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. 

What's in a name...

...technically, nothing. As we all know, a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, bla bla, bla. Obviously, Shakespeare never had to debate the whole name-changing debacle when he got married, or else that famous line might have read something like, "A rose by any other name will probably not smell just as sweet, as the use of a different name will most likely set us up for a completely different nasal experience. We may, in fact, mistakenly assume it for another flower, or insist that it's now a tree."

I never had a problem explaining the "Yes, Hi! I'm Mrs. Married, but at work, I'd like to be Dr. Maiden", until, well, you guessed it. Until I moved here. Here apparently being the land that is still stuck in the 1950s, also known as rural Georgia. I had never considered the apparently incredible complications of adopting my husband's name when we got married, but maintaining my maiden name at work, until my arrival in the land of Dixie, mainly because, well, there never were any complications.

But when I arrived at my current workplace, you'd have thought I had just proposed to alter the laws of gravity, the way various bosses and managers stared and complained when I insisted on being called "Dr. Maiden". I smiled a lot, nodded, but persisted. And won. Well, sort of, as some databases have me listed as Dr. Maiden Name, while others have opted for the "we're not quite sure about this, but OK" option of Dr. Maiden Name-Married Name, and the IT department opted to just stick with "Mrs. Maiden name", no matter what I told them.

After three years of this mess, I decided I was tired of fighting the battle, and constantly explaining myself. I was going to just go with the flow and hyphenate my last name. So when I finally got around to putting in my citizenship application a few months ago, I indicated that I wanted to change my last name to Maiden Name-Married Name. And no, I wasn't giving in, thankyouverymuch, I was merely joining the crowd of American feminists who had also opted to hyphenate their last names. In fact, hyphenating my last name, I told myself, would be even more of a kick in the face of establishment. You see, people have mistaken my, very international, maiden name for my married name (going as far as to refer to husband-dear as Mr. Maiden name), but by hyphenating, I was making it very clear I was a truly independent woman. You know, someone's who's this far from burning her bra and ceasing all shaving activities altogether.

But over the past few weeks, I've started thinking. And you know what? I really don't like the idea of hyphenating. At all. Sorry to all of you who do hyphenate. I think your last names are awesome, and you rock. But I'm not sure if it's for me. First of all, it makes my last name something like eighteen characters long. Eighteen characters people. Not only is that ridiculously long, but it will mean that on every single reservation, the last few letters of my married name will get cut off. I don't see that facilitating my daily existence any. Second, there is the pesky little problem that most computer systems, especially those used by airlines, still don't recognize the hyphen, which means your beautifully hyphenated last name into a weird amalgam of two names. Not to mention the battle you will then be fighting to check in online, check in using a kiosk, or check in at all (trust me, if the airline employee is dim enough, it is possible). And third, I don't like the sound of my two last names strung together. I just don't. Sorry.

So, guess what? I'm not hyphenating. I'm not changing my last name. I am going to keep my legal last name as my married name, and work under my married name. And yes, that's going to keep on sucking. But I'm OK with that. I will keep fighting the battle, and no, I don't really care how annoying that is. I am Mrs. Married name and Dr. Maiden name, and anyone who can't handle that can kiss my maiden/married hiney.

There.

Sapphires and fires

"tsapphire, tsapphire, an I can poot it ow-d"

My brother likes discovering new artists. When he finds someone he really likes, he usually sends me a copy of their CD for Christmas or my birthday. Besides being grateful for any gift (you know, horse, mouth, and all that), I generally really do appreciate this, as it keeps me informed of what's "hot" in Holland, gives me something besides NPR to listen to on my way to work, and, at times, helps me find artists I, or husband-dear, really like. The only down side I can think of is that whenever he sends me a CD I absolutely love, I can't download the music on my IPod, because the Dutch music industry is so completely neurotically obsessed with the prevention of illegal downloads that every Dutch CD has some sort of technological doohicky on it that doesn't allow you to copy its contents to your computer. Not very helpful when you live overseas, where you can't access Dutch Itunes, and your American Itunes has no idea who "Trijntje Oosterhuis" or "Acda en de Munnink" are.

Anyway, this past Christmas, he sent me a CD by a Dutch artist. Who sings in English. I can't recall her name right now, but it was something obviously made up, like Lois Lane, or Lane Kim, or Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. And immediately, I knew. This is someone from a tiny little town somewhere in Holland, who's always dreamed of becoming a famous American performer. And who wants nothing more than to sound like an American singer. But who, in reality, well, just doesn't.

And in case you think I'm being really snooty right now - the quote at the top of my blog? That's her. I spend half an hour this morning wondering what the heck she was singing about (sapphires? pain? a woman named Ann?), when I finally realized she's trying to say, "It's a fire, it's a fire, and I can't put it out".

You're welcome.

It went on like this throughout every song on the CD. Every gerund (wanting, waiting, loving, pouring), lost its "g", which, unless you want to sound like Carrie Underwood or Martina McBride (not the sound she was going for, trust me), is just odd. She didn't seem to care much for "t's" either, as these disappeared off the ends of words as well. "You" was consistently turned into "ya", which might work in hip hop, but not in the soul-blues sound she was aiming for, while her "can'ts" sounded more like "cans", and her "and's" sounded like "Anns".

Now I realize that Americans like to drawl and slur their words together. They do. I do. But the slurring is a lot more elusive than you might think. We don't just randomly slur stuff together, there is actually something method to the madness. Our "can't", no matter how country you are, definitely sounds different from our "can" (it's in the sound of the "a" mostly), while "you" is not always turned into "ya", and, no we don't always drop all our g's. Or t's. Granted, "What do you want for dinner", might sound more like "whatchawan' for dinner", but when we sing Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, we don't end every sentence with "ya" instead of "you".

I am also well aware that poking fun at someone because of their accent is not cool. And, even though it might seem that way, it's not what I'm trying to do. Honestly. When I speak German, I have the worst Dutch accent, when I speak French, people think I'm Flemish, while, for some very odd reason, I sound really American when I attempt to speak Spanish. And I don't like it when people poke fun at me either, thank you very much. So, non-native speakers, I'm not bashing you. Really. In fact, I admire your ability to speak multiple languages, as most Americans don't get much beyond "tres enchiladas, por favor".

What I am saying is that if you want to sound like a native, you can't fake it, and you need to either do it right or leave it alone. It's like trying to sound southern when you're not. It sounds affected and unnatural. And very strange to native speakers.

So, shoutout to all Dutch performers: take voice lessons. From a native speaker. And stop dropping your freaking consonants.

Jus' Sayin' 

Het zwembad

Ik heb eens zitten kijken op dat blog van mij, en ik ben dus al bijna twee jaar aan het bakkeleien over een zwembad. Jawel, mijn eerste post over het wel of niet nemen van een zwembad was uit 2009. Hier om precies te zijn. En ondertussen is er nog steeds geen "echt" zwembad, en begint het opblaasbare alternatief straks aan zijn derde zomer. Eigenlijk wil ik nog best wel een zwembad. Maar eerlijk gezegd denk ik niet meer dat het er van gaat komen. Of we moeten de loterij winnen. En hoe komt dit nou zo ineens? Nou, die cruise dus (ja, daar komt ze weer met haar cruise).

Aan het einde van de vorige zomer heb ik de stoute schoenen aangetrokken, en een meneer van een lokaal zwembad-aanleg-bedrijf gevraagd om langs te komen voor een "estimate" zoals dat hier zo mooi heet. Nou, begin maar met zegeltjes sparen, want sjonge, wat daar allemaal niet bij komt kijken. Je denkt, een zwembad aanleggen, dat is toch alleen een zwembad aanleggen? Ja. En nee. Dit bedrijft rekende een prijs voor het aanleggen van het zwembad en de zoutwater pomp. Dit in tegenstelling voor alle andere bedrijven, die een apart bedrag rekenen voor de "pool liner", de pomp, en het trapje het zwembad in (alsof je zonder al die dingen kan, maar goed). Het lijkt netjes, denk je zo, maar dat valt dus nog best wel tegen.

De prijs voor een standaard maat zwembad is ongeveer $25k. Jawel. $25k. Daarvan kan een van de kinderen twee jaar studeren (mits hij naar een state college gaat, en mits hij een beurs wint). Maar goed, daar had ik al een beetje op gerekend, dus dit bedrag leidde niet tot een totale hartaanval. Maar ja, dan wil je natuurlijk ook betegeling om je zwembad heen. Een "deck" heet dat. Het zwembad zelf komt met 1.5voet deck aangeleverd. Anderhalve voet, dames en heren, is ongeveer 45cm. Daar kun je dus niks mee. Wil je er drie voet omheen hebben liggen, dan wordt dan $2k extra. Als je dan ook een terras (oftewel een patio) wil van datzelfde soort "cool touch" steen (en ja, dat wil je, want als je gewone steen neerlegt kun je in de zomer niet op je bloten voeten naar het zwembad lopen zonder tweedegraads verbrandingen, en laat je gras liggen, dan mag je de hele dag al het gras uit je zembad vissen) dan ben je weer een duizendje of anderhalf verder. Dan zit je dus op, laten we zeggen $28k.

Maar dan ben je er nog niet. Want om het zwembad aan te leggen wordt heel je tuin omgespit. Logisch. Maar ja, die graszoden moeten ook opnieuw gelegd worden. Laten we aardig zijn, en vijfhonderd dollar rekenen. En onze tuin komt, heel handig met een automatisch bewateringsysteem (de "sprinklers"), en ja, al die leidingen moeten natuurlijk ook omgelegd worden. En zo ben je weer duizend dollar verder. Het eind bedrag? Zo'n slordige dertigduizend dollar.

Dertigduizend dollar.

Als rasechte Hollander hoefde ik daar natuurlijk niet lang over na te denken. Dertigduizend dollar zeg. Daar kan ik mijn auto twee keer voor kopen (nou ja, bijna dan). Tel daar bij op dat we hier hoogstens (nou ja, hopelijk dan) nog vier jaar zitten, en dan is het wel een heel duur zwembadje.

Maar ja, dan ga je toch denken, en rekenen, en dingen zeggen als, "Wat als we nou heel hard gaan sparen?", en "Wat als we een nieuwe auto iets langer uitstellen", en "Het is toch wel lekker in de zomer", maar ook "Nee, dat is veel te duur."

En dan ga je op een cruise. Een geweldige, fantastische cruise. En zodra je van de boot afstapt weet je zeker dan nog een keer met een cruise wil. Misschien nog wel twee keer. Of drie keer. En dan bedenk je dat dat stomme zwembad helemaal niet nodig is. Je hebt je redneck-opblaas-placebo-bad, en ach, over vier jaar gaan we toch weg.

Dat weet je zeker.

En dan wordt het weer warm. En schijnt de zon de hele dag. En wanneer manlief de tuinplannen voor dit seizoen met je bespreekt en vraagt, "So, a pool is out of the question then?", dan weet je het in een keer toch niet meer.

Maar toch, het is gewoon te duur. Het kan dus niet. Echt niet. Dat weet ik zeker. Denk ik.

Today spring break is truly over. Classes have started up again, and it's becoming harder and harder to imagine that last week around this time, I had swam with dolphins, eaten lunch on the patio of a small Mexican restaurant, walked along the Gulf coast, and was somewhere close to finishing another scrumptious dinner. Most importantly, I was completely relaxed. And for those of you who know me, that is a miracle in and of itself. Because there's always something to do.

Obviously, once I came home, the reality of articles that needed finished, papers that needed grading, and classes that needed prepped was waiting to smack me upside the head, and the whole feeling of relaxation went right out of the window. But before I get completely sucked into the insanity of the last half of the spring term, I'm going to wax lyrical about our cruise one last time. Just this once. I promise.

You see, I've evaluated every single vacation I've ever taken, and have had to come to the conclusion that this cruise is definitely in my top three, if not the top two. The other two steps are taken up by a week-long stay at a dude ranch and my two trips to Disney. And just in case you're wondering if I've never done anything more adventurous than that; I have. I did my fair share of backpacking, jungletrekking, trainriding and overnight busrides. And although all of these trips were absolutely amazing (including the gigantic Thai cockroaches and creepy Polish hotels), I don't think I've ever needed a break as much as I have now. And so the cruise probably just came at the right time. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter, my trip was so absolutely, positively, awesome, I thought I would inundate you with a few pictures too. And then I'll shut up about it and go back to griping as usual. Honestly.

 

 

Our home for the week - the Radiance of the Seas

 One of the two pools on board the ship - and there was nothing better than lounging by the pool with a book, a drink, and the sun

The "centrum"; the middle part of the ship, all the ship's restaurants, shops, bars, theaters were off this area, and it was great to wander around and look at people

The formal dinner made me feel all pretty :)

And then there was always your cozy and comfortable stateroom to return to

Which got even cozier at night

And DC did lots and lots of reading, just because she doesn't do enough of that at work

And who wouldn't want to wake up to a sunrise like this one?

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?