Normal

I know the whole "hey, we went on a cruise!" thing is getting old, but a) I promise this will be the very last time I bring it up, and b) you will just love how I manage to whine  throughout the post anyway. And we know that's why you all come here. To read about my complaining, pouting, and just all-around "the glass isn't half full, it's more like 9/10ths empty" misery.

Anyway, I wanted to spend one last post telling you all about what I really liked about the cruise. Besides the kick-a** view, the sunshine, and the awesome excursions. What I really liked best is that I felt normal. Just normal. I wasn't different from anyone on board that ship. Or if I was, it was just as different as everyone else. And I don't think I've felt that normal since we moved to Georgia.

Yes, since June of 2007, I have felt like a sore thumb. And for those of you who think I'm exaggerating, let's run down the list. First, except for Mary, I am the only woman among my acquaintances, who actually holds down a job. Seriously. Of the twenty or so women I socialize with, I am the only one who is gainfully employed. I don't mean to underestimate the pressures of homeschooling or childrearing, but the bottom line is that I am the only who goes to the dry cleaner for things other than their husband's blues. I am the only who dresses up during the week, and down on the weekend. Once again, except for Mary, I'm the only one who complains about bosses, co-workers, and budget cuts.
Second, I'm not a die-hard conservative, and I do not know the bible back to front either. Do I really need to tell you I'm the only one?
And finally, the baby thing. Of course, the baby thing. Because, again, except for Mary (and thank God for Mary), I am possibly the only woman in the entire town who does not tote around a diaper bag and/or snacks, wet wipes, or the latest Dora toy.

Don't get me wrong; I do anything but revel in this. You all know I would love to have a baby. I don't think we need to go there. I wish I was OK with just staying at home, and dang, if only I could learn to love Glenn Beck/Jerry Falwell/Mike Huckabee, I would fit in so much better around here. I'm serious. I don't like being different. I just want to fit in.

But on the cruise, that's exactly what I did. Our dinner companions were from Washington state and New Jersey, and thought I was from another planet when I mentioned how our county is dry on Sunday. Both women had serious careers, and no one wanted to pray before dinner. Everyone had traveled all over the world, and not while TDY either. There were people with kids on the ship, but there were plenty of people without them too. And the ones who had brought their kids didn't talk about them all day long either. There were female officers with more responsibility than I can ever imagine, and no one asked me where "Holland" was, or if that was part of Denmark or somehow related to Amsterdam.

So, yes, I felt normal. And it was awesome. As I told husband-dear on our last night on our trip, it took me this long to realize that just because I'm different, doesn't mean it's me. I'm not weird. Or at least, not abnormally weird. Yes, I'm different than almost everyone at home, but it's not me.

Not that that realization helps me fix anything. But at least now we know that if the whole "I'm different" thing gets too much, all we need to do is take a cruise. Easy as pie. 

Packing adventures

Growing up, the Love Boat was probably one of my favorite shows. I thought Julie the cruise director had the coolest job in the universe, and never understood why all the ladies seemed to find the doctor so attractive, while Gopher was obviously the most handsome crew member on board. And then of course, there were the love stories, the (poor) attempts at humor, and the awesome outfits everyone always seemed to wear to dinner.

Obviously, none of the above really applies to a real cruise. There are no perky ship doctors (at least not that I know of), and no unrequited love between the cruise director and other shipmates (I saw the cruise director, you can trust me on this one). Nothing except for the awesome outfits people wear to dinner. Dinnertime on the cruise was when, as husband-dear put it, the ship was filled with nothing but gorgeous people.

Looking gorgeous at dinnertime obviously requires some work, which is not in the least reflected by the amount of clothes one has to pack when going on a cruise. Let me tell you, packing for a cruise is business. Serious business. You can't just throw some random outfits into a carry on and go, no, you need to think about it. Really think about it. Like, make a list and lay your stuff out, and color coordinate outfits think about it.

First, there are dress codes on board the ship. Although you are more than welcome to wander through the pool area in the tiniest bikini you could find at Victoria Secret, the minute you set foot inside the ship, you are expected to cover it up (can we have a Hallelujah?). And if you want to grab a bite to eat, you'll have to put on shorts, a shirt, and some sort of shoewear. And it doesn't matter if you're just wanting a quick burger from the buffet, no shirt/shorts/shoes, no service. And no, cute little Mexican sun dresses that barely reach the top of your teeny-tiny-polka-dot-bikini don't count.

Second, if you want to eat dinner in the main dining room, you're expected to look nice. And just to help out some of our less-aware dressers, the cruise line provides you with a list of "acceptable clothes". So if the dress code is "casual", ladies can wear slacks (no jeans!), or a nice skirt, a shirt (no t shirts!), and closed shoes. If the dress code is "smart casual", ladies are expected to wear skirts and heels. And then there is the formal night, the one night where everyone is expected to dress to the nines (ladies: long gowns, men: dark suits or tuxedos).

Now don't get me wrong, there are no dress code nazis lurking in every corner of the ship, but the glares and stares of people if you do stray from the dress code are enough to make the most dense rebel blush.

So let's do the math together. Let's say it's a sea day (a day spent at sea, surprise, surprise). Let's say you're lazy, and you order in room service for breakfast, followed by a spa appointment. That's one outfit right there. Lunch can be done in the same outfit, but then when you want to go hang out by the pool, that's outfit number two. An hour before dinner means it's time to change, and if you want to walk around the deck, or go see a show after dinner, you'll probably change back to something a little more casual. That's three outfits in one day, not counting any trips to the fitness center or the rock climbing wall. A day at a port is not a whole lot better, as most people do want to splash in the pool after returning from shore, right before they have to get ready for dinner again. Six days at sea, three outfits a day, that's eighteen outfits for those of you who have been counting. And the ship does not offer free laundry.

Let's just say we brought a lot of stuff with us, and it's a good thing we could drive to Tampa as opposed to fly.

The good news? There's two pieces of good news. One, staterooms have more storage space than you will ever need in your entire life. A walk in closet, cabinets in the bathroom, six drawers in your room, and several sets of shelves craftily hidden away behind mirrors and hidden doors. And two? Cruise ships don't care how much luggage you take on board. When I called to ask for a weight limit, the agent actually had no idea, and after some cajoling came up with, "Well, maybe 200 pounds? I mean, it has to be reasonable, you know."

So yes, packing for a cruise is quite the adventure on its own. And it's a nice one!

Return from the nation of why not

For those of you who were really proud of me for turning off my computer for a whole week, and who are now disappointed because I posted before the week was over...I have a confession to make. The reason I was offline for the past six days was not because of some high-minded purpose, or because my eyes needed a break. No, I have to admit, I kind of made that up. The reason I haven't been online is because husband-dear and I went on a cruise.

Yes, a cruise. And by ourselves too. Just the two of us. Let the record state that we haven't done that since we got married. Or so we think. We're not entirely sure, actually. It's been so long since we went on a trip by ourselves that we really can't remember our last trip together. We actually called it our second honeymoon, and a second honeymoon, of course, does not involve internet (although the fact that it was ridiculously expensive to use played a considerable part as well).

For someone who prides herself on being the eternal critic, I have to admit that for the past six days, I walked around in what could be best described as a daze. A very happy, pink, sun-filled, cloud-free, slightly rocky, daze. And I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but everything about the cruise was absolutely perfect. We had a beautiful suite, two wonderful ports of call, awesome excursions, excellent pool time, great dinners, several sunny and glorious sea days, and spent the entire six days walking around the ship, wondering how on earth they managed to keep it looking this good (and in case you wondered, yes, they do actually have people who do nothing but windex all the glass on board, and other people still who do nothing else but polish all the silver signs and numbers throughout the ship).

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that in case you're expecting a sarcastic post about how cruises are overrated, a definite waste of money, and a really terrible way to spend your time, I'm going to have to disappoint you. In fact, I should probably warn you that I was planning on spending the next dew days rehashing the entire cruise for your reading pleasure.

But since I know you're probably convinced I can come up with something, I'll end with the one thing that was less than ideal: sea-legs. You know, sea-legs, also known as the ability to walk on a moving vessel without the movement bothering your gait, or shampoo your hair in a windowless bathtub without falling over when the ship decides to pitch from one side to the other.

Anyway, the problem with sea-legs as far as I'm concerned is that, once you've left the ship, it takes your body a day or so to lose them. On board, the slight rocking and jarring didn't bother me at all. We were rocked to sleep every night, and learned to run along the outdoor track as though we were running on trails. Easy as pie. Even when the captain told us they were expecting some rougher waters due to an unfortunate combination of the current wanting to push the ship one way, and the wind wanting to push it the other, I barely noticed anything. The only times we noticed that the ship was rocking a little more than usual was when open cabinet doors started closing on their own, and when we joined a spinning class, and cycling uphill was a lot harder when the bow came down. But ever since I got off board this morning, my body has just been, well, confused. I have a wave in my step that just doesn't seem to agree with the solidity of the earth, and my body keeps correcting for nonexistent rolling.

I actually think it might be possible that I'm suffering from land-sickness. Do you think ginger ale would help cure that?