Author: kbtwomey

Captain’s Log-Day 10. European Vacation.

Traveling in Relative Hell.

We are back on land in Bloody ol’ London. Today, we started out at the Winston Churchill War Rooms viewing what life was like in his bunker. Strangely, it took me back to this past week that Scott and I were crammed into small living quarters with my Mom and sisters. Sure Churchill and his ministers endured the bombing of London and the blitzkrieg while holed up underground, but we had to endure nightly dinner time entertainment like the baked Alaska dance; which is suspiciously like the waiters from 55 countries promenade. (Of course, in Bratislava, Algiers, Latvia etc., the ship’s bunker-like quarters are known as the Presidential Palace in their guttural languages). Much like Churchill and the Brits dealt with famine and food shortages as they mapped out their strategies, we had to wait at least 47 minutes between shipboard meals and once they even ran out peppercorn sauce for the beef. We next went to high tea where my Mom and Dev ate sandwiches that match the skin tone of most Brits. It’s hard to think that the revolution started over some soggy Tetley tea bags. Next, we were off to Harrod’s shopping and food hall. Everything looked so unique and tasty that Lauren almost ate a tote bag by mistake. It took six Bobbys and the jaws of life to extricate Dev from the designer purse section. Scott’s last day is tomorrow, as he will leave our “bunker” a day ahead of us unless he gets Stockholm Syndrome and stays. Having left Norway and Denmark, it tends to be a diluted version of the syndrome so instead of identifying with one’s captors, Scott will likely just volunteer for another cruise with in-law Jews.

Captain’s Log-Day 11. European Vacation.

Traveling in Relative Hell.

I started my day realizing that since I didn’t pack a full tube of toothpaste and have been sparingly using the squeezed out remains of my Crest flattened tube that I’m in serious peril of being identified as a native Brit, as my chiclets are starting to take on an English cheddar teeth hue. We started the day on the Thames on a river cruise taking in all the sites. We saw Big Ben, but that’s only what they called the large gay man in the assless chaos marching in the London Pride parade. He kept asking Scott if he’d like to see his clock tower. London was packed in celebration of Pride. While I fully support and am happy to celebrate lifestyle choices, after being stuck in cab for 1 1/2 hours, I wished I had shown my support at the Lancaster, PA Pride Parade instead. (That one is basically meeting an Amish guy who had a gay waiter while on Rumspringa and raising a rainbow colored barn). We enjoyed Borough Market and Covent Garden. Those crazy Brits didn’t even have a garden there or a big top at Piccadilly Circus. Fortunately, I was less literal with the bangers and mash. As he returns home tomorrow, Scott decided to stay closer to Heathrow at a hostile. It’s actually a Sheraton, but since his rage bubbles so ever present near the surface, his presence makes any hotel into a hostile. As for me, I look forward to sleeping on the diagonal in a King size bed (which is the closest Prince Charles gets to being King)

Captain’s Log-Day 12. European Vacation.

Traveling in Relative Hell.

Today was our last day of the trip, which we started watching the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace. Although we arrived early, it got crowded fast, but that was no deterrent for Dev using her injured knee and pushy demeanor to score a front row view for herself, while Lauren and I entered into the crowd olympics with people of many cultures. The Gold medal for elbowing and standing in others personal space goes to China, while we were no match for the Japanese Team, who easily walked away with the Gold for inserting their selfie sticks in other individual’s selfie space. Meanwhile, Dev (Hop-a-long Audacity) watched the happenings offering 3 inches of space at the fence to Lauren, who not being road kill that could fit flattened into that space, politely declined. All Lauren and I saw of the ceremony was one guard named Niles switching places with another named Roger, but for all we knew we might have been at a high school marching band competition. After going into Piccadilly, we saw a Beatles cover band in Trafalgar Square. Interestingly, I saw evidence of the 5th Beatle, who tried to blend into the background playing the keyboards shirking the mop-top wigs that his faux senior citizen bandmates wore. We closed the day at participating in a wheelchair exchange customary program, in which if you push a famous person in a wheelchair, a celebrity (Julia Roberts visiting Notting Hill) pushes your mom. Now for the long trek back across the pond. Cheerio for now!

Captain’s Log-Day 13. European Vacation.

Traveling in Relative Hell.

Our final post revolves around security. As we awoke 22 hours ago to meet our driver for our morning flight, we felt ill at ease when said driver was late and unreachable for 25 minutes. The bellman fortunately got us a cab, then our long-term relationship with airport security began. Aside from my Mom’s titanium rod in her shoulder and Kaplan women’s underwire bras being a potential harbinger for the next blitzkieg, I was patted so much by security that I think I’m now dating an officious British woman who can rock a pair of striped polyester uniform pants. I neglected to be quality control for my mother and sisters’ carry-ons. I think they thought the travel “don’t” illustrations were a packing schematic as their carry-ones contained scissors, razors, shampoos, creams, ointments, and some lovely preserves. Keep calm and carry-on doesn’t apply to security checking their carry-ons for 25 minutes, of which 10 were the start of boarding at our gate advertised as a 15-minute walk away. Once free to leave, I pushed my mom in a wheelchair with 2 carry-ons by the handles and a backpack on my back, while Dev Hopalong had a walker, and Lauren (the other pack mule) carried Dev’s 2 other carry-ons. Of course, we couldn’t take escalators with Mom’s hot wheels and had to walk to the far recesses of each concourse to find the “lifts”. As we entered the B concourse, they announced final boarding for our flight, so I ran with the wheelchair, my Mom, and her baggage figuring my ensuing heart attack would create enough of a diversion to let the three of them board much like a WWII movie where the dying comrade croaks “Save yourself, go without me” before dying. We just made the flight. Luckily, my Mom left her C4 explosives at home or we never would’ve made it. As I drop my Mom and Lauren off for their trip back to Florida tomorrow, I’m going to sign over my 401k to the nearest sky cap, who offers to check them through without my help. Until next time…

Captain’s Log-Day 2. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with the Ancient.

Traveling with an Ancient-My Mom forgets all her meds, several of which cannot be abruptly stopped. I call the Walgreens across the street, but the most needed one required a new script. She gives me her Dr.’s cell #. It’s Toyota of Coconut Creek. She gives me her dr.’s office #, it says it’s disconnected, since it’s the wrong number again. The awesome Dr. Warren J Wexelman helped me and a heart attack at sea is prevented.

Captain’s Log-Day 3. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with the Ancient.

We are in Key West. As we passed the many tourist traps hawking skin rejuvenation, my almost 86 year old mother, who wears her wrinkles proudly and whose skin’s elasticity might be compared to the equivalent retained by my panty hose after a long day on the trade show floor, was twice called my sister by these sales people. In terms of salesmanship, it’s quite devious in flattering the old person, while subtly getting me to spend my entire 401k on moisturizer due to the intended diss. However, they didn’t know who they were dealing with, as I’ve already embraced my puppet mouth and kitty ass lips, while my mom told each of them that to remove her wrinkles at this point, she’d have more success in Home Depot buying spackle. We didn’t even get t-shirts to commemorate the stop.

Captain’s Log-Day 4. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with the Ancient.

We are adrift at sea. We have nothing to survive on, but gluttonous buffets and 3rd world entertainment. There’s not a Thurston or Lovie Howell to be seen. Often people say that on a cruise the entertainment is just like Broadway and it’s like dining in a 4-star restaurant every night. Well, if Bratislava’s winner of Eastern Block Idol is your equivalent to Patty Lupone and you tend to be the person who rates a McDonald’s 3 1/2 stars in Yelp, then that’s a spot on assessment. Last night’s show featured excerpts from Oklahoma performed by Bulgarians, Slovakians, and Belarusians, as the theater’s fourth wall tumbled with the end of communism rendering it merely into a surrey with the fringe on top. I have dutifully tolerated these “Broadway (above Washington Heights) Reviews, as my Mom loves the big production values, which haven’t been used by the producers since they launched Sputnik. In reality, we are enjoying ourselves, despite the cheesiness of the shows. Although, I think I’d dig Thurston Howell’s musical rendition of Hamlet vs. tomorrow night’s fare.

Captain’s Log-Day 5. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with an Ancient.

We spent the day in Cozumel at a Mayan ruin. Well, it wasn’t a true ruin, just a run down all-inclusive hotel. I can’t wait until my Ancestry.com results come back, as I think being part Mayan could explain why my 4’10” mother towered over the hotel staff. My Mom believes that she speaks Spanish and since she speaks to all strangers incessantly, she either speaks to them in over exaggerated English saying sentences like “food good. We like” or blurts random incorrect Spanish words to them like “Bolsa” pointing to someone lugging a suitcase or “Amarillo” pronounced with the double LL sound vs. a y sound to someone eating cantaloupe. I so enjoyed being the recipient of manic patting on my head whenever a child was nearby, as she kept repeating to the frightened child that I’m her bambina. I’m sure the Mexicans think she has the Benjamin Button disease, as she blurts out random words like an angry toddler, who has a faulty straw in their juice box. Then, to our dismay, the buffet wasn’t Mexican food, so she didn’t get her Kesso-Dilly-Ya. When she ordered guacamole, her pronunciation sounded more like “Whack-a-mole” causing hundreds of Mexican landscapers to come running with clubs and pick axes looking for day labor only to lose out on a day’s wage to a ripe avocado. Most importantly, we made it back to the ship on time taking a taxi, which my mom aptly called a taxi en espanol. Hace una dia mas.

Captain’s Log-Day 6. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with the Ancient.

Well, it’s the last day of the cruise, as we arrive back in the morning. I can only hope that I’m the winner of the fine art auction in the gallery. God knows that I won’t be able to add to my priceless collection built from Holiday Inn Art auctions unless I bid appropriately for “Bow Wow!,” a study of dogs playing poker. I discovered an exciting new artist, our Filipino cabin steward, who’s medium is white cotton towels. I’ve commissioned a towel penguin for this evening’s art installation.

Speaking of fare, there’s no end to this trip without speaking of the 5-star cuisine. In fact, I think that’s a cat food brand being launched by Royal Caribbean. There’s so many buffets of lardonous food being served to lard asses that I actually heard someone say, “Well, of course I’m hungry. I only had one lunch today.” I’m not sure what some of the buffet items were, but I think I may have sampled a curry made from a missing Sri Lankan busboy. As a byproduct of the starchy meals, the kids on board are able to climb a solid methane rock wall on the lido deck above the cafe. We’ve had some exotic dining experiences, as we were instructed in the Italian restaurant to use their Italian butter, which we landlubbers call olive oil. Of course, on the formal night, our hillbilly tablemates were thrilled to receive a present with their lobster tail wrapped in cheese cloth, which suspiciously resembled a lemon slice to those of us who’ve dined in a restaurant before that was not adorned with Golden Arches.

Finally, while we expected to travel with 2200 others, I have no doubt that we traveled with 3 stowaway families, known as the Legionnaires, the Noroviruses, and the Salmonella’s (no relation to Liza). Like Columbus, who sailed in the Caribbean, I have no doubt that we were colonized this week. While we all were instructed to washy-washy with Purell before each meal, I have no doubt that there is no lack of booger-picking children left unattended by their glassy-eyed drink package maximizing parents to ensure that my so-called plain pizza had trace loogies from their spawns’ dirty little fingers. Next stop on my itinerary will be a Silkwood shower with a Cipro chaser.

Time to head out to the final show, a Christmas extravaganza. I can’t wait to hear my favorites like “Vite Chridmus” and “Flosty the Snowman” from the Glasnost Singers. Merry Christmas and smooth sailing in 2017!