Last week, we did our seven day Caribbean cruise with four excursions.

One of them was Belize.  If you’re like me, you might think that someone totally made up that country to see if you were as dumb as they thought you were.  You might be saying “You’re pulling my leg.  Belize?  You totally made that up, didn’t you?”

Well, you’d be WRONG.  There really is a Belize.  In fact, we came this close to seeing its king.

But, alas, he never came out to wave to the crowd of onlookers so we can only imagine his royalness.

We took a tour bus to the Mayan ruins to look around a little.  (They all pretty much look the same.) (Just in case you wanted to skip that part and go lie on the beach with some Pina Coladas or something.) And then we took a riverboat tour back to the port where our ship was.

Oh, and in the middle of all that, I had a cheeseburger for lunch.

(But I don’t think it was made by the burger king of Belize, just FYI.  It was a pretty mundane cheeseburger.  I expect the ones made by the burger king of Belize would be special, like maybe with some guacamole on them or something.)

Here are the ruins:

OK, now you can go have a drink.  You saw it.  Cool.

My husband is the one who wanted to book this tour.  Me?  I have no culture whatsoever and am kind of boring and apathetic.  It’s part of my charm.  I could have skipped it.  I mean, we were on a bus for two hours.  Do you know how many ice cream cones I could have imbibed in those two hours?  Really.

He said “You could at least ACT interested.  I pretend to like your stuff way better than you pretend to like my stuff.”

That is absolutely true, and there is no better evidence of it than the arena of oral sex.  Ahem.  (Hey!  It’s not your birthday, mister!  Get that thing away from me!)

After the Mayan ruins, we had that cheeseburger and then we boarded a riverboat for a tour down the River Wallace.

It was more boring that the ruins.  The good news was that I got a seat in the back of the boat where the twin outboard motors were and there was a strong gasoline odor back there which sort of got me buzzed.  It wasn’t as good as a Pina Colada, but you have to take what you can get.

We saw alligators:

And iguanas:

And other stuff too.  Monkeys and humming birds and whatever.  But the photos are all boring (I’m not in ANY of them!!) so I won’t post any more.

Every time we saw an alligator, everyone on the boat would run to the side where it was and start taking pictures.  This is how we ended up with 117 pictures of alligators.  And let’s face it – they all look the same.  Oh, I’m sure if alligators understood the English language, they would call me a racist for such a remark but whatever.  I’m not scared of them.

Except that I’m totally scared of them so don’t tell them I think they all look alike, OK?

When people ran to one side of the boat to take pictures, I felt it was my responsibility to keep my weight on the opposite side to keep us from tipping over.  Because if there is one thing I hate as much as getting eaten by sharks, it’s getting eaten by alligators.

Before long, I realized I could make the puppets dance and I would say “LOOK!  Alligator!” and they would all run over and I’d say “Oh, wait.  It was just a stick.”

Eventually they started ignoring me.  I had to up the ante.

“OHMYGOD – an ANACONDA – it must be nine feet long! Holy shit!”

When they’d all run over, I’d say “Oops, you just missed it – it went under the water.”  or maybe “That alligator just ate it.  Next time move faster when I pull your strings.”

Hey, you have to make your own fun when you’re on a tour of the River Wallace in  Belize.  I’m sure the gas fumes were influencing my behavior.

As we came to the end of the river where it pours out into the sea, we even saw a manatee.  Now, sure, it was dead and bloated and stunk to high heavens, but I made Bill take a picture anyway.  Mostly because it was the only time all those other jokers didn’t run over to that side with their cameras, so we finally got a clear shot.

Rest in peace, gentle sea cow.

When I was tallying all the animals we saw, I included the manatee.  Bill said “You can’t count that.  It was dead.”  I argued with him.  “I can TOTALLY count that even though it was dead!!  When I tally up how many countries I’ve been in, I always count Japan even though it was just a flight connection and I was only in one arm of the airport for a few hours and I never stepped foot outside.  If Japan counts, then the manatee counts, too.”

The problem with Bill is that he doesn’t think Japan counts either.  But whatever.  He knows better than to fight the crazy so he conceded the point and the manatee was included in my tally.

Alligators (lots), iguanas (three), monkeys (about a dozen), hummingbirds (I think it was four but it could have been just one doing those hummingbird Jedi-mind tricks where it moves so fast I can’t tell if it’s the same one or not), and manatee (one, dead and bloated).

I thought we were done seeing animals but shortly after that, we saw some dolphins:

If you’re like me, you’re probably thinking “SHARKS!!  Shoot the mother-effers!  Shoot them dead!”  But you might have regretted shouting that out because, dude, they’re dolphins.  But I totally understand your fear because I, too, want to shoot dead anything that might be a shark.  That movie – it did a number on me.

Still, dolphins are cute.  I used to watch Flipper, so I know.  I’m also pretty good at doing a dolphin imitation which I learned from Flipper.  There were dolphins all over Belize – I totally heard them.  “Did you hear that?” I’d say to Bill.  “Dolphins!”  He would roll his eyes and say “That sound came from up in the trees – those were birds.”

Maybe they were mynah birds imitating dolphins.  Maybe.  But they were probably dolphins that had migrated to the trees.  Dolphins are mammals, you know.  Poor Bill – I have to be patient with him.  He’s not as sharp as I am.

All in all, this whole jaunt took us about seven hours and cost a few hundred dollars.  I wanted to tell these people that the Internet is FULL of photos of alligators and Mayan ruins, but the internet cannot bring me a Pina Colada on a tray.  I’m quite sure they wouldn’t have understood – people are kind of dumb.  It’s only life experience that will teach them and maybe someday they will know better and prioritize Pina Coladas over some dumb tour of rubble from people who are dead and a bunch of animals that would eat your legs off if you let them.

To each his own.  That’s my motto.

Of our whole vacation, this is the only day that was overcast and so it was the only day we didn’t slather on sunscreen.  Of course, it was also the only day we got sunburned.  Bill said “We fell victim to one of the classic blunders, the most famous of which is never get involved in a land war in Asia but only slightly less well-known is this:  never spend the day outside without sunscreen even when it’s overcast when SUNBURN is on the line.”

I spent that evening shivering under the covers while my skin emanated enough heat to roast marshmallows.

That’s what I get for being a cynical smart-ass all day.  Perhaps this is the sort of thing that led to the demise of the Mayan culture.

Aw, who cares. Someone bring me a Pina Colada, stat.

I’m back!!

We had a fabulous time.  I was so damn spoiled and pampered, I felt like Paris Hilton should have been carrying me around in a little expensive purse.

In fact, it was almost embarrassing.  I now know why rich people always wear big sunglasses – because they don’t want to have to make eye-contact with the plebes.

It all started with the upgrade in our hotel in South Beach.  We were upgraded to a suite with a big, private balcony.  It overlooked the pool and the beach.  Here’s a view from our balcony.  Oh, look – there’s me, too!

On Sunday, we headed to the cruise ship.  Bill had surprised me by upgrading us to a deluxe stateroom, which also got us VIP status.  When we walked into the cruise terminal, the lines were incredibly long.   I was sure we’d be waiting for hours but then we saw signs for a separate VIP check-in.  We entered a quiet lounge furnished with overstuffed furniture, cool air, and soft music.  We were invited to sit and relax until our name was called, which took about 5 minutes.  A few minutes later, we were ready to board the ship.  We walked passed those huge lines with a sense of glee and delight cracking jokes about how it’s good to be king.

The rest of the week, we noticed, there were no special VIP lines.  Our punishment for the glee we felt during the boarding process was to have to wait in line with the little people for everything else all week long.  Oh, the humanity!

We spent time in the cruise ship bar.  Oh, look – there’s me again!

I got up solo and did karaoke!  I never had the nerve to do karaoke before, not going up there alone, but given that I knew no one and would never see those people again, I did it.  I sang Simon and Garfunkel’s Cecelia and I rocked it.  Seriously.  (If it shows up on Youtube and it’s determined by popular opinion that I didn’t really rock it, I’ll come back here and edit this post to say I crashed and burned.)

It was the vacation of bikini wearing.  I assume this is what is referred to as a bikini.  The bottoms were full-coverage and, really, that was by necessity.  Trust me on that.  Still, it felt pretty good to be rocking a 2-piece suit for the first time since I was a little kid.

It was, also, the vacation of topless sun-bathing.  OH YES I DID!  I did that on Miami’s South Beach, before the cruise.  The beach itself was not a topless beach, but there were plenty of sunbathers doing it.  And, yes, if they all were jumping off a bridge, I just might have joined them at that too – IF bridge-jumping was something on my bucket list!

It was the vacation of the private cabana at the beach in Honduras.  The cabana had a hammock and lounge chairs and waitstaff service.  Oh, look – there I am again!  And again!

 

There was a security person who worked the row of private cabanas who would shoo off any interlopers who came from the public beach area and tried to use our chairs.  We had a few people who just wanted to use the hammock for a minute, to take a picture.  I thought we should charge $2.00, but then Bill said if the women flashed him, he’d let them take the photo for free.  See how generous we are to the little people??

It was the vacation of ice cream cones and books and good music from my iPod.  It was the vacation of no phone and no TV and no Blackberry and no Internet.  It was the vacation of eating and sleeping and gambling and relaxing and shopping and reading.

It was the vacation of me looking adorable.

 

Oh, and yeah – he was there too:

And we were even together in a photo occasionally:

 

 

YOU don’t assume I’m an idiot.  I like that about you.

The other night, my husband told me “Alexander Haig died.”

“Aw.  That’s too bad.” I said.  “He was the dad from the Hannah Montana show, right?”

He looked at me like I was the biggest moron on planet Pluto.  (It is TOO a planet!  I refuse to diminish its planetude just because of some fussy scientists who probably don’t even know who Hannah Montana is!!  There are bigger things than just science, right?  There is pop-culture to consider!  There is a principal at steak here!!!)

(See?  You totally knew I was joking because I know it’s a principle at stake, right?  Geez.  Not YOU, too??  I’m doomed.)

Of COURSE I know that Alexander Haig was not the dad from the Hannah Montana show.  Because that’s Billy Ray Cyrus.

I told my husband “God, you think I’m such an idiot.  Of course I know he’s not the dad on Hannah Montana.”

“Who was he then?” he asked.

“Oh, look – downhill skiing.  Shush.  I’m watching the OLYMPICS.”  Some people are so uncultured.”

I carved out time the next day to quickly look up Alexander Haig.  He was an adviser to three presidents.  (In case you didn’t know.) (But you totally probably did because you’re so smart.) (Unlike some people.)

That night in bed, he was all up in my grill.  My husband, that is.  Not Alexander Haig because, dude, he’s dead.  That would be pretty creepy.  My husband is all snuggly and cuddly and he was just stealing all my oxygen.  I said “You’re stealing my oxygen and leaving me with nothing but yucky breathed-out carbon monoxide.”

Once again, he looked at me like he was considering pulling the plug.  “Did you mean carbon dioxide?” he asked.

“HE WAS AN ADVISER TO THREE PRESIDENTS!” I screamed.  Fuck him, you know?  Two can play at this game.

That took him back for a minute.  “Oh.” he said.  “You’re answering the question from yesterday?”

DUH. (Some people just aren’t that bright.  You have to be patient with them.)

“Which three?” he asked.

“I will not dignify that question with a response. Good NIGHT, sir!” I said, and then for good measure, I added “I said GOOD NIGHT, sir.”

In a huff, I turned over and went to sleep.  Radically.

Today, I carved out a few minutes to learn – Nixon, Carter, and Reagan.  So I’m ready.  All day, I’ve been reciting in my head: nixon, carter, reagan, nixon, carter, reagan, nixoncarterreagan.  I’m ready.

I can imagine how this is going to play out.  I’ll be ready, waiting for him to misunderstand my advanced sense of humor (a burden, truly) so I can put him in his place.  Nixoncarterreagan!

I’m just hoping that door doesn’t open during an inopportune moment.

“Oooh, ooooh, oooh – who does it for you, baby??” he’ll ask during sexy-time.

“NIXON, CARTER, REAGAN!” I’ll scream, which is a lie because, duh, it’s Billy Ray.