty passionate about it so we felt like it was a necessary thing to discover. You know what? When we found it, it was great. Highly Recommend the library. I never thought I’d say that about a cruise ship.

To end, I’m going to ask you to play a game with me. One night on the cruise we attended a game show knockoff thingy (I cannot help it – I have no television). Three of the “celebrities” on the ship would give a definition to a word and the audience tried to guess which “celebrity” got it right.

Without looking it up (don’t be a cheater, c’mon), what is the answer to the below? Winner gets a prize or lunch with me or something. I’ll figure it out. (Compelling, no?)

What is a lobcock?

A. A device used to make a musical instrument like a trumpet or flute longer to achieve different sounds
B. A boring person
C. The person who serves the birdie in badminton

Give your answer and I’ll announce the winner on the next entry.

Don’t worry . . . . about a thing . . . . every little thing . . . . is gonna be alright . . . .

From left to right: Squash, Nurse Bananahammock, Woney, and Jimmie

Did I ever tell you guys how Woney and I met? Doesn’t matter, I’m going to tell you anyway. I’m also going to tell you how I met Squash and Nurse Bananahammock because it’s all related.

You guys ever have one of those days where you think to yourself, “Screw it. A whole giant bag of M&Ms is a great idea and ima eat it, all right now. I don’t care if I’m a porker.” Y’all ever do that? Well I do, and I was having one of those rocky patches where I was passionate about M&Ms on a regular basis and I knew I needed an intervention. I logged onto the Weight Watchers message boards and threw out a request for a diet coach. I wanted a stranger who would not be nice to me and tell me that I deserved that giant bag of M&Ms when I clearly did not need them. I wanted someone stern and willing to listen and someone who understood what I was struggling with. Woney, a complete and total stranger to me, responded with “Hey, why not? I’m in.”

Meeting strangers in person after meeting online is always fun I say, so I flew out to San Diego to meet her not long after our initial email exchange; once we established that neither of us were ax murderers or glitter eyeliner thieves, we began traveling together. We average at least four trips a year although now that she’s in Mississippi we get together more often. Oh, and for the record, we diet-coached each other for approximately three minutes before we gave up all pretenses about those giant bags of M&Ms.

About 18 months ago, Woney invited me to a web page where a group of women gather on social media to list three good things every day. It was a practice started on those Weight Watcher message boards long ago, and it gravitated over into other non-weight-loss-related sites. Through that page I met more strangers, two of which you know as Squash and Nurse Bananahammock.

As an aside here, right before I flew to Tampa to meet strangers, someone asked me, “Aren’t you scared? You don’t know anything about them! I’d be so afraid!”

Y’all, it never occurred to me to be afraid. I think of strangers as friends I have not yet met and that there was a golden opportunity to meet some new friends. Plus, Woney already knew them and she was still alive and in possession of her glitter eyeliner. Plus, Florida. There was no question about my going to meet them. The only question was “how often?”

Tampa was our first visit together. My house for Memorial Day was the next. A trip to Memphis for Woney’s 50th birthday was our third. I missed the fourth one because of my filth-flarn car. The fifth one was this cruise.

Just so that you fully understand me and My Girls, another story is in order.

When we got together at my house for Memorial Day last year, we all arrived at staggered times. Squash and Woney flew in early while I was still at work. By the time I got home, they had already consumed pineapple mimosas (two apiece) for brunch and rum and Cokes (they lost count) for dinner. Also by the time I got home, they had each signed up for a half marathon (happening next month, y’all). Nurse Bananahammock drove in later that evening. By the time she got there, I had had enough rum and Coke cocktails to make me loopy (one) and had signed up for the same half marathon. Paid for it and everything. When Nurse Bananahammock realized how behind she was, she, too, had some cocktails and signed up for the half marathon. And then we had food and movies and more cocktails. It was a great weekend.

About a month or so after that trip, I realized I had a coffee grinder in my kitchen. I don’t own a coffee pot and so I assumed that Woney brought the grinder along with her coffee pot for use at my house.

I texted her, “I have your coffee grinder.”

She texted back, “I don’t have a coffee grinder. It’s not mine.”

Huh. So a few days later I texted Squash and Nurse Bananahammock. “I have somebody’s coffee grinder. You left it at my house.”

Return texts said, “Nope, not mine.”

Huh. I thought about that for a while, completely perplexed. Why in the world was there a coffee grinder in my house?

About a month later I texted Luke about it. I have no idea why. “Do I have your coffee grinder,” I asked, “and if so, why?”

Instantly he texted back, “You guys needed to grind something. Pretty sure it involved alcohol.”

Y’all, not one of us remembers this. No inkling whatsoever of what we were grinding. We, apparently, were diligent in cleaning the grinder out because it was just as sparkly as the day it was new. We are still utterly dumbfounded, and poor Luke. I do vaguely recall making him watch girl movies with us and asking him to hand over his supply of butter for our corn. Oh, the stories he could tell. Oh, the stories I wish I could remember to tell.

Anyway, I’ll be blogging at you soon about this fabulous, wonderful, gorgeous TROPICAL vacation we had. I’m collecting my thoughts and all our photos and trying to gently explain to you that the sweet innocent person you know as Jimmie tends to disappear when she hangs out with Her Girls. Hang on for me, would ya? I’ll be right back.

Oh, hey, yeah, I meant to tell you that I finished my “cleanse.” Remember, I was doing Whole 30 23, and I cut out all foods that had anything to do with grains, dairy, legumes, sugar and taste. I ate a lot of chicken and a lot of sweet potatoes. Remember that?

No, really, it wasn’t that bad. For 30 23 days I ate according to a certain plan in the hopes that I would kick some bad habits and finally get over sugar. Unfortunately that never happened. What I did do was endure to the end, the whole 30 23 days (the end being the day we had our professional headshots taken, and when I realized that my cheeks looked exactly the same as they did 23 days previous, I quit), and then jump right back into the foods I had always eaten, sugar included. Probably what spurred the quitting on day 30 23 were the dry heaves I got from a single bite of the same chicken and sweet potato I had eaten three days a week hence. I tried my best to choke it down but the moment I felt a revolt in my throat, I knew I was done with Whole 30 23.

Funnily enough, once I added back in all the foods, I never once felt like I was going to ralph. I guess I have a stomach of steel because by rights I should have felt miserable at the first bite of sugar but I didn’t. I do get sleepy when I eat sugar now, so I am diligent in trying to avoid it. Some other weird things happened to my palate, though. I can no longer eat regular mustard. It tastes like horseradish, and I’m about as fond of horseradish as I am raw onion. I can also no longer eat parmesan cheese. It tastes moldy and sour. Gross, quite frankly. These are two things I loved once so I’m slightly ticked off that Whole 30 23 gave me those aversions instead of the Beyonce booty I so richly deserved.

I have a few other updates and items of note.

This is my headshot, the professional one I had to have made and the same one I was so snarky about. Look at those cheeks, would ya? Also, do you see how pink I am? That’s even after the photographer did some editing with color and whatnot. Martie and I are doing some corrections there, and tomorrow you can read all about it on her blog. I’ll link to it in the morning. Once you lament over my pink cheeks, have a gander at my hair. Martie does such fabulous work. Someone told me today that big hair belongs to the 80s and to Texas but I call her full of poop. The bigger the better. I’m so sorry that the beehive is passé. I’d rock that in a heartbeat.

I’ll be out of town next week on my fancy tropical cruise. Lest any of you thieves and robbers decide to remove my home of its valuables, please note that I have a roommate, a neighbor and two vicious attack cats, all of which would risk their lives to defend my home. I mean, in theory anyway. I’ll take loads of pics, hopefully none of men in Speedos, for your viewing pleasure. I’d treat this trip much like the Ireland trip with a post for every day that I’m gone but being as how Woney and I plan to spend every day viewing the ocean over our toes in a hammock, I doubt those posts would be of much interest to you.

A final note – have any of you read The Moonstone? Four years ago, I joined a book club. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner, honestly, the way I read. I’ve attended this club nearly every month for four years and read some books that I would never recommend. Seriously, we pick some of the strangest books but almost every month there is a lone person who loved the month’s selection. The rest of us have strong opinions of them, not many of which are good. Eighteen months ago we read The Grapes of Wrath. Rather, it was supposed to have been read eighteen months ago. While I enjoyed it, it did take me nineteen months to finish it. I’m currently doing that with The Moonstone. Tonight we are to have a deep and philosophical discussion about the book and I will be able to do that but only about the first 350 pages, of which there are 667. The whole point of this, though, is to ask for other book recommendations. Anyone got anything good they recommend? I can only promise that nine out of ten of us will hate it, but we still might like to give it a whirl.

Y’all miss me next week, would ya?

It was a monumental trip and it was almost over. A lot of emotion there, but all of it good. Sleep came easy for us that night – a good thing since we had a long day ahead of us.

The next morning Woney and I were up early. Neither of us wanted much for breakfast and so had made an agreement with our B&B hostess the night before – no traditional anything in the morning, please. Well, perhaps some toast would be nice but otherwise, no breakfast. Toast was had and off we took.

As we were packing the car one last time, we had some serious regrets about all of our shopping the last 12 days. Woney was having difficulty lifting her suitcase into the boot despite her extensive and effective workouts with Tony. I was having the same difficulties wrangling mine into the backseat. We were also suffering from some angst as we looked at the passenger side of the car. “Wonder how much we’ll get charged for all those scratches,” we mused. “Wonder how much of an overage fee we will pay to get our bags on the plane,” we fretted. “How many bottles of liquor did they say we could take” queried Woney, who had spent most of her money at Jameson.

And then for one last time, Woney and I traveled with Gwendolyn through the roundabouts, over the roads with no shoulders, next to sheep and after getting lost only once, we made it to the rental car facility. The shuttle driver grunted mightily as he transferred our bags from the car to the bus, and Woney and I held our breaths as the inspection was done on the car. That little guy had been out partying with his friends the night before and was seriously regretting his overindulgence in tasty beverages, he told us. Perhaps his hangover clouded his vision or perhaps he took pity on us or perhaps every car comes in with some damage on the side, but he swiped our ticket and sent us on our way, no damages assessed. Happy sigh.

We made it to the airport in short order and once there began the long process of getting our bags checked. It came as no surprise that our bags exceeded the weight limits. Rather, Woney’s did, and by so much that there was not a fee high enough to let the bag on the plane as it was. We did some creative maneuvering and unpacking and wearing of hoodies and eventually, Woney’s bag weight was decreased to a limit that still required an exorbitant fee to be allowed on the plane, but at least it was coming with us.

Next up was customs and after getting lost one last time in the airport, we made it to that queue. Having never been through customs before (or not remembering the last time, it had been so long), I was unprepared for my customs agent. “Is that a pillow,” she asked with some suspicion.

“Yes,” I explained. “I needed it. Can’t sleep without it.”

At this point, she took all of my documents, spread them over her desk and settled in for a good chin wag. As she kicked back in her chair, elbow hooked over the back, she asked, “Drink any Guinness? What did you think?”

Just like that, I was in a panic. I hated Guinness, and opened my mouth to say so but then noticed that no one else was having a meaningful conversation with their customs agent. Everyone else was zipping merrily through, and Woney was already done with hers and waiting for me at the exit. If I told the agent that I hated it would she find me guilty of something? Were they going to search me? I had a pillow and a melted chocolate bear on me but I felt so guilty! She was looking at me funny.

“You visit any farms? Touch any livestock?”

“How much liquor did you bring back?”

“Did anyone else touch your bag besides you?”

“Did you bring any organic material to the airport?”

She asked every question without looking me in the eye, like she was casually trying to find out something from me. I had nothing to tell her but my palms were sweating and it took me forever to answer every question. I had been pretty huffy about Air Canada days before and I was sure she knew that. I was also certain that I was going to be stuck in Ireland without Woney because I stole Dana’s Dr. Pepper jumbo lip gloss in the third grade. I don’t remember Dana’s last name or really what she looked like but every bad thing I’ve ever done was coming to mind. I kept wiping my hands on my pillow and answering everything the agent asked. I could feel my already pink cheeks becoming pinker and I just knew I was going to be arrested but for what I didn’t know when finally she scooped up all my stuff and handed it over. “Have a good flight,” she said and waved over her next victim.

With weak knees I made my way over to Woney who said, “Trust you to find the one person who wants to yap for half an hour.” I could barely breathe.

Eventually we boarded the plane to go home. As we flew, we made a few lists of things we wanted to remember and gifts we wanted to make sure got to the right person. We napped. We ate. We watched bad movies. We wiggled. And eventually we arrived at home. My bed never looked so delicious.

As a recap, I’ve prepared a little list of notable tidbits in case you got lost along the way or didn’t want to read everything I wrote. This was my trip.

How many cities were my Number One Absolute Favorite Cities of All Time? Kilkenny, Westport, Galway, Trim, Blarney, Doolin. So, six. Six Number One Absolute All Time Favorites.

What was my net hoodie purchase number? Only two as Woney is fierce when she tells me no.

How many Best Lunches Ever did I have? Three

What was my net weight loss over the course of the trip? .5 (you cannot be more shocked than I was)

How many boys offered kisses? Two

How many boys did I actually kiss? One (I do have standards)

What was the best chocolate shop? Yes

How many times did you get lost? Ask Gwendolyn. Bitch.

How many pieces of toast have I had since I’ve been home? Three, all of them strangely disappointing.

And finally, how many good memories did I bring home? Oh, thousands!

Y’all, there is not a thing I would have changed about our trip, even the weather. It was glorious. I Highly Recommend Ireland. It is far cheaper to go than you think, and I’m telling you, please make a plan for it. Or if not there, please make a plan for something. There’s so much in this beautiful world to see. Go see it! Take your Woney and go see it! Then you can be one of those annoying people like Woney and me who say in every conversation, “Yes, when I was in Ireland I did that, too.” Really, that never gets old.

Woney and Jimmie

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