Discere Mutari Est.

I'm kind of ready to go back to school. Then I realized: this is technically my last year of school.

What in pluperfect hell am I going to DO with myself when I don't have August to look forward to in the midst of work???

Riding in cars with pugs.

I totally pulled a Britney Spears and did this with Bixby today.
Don't tell the po-po.


ETA: He did have a doggy seatbelt on. He just got really scared when I turned on the radio, so he came into my lap. NO BIGGIE, RIGHT??

"Time, time, time...see what's become of me??"

"I used to rule the world,
Seas would rise when I gave the word.
Now in the morning I sleep alone,
Sweep the streets I used to own.

I used to roll the dice,
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes,
Listen as the crowd would sing,
"The old king is dead, long live the king!"

One minute I held the key,
Next the walls were closed on me,
And I discovered that my castles stand,
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand."


Even though it's the most overplayed song EVER, I love those lyrics. And I still like the song. I once heard an a capella version that made me want to cry.

Anyway.




I'm not entirely sure what happened, but somewhere along the way I lost the ability to manage my time. I have zero time management skills anymore. I feel like I am constantly going, constantly moving, constantly doing, but nothing is ever really getting done (kinda like the White House...ba dum PSSSHHH!). I am tired all the time, and I always wish I had another 12 hours in every day to accomplish things, even though 24 is more than sufficient (in fact, it's perfect. It's one of my favorite numbers because it's even and a multiple of four. Don't ask...even I don't get it).

So my goal this week is to get balance back into my life. I'm usually really good at that. The twelve year old me would scoff at how lackadaisical I've become with life in general. And I don't approve of that.

I keep a planner. I'm really picky about my planners--must have the full month and the day by day, but the month squares must be large enough for me to write in, so must the daily squares, but it must be small enough to fit in my purse, and no time slots. Y'know, when they're like 7am: 8am: 9am:. Give me a break. No one plans out every hour of their life. So anyway, the planner. And I usually decoupage the cover with various cuttings from magazine and newspapers and stuff. And I fold every other page with the corner facing up and every other page with the corner facing down, so they fold up neatly and make a neat triangle.






ANYWAY, OMG. I need to start employing mine better. I need to balance out work, social life, familial obligations, and general responsibilities.

And you know you've reached that point when you have to pencil in "Relax." Because I have, and that shouldn't be on my to-do list.

So this week my goal is to re-arrange time. Specifically, my time. I need to use the time I have off work more effectively, probably getting done responsible stuff like laundry, cleaning and getting my finances in order. Next should come familial obligations. I feel like since my parents still let me live in their house, the least I can do is oblige them to go to things they want me to and attend dinner with them a few times a week. The last thing, sadly, on my priorities list is my social life. Thank God I only actually hang out with like three people, otherwise I simply couldn't schedule you all in.

I jest, of course. If you want to hang out, Facebook me.

And overarching all of that is the Obstacle. Usually the Obstacle is school. Now it's work. So I have to manage all of that in addition to my work schedule. It's like juggling.

Which I always wanted to learn to do. *_~



AND NOW BACK TO REALITY.

Work is good. Family is fine. I saw Bethany today and it made me happy.

Bixby is doing well! Chichi has finally warmed up to him just a little bit. She's always been standoffish, so we knew this was coming. But I think they'll be okay. Millie's a little snarly. It's the whole pack order being in a state of utter disarray and all that. In a few months they'll be fine. He's ADORABLE. And kind of smart. I'm teaching him to "Sit" and he's doing a really good job considering he's two months old. If time will allow, I'd like to take him to Puppy School at PetSmart. Mostly so he can get a little graduation cap. AWWWW. I love him. And he loves me.

All is right with the world.



PS: For all who were wondering, no, Sherman and Bix don't interact. Bix is still a little pouncy and rambunctious, and he thinks Sherman is a live-action chew toy. I don't want Sherman getting hurt and then biting Bixby. Because he totally would. He fought off Millie once...dude is FEARLESS. Maybe one day when they're both older and a little more subdued they can play. For now, they're content to look at each other through the wires of Sherman's cage.

And he's happy, too, in case you were wondering. I haven't just up and left the Shermanator. :)

Concerning hobbits pugs.

So up until two days ago I knew NOTHING about pugs except that they are really cute and supposedly energetic and hilarious.

All of which are 100% true.

I loves me some flat-faced bulldog breeds, but part of my reticence with pugs is the fact that they're not related to bulldogs at all, despite the flat faces. They're more related to Shih-Tzu's and Pekinese. And I'm like "meh" about both of those breeds.

Here's what I didn't know.

They're actually most closely related to English Mastiffs. Like Hagrid's dog Fang. This makes total sense, because if you blew a pug up like 10 times, it'd be a mastiff. Fawn fur, black face, tail. Everything. That's HARDCORE.

Yet. Like the bully breeds that I so love, they have that stocky build--heavy in the shoulders, square head, flat face and what I call "the mushroom nose." Observe.



SAME, Y/Y??? Sassy had an adorable mushroom nose, and so does Bixby. I LOVE IT.

Also, loads of famous powerful people throughout history had pugs. Like Genghis Khan (LOL), Marie Antoinette, Josephine and Napoleon (she used her pug, Fortune, to send secret messages to Napoleon. THAT IS AWESOME), Voltaire, Queen Victoria (who had like, 25), Winston Churchill, Andy Warhol and Valentino (not really an emperor. Just in fashion. WHICH COUNTS). JUST to name a few. A pug supposedly saved the life of William the Silent (lol, it would suck to be known for being SILENT). They were popular with sailors and pirates for their antics and trade-ability ("I'll give you this flintlock if you give me that ridiculous looking animal").

Some ridiculous art featuring pugs:







Valentino, "The Last Emperor," and his pugs.



And of course, my favorite. Kirsten Dunst as Marie Antoinette and her pug. :)


No, I don't think I'll start running around in powdered wigs and lugging Bixby with me everywhere. Still.

Now you're all educated! YAY FOR LEARNING.

"Pugs are the pets of nobility, snobs, and old maids."

I guess I'm all of the above. *_~


I haven't written in a few days, in part due to hectic work schedules, but in other part due to some exciting news.

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have the honor of introducing to you...Bixby.



Now, in my sordid fantasies, Bixby was a cream-colored female French bulldog. Well, Frenchies run anywhere from $1500 to $3000. I just don't have that money. And even if I did, I should probably be spending it on, y'know, an APARTMENT and not puppies.

Enter a breeder my mom located who was selling pug pups for EXTREMELY affordable prices. Now, it's always been Michael who wanted a pug. He and my mom have been looking at pug puppies for a couple of weeks now, and I was just "meh" about it. Even though it's been almost a year since I lost Sassy, that wound STILL hurts and I wasn't quite ready to get a new puppy.

The thing is, Bix was ready for me.

Everything lined up really quickly and smoothly and it felt like one of those things where the stars just aligned at the right time and everything fell together perfectly. My mom went and saw Bix's litter, and right away, out of the five puppies there, he walked right up, made eye contact, and sat IN HER PURSE. He's like, "Yeah, I'm ready to go home with you now." She didn't bring him home that night, but she did come home and ask if I wanted to go see him. I said no.

I know, right?

I just...I didn't feel ready. I felt like there would be too many comparisons to Sassy and he wasn't, after all, female, blonde, or French (now I sound like a frat douche, lol). I really had my heart set on another female. Stupidly. My mom gave me 15 minutes to decide, because she had told the breeder she'd be by Tuesday morning to pick him up. She's like, "You can either say yes and we'll go or say no and I'll call and tell them to sell him." So I thought.

And I figured, you know what. I've been secretly wishing for a new puppy since Christmas. Even if he IS a boy, here's the deal. That differentiates him enough from Sassy to the point where I wouldn't CONSTANTLY be comparing the two of them. That's not fair to him, and it's not fair to me either, because as much as I want her back, it's never gonna happen. I can search the world twice over and I would never get another dog with Sassy's exact personality. And then I decided...that's okay. I loved Sassy, and all her snotty little moments, but I was (and am) ready to move forward and establish a new relationship with someone else. I will still miss her. I probably always will. And if provoked, I could cry for her at any minute. But it won't do any good to cry, because she's not coming back. I had sixteen really good years with her, and if I could repeat the experience, I would.

And if I could have a NEW experience, I decided I was ready.

So I said yes.

And the minute we walked in, Bix looked up at me with these eyes that look JUST like Sassy's, and I held him and he kissed me and it was love at first sight. And it FELT right.

A very wise and dear friend of mine told me something when Sassy died that I haven't forgotten, and means SO much to me in light of recent events. He told me that Sassy loved me, even in her little moods, and I took really good care of her throughout her whole life, wheelchair included. And he said that if she had the chance, she'd do it all over again with me. And if she knew some other dog had the same chance, she'd want him to take it.

And I believe that.

So here's to Bixby, the Wonder Pug, who will hopefully share many happy years with me.




"So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!"
-Dr. Suess

Ever mine, ever thine, ever ours.

I found the above letter in a bin at work after some guy sold his clothes to us. It reads:

Hey baby, I just want to remind you how much I like you & how much I care about you. I love the way you talk ot me. You are the only reason why I wake up every morning and walk my happy ass to skool lol. You did better than me in the note. I love it. =D <3 You're the best!
But I wanna ask you something...please please please don't hurt me like all my x boyfriends did. That's one of the reasons why I wanted to stay single. So please don't hurt me... =|
I'm happy that you got your phone back. =) Oh I forgot I might get my computer next week =) lol. So yeah I need a nick name for you!...? Idk I have to think cuz I wanna give you the rite one cuz you're special. (I don't like how much hair looks today. X[ ) Well babe I can't wait to see you. You're the best thing that happen to me sense I came to this boring skool. Thanks for everything. =)

Te quiero mucho :)
{K+D=<3}
Love: K


While it's a far cry from Beethoven's "Immortal Beloved," it's always humorous to me that even with ridiculous technology ("There's an app for that") (and it's so pervasive that this girl LITERALLY wrote in symbols like she was texting), love letters never go out of fashion. People have been writing them since the dawn of the written word, and they're STILL happening. +2 points for the hopeless hopeful romantics of the world!

Speaking of work, it's going really well. I knew I was in the right place again when someone came up to me and asked how to pronounce "Mizrahi" and I could answer them. Unlike when people were like, "So what's Marzipan?" And I'd answer, honest to God, "Umm. I think it's like sugar. It's edible. You can make stuff out of it." GOOD EFFING JOB, MARY, IT'S A CANDY STORE. IT'S ALL "EDIBLE SUGAR" YOU NUMBSKULL. I didn't realize how much I missed working at Plato's until I was back doing it. Even the boring parts are way interesting to me, just because I love examining cuts and fabrics and stitching and materials and the design of everything from blouses to shoes. And then thinking about how I'd do it differently or if it's a piece of art that should be sold for way more than $8.00.

My parents keep telling me I'm in the wrong field and should have gone into fashion. Clearly they haven't seen "The September Issue." It reassured me that even though I love fashion as something-more-than-hobby-but-less-than-career, I made the right choice to stay out of it as a job. Go rent it if you haven't seen it and like documentaries, btw. It's interesting.

Anyway. I'm enjoying it. Of course, there are 101 things I could bitch and moan about. But writing about the positives is much better. :)


Let's see, what else. Not much else is going on. I literally worked every day last week except Friday, so I haven't had much time for anything else. Which is good, I think. I do well to be busy, lest I sit and mope. Mope mope. Mope mope mope.

It's not a good scene.

I've missed blogging! I have so many posts planned and just not enough hours in the day to do them properly. I could always rush through and just BS them (like I do my homework), but I want this to be a QUALITY blog. QUALITY, GUYS. Which is why this blog has more posts on Sherlock Holmes than My Life and "Shermania: It's Insania" is an actual tag.

:)

LOL

I had to post this. I don't even know, you guys, it just made me CRY laughing.




Also, more work = less blogging. Who knew??

Word of the day: nepotism.

So, I know I promised to go into big juicy detail about my trip. But honestly, I feel like I've already done it like a million times, both live and in person (omg, sometimes I leave my house) and in my other hand-written journal. So I don't want to do it here. If you're like, DESPERATE to know my thoughts on San Juan, St. Thomas and St. Maarten (which SUCKS btw, don't ever go there), just message me on Facebook. Or ask the next time I see you, since I know for a fact I have a grand total of about 4 readers.

AND I LOVE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU.


I'd also like to give a big "EFF YOU!" to all the so-called "gentlemen" who were at Plato's Closet sometime between the hours of 10:00AM and 3:00PM, saw me struggling with a 12 foot ladder, and did NOTHING to help. You are a fine example of your species, you enormous non-contributing D-BAGS.


On another note, these vids CRACK ME UP. I realize how incredibly un-PC this all is. But you know what. This is my blog. That's how we roll here in the Sea of Snark.



LOL I LOVE when actors crack up live. It makes it THAT much funnier.



My favorites:
-"...screaming babies in Mozart wigs..."
-"throw-up music..."
-"Don't be thrown off if you're greeted at the door by a Rabbi who looks like Joaquin Phoenix."
-"...groups of guys with afros and graduation caps..."
-"...grown men in wedding dresses..."
-"Puppets in disguise...y'know it's that thing of like when Alf wore a trench coat so he could go out in public?"
-"Don't look for a bouncer--there isn't one. Instead, the door is guarded by ten jacked homeless guys in old-fashioned bathing suits."
-"DJ Baby Bokchoy...he's a giant, 300 lb. Chinese baby who wears tinted aviator glasses, and he spins records with his little RAVIOLI hands."
-"Just when you think the fun is over, knock knock! Who's there? It's black George Washington!"
-"You told us things that sound like nightmares of a crystal-meth addict."


That's all I've got for you. I'd write about work, but Thumper said it best: If you can't say nothin' nice, don't say nothin' at all. *_~

Have a lovely week, darlings!

Cruise Part II: THE SHIP.

So, my people of the cruise post(s) took a little more space than I had anticipated. And instead of just telling you about the boat (which would get real boring REAL fast), I decided to picspam you and tell you in the captions. Briefly. :)

{Click pics to embiggen.}


Right, so the ship was the Celebrity Solstice. We'd never done Celebrity before. Overall, it was really nice. Extremely clean, the service was AMAZING, and the on-board activities trumped our other week-long cruise experience on Holland America. There were pro's and con's about both lines, but I'd recommend both just depending on what you're looking for.


This was me and Michael's room.


The balcony off my parents' room.


Some of the DELICIOUS pastries on the ship. JUST LOOK AT THEM. You don't even know.


This was possibly the best dessert I've ever had. It was like, some cannoli thing. I know what you're thinking...

...just know it was AMAZING. *_~




Mom scoring BIG at the Casino.


I realize that what I'm about to say cements my status as Queen of the Nerdly People, but the ship had this AMAZING library that I was enthralled with. It was HUGE. And tall. Kind of like Belle's in Beauty and the Beast.









This was a really neat lounge on board, ironically enough called Michael's Club. It looked the way I imagine Victorian gentlemen's clubs would look (they didn't have the strippers back then in their gentlemen's clubs, guys. Or if they did, it was ankles all the way.), with guys sitting in their monocles with their pocket watches smoking cigars and playing whist. :)


One of the nightclubs called the Sky Lounge.




OMG NEKKID STATUE.


The reason I love cruising.


So they had this...lawn, upon which people played like, croquet and stuff. It's a big deal. I'm not entirely sure why. I think it's just the novelty of having GRASS in the middle of the ocean.


One of the coolest things on board that they did right across from the lawn was have live glass blowing shows. It was pretty awesome. If you've never gotten the opportunity to see glassware made right in front of you, I highly suggest you take the chance to do so sometime. It's pretty incredible. And the guys were extremely talented. Moreso than I could EVER be.



Also, here's a slight confession: is it terrible that when I look at this pic


...my mind immediately jumps to this?



I am a terrible person. I know.





Overall, the ship was GORGEOUS and there was a lot to do on it which made the three days we spent at sea bearable, and ENJOYABLE. To come: the destinations!

The last person I met on the cruise (continued from last night's post).

**************

The American Adventuress and her mother wandered the glittering marble and gilted hallway of the Floating City, stopping by the merchant's stands to admire their wares. The facets of glittering jewels caught the light, wide gazes and inquiring fingertips of all the ladies passing by. Rare gems and baubles, found only in or near the ocean, presented themselves in all the shades of turquoise and aquamarine. The girl left her mother taking in the silver clasps and teardrop pendants, wandering inside the actual shops beyond the stands.

More jewelry, clothing and necessities (real necessities, like medicine and toiletries) presented themselves. She walked slowly, taking everything in. She wandered from the textiles to the sundries and finally into a watch shop. The soft ticking of mechanical time-keepers whispered out from behind their glass enclosures. They were beautiful watches, not the cheap kind one can get any old place. Their faces were inlaid with diamonds and mother-of-pearl, and they were imported from such faraway places as Norway, Sweden and Germany, places renowned for their machinery and craftsmanship.

As she stood admiring one watch in particular, a lilting voice came from behing.

"Good evening, Miss," came the warm greeting, the unmistakable brogue of the British Isles tainting the words. She turned and noticed the young Watchmaker, brown eyes warm and gregarious.
"Good evening," she replied. "How're you?"
"Very well, and yourself?"
"Just fine, thank you."
"Looking for anything in particular?"
"No..." She damned her shyness. Conversation had always been trying for her. Especially with strangers. Especially strangers who were like something out of a book, who looked at her with eyes so like her own in color but entirely different from hers.
"Just passing the time, then?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
Luckily for the girl, salesmen and travelers excel at the art of conversation-making. He asked where she was from and she told him, returning the question. He was from Salisbury (famous for Stonehenge), answering the question of origin of his rich accent. Having suffered a severe case of Anglophilia for as long as she could remember, the girl drank in his words about home, probing further and wanting to know everything, all the insiginificant details and minutiae of his homeland. Time passed, and the girl recalled her mother. Politely, and with a smile and unspoken promise of a return visit, she parted company with the Watchmaker.

One watch and about four conversations later, she had the pleasure of watching the Watchmaker at his work. She'd never understood men and their tools. Her father and brother weren't the "handyman" sort at all. Neither were any of her male friends or previous conquests. However, seeing the Watchmaker carefully select a mallet of particular size and hammer out with both strength and enough delicacy to keep safe the fragile timepiece was like watching an artisan at his craft. All the while his lilting voice swept her away to as close an experience to London as she had ever had.

At long last, the voyage aboard the Floating City came to an end. Both she and the Watchmaker knew what they had wouldn't last; he was promised to a perfume girl from Australia, and the young traveler's youth and American origin would have made any prolonged contact impossible. With a warm shake of the hands, a touch on the arms and a fond farewell, the two parted ways, possibly forever. But the Adventuress smiles, checking the time and knowing that for at least a while, she'd known someone like a character out of the books she fills her head with, and the memory is locked safely away inside the watch she wears on her wrist.




*********

See, everyone has a good story. It just depends on how you tell it. I could've been like, "So I met this cute guy from England on the boat who worked in a watch shop onboard and we may have flirted a little even though he had this Australian girlfriend who worked in the perfumery a few decks above. It was lame." Or I can weave the above story, almost all of which is true.

"I'm a writer. I give the truth scope."
-Geoffrey Chaucer, A Knight's Tale (the film, not the book)

My lover stands on golden sands and watches the ships that go sailing.

HI, GUYS!


THIS IS ME. ON A BOAT. EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME 'CUZ I'M SAILING I WAS SAILING ON A BOAT.

Enough of that.

The cruise was amazing. It really was. I adore going on cruises for a lot of reasons, probably the first of which being that I love being out on the sea. And the open water. The ocean never ever ceases to amaze me. It awes and inspires, creates a hint of fear, but an overwhelming sense of tranquility. I adore the antiquity and the bigness of it. It gives me chills when I think about how the course we sailed is covering the same expanses of water that the pirate ships I so love to dream and write about sailed not so very long ago. As long as there has been water, people have been sailing, and I absolutely love that feeling of continuing (in a very modern and ridiculously lavish way) a tradition and taking a part in something that's, at least historically, bigger than myself.

Enough about all that. I'm such a sod.

I want to write about my cruising experience in three parts: the ship, the destinations, and the people I met. I wanted to do them in that order, but the ship bit is so overwhelming. And I have photographic evidence to help keep it fresh in my memory. Same with the destinations. With the people, however, I can literally feel details slipping from the metaphorical fingers of my memory. I despise not being able to remember stuff well, and I figure I better document what I DO recall before all hope is lost. So I hope you don't mind that this is completely context-less. But it IS, after all, my blog and if I want to disrupt the flow of my own discourse, I think I'm entitled to that. :)

So, I didn't really meet that many people. Bethany hoped I'd come back with Jude Law lookalike and his twin brother. Ngl, that wouldn't have been too shabby. But it didn't happen. I'm okay with that. I don't like flingy not-serious relationships anyway.

I'd just like to point out that Michael got the phone numbers of SIX girls. Ahem.

Anyway. So I didn't really meet that many people. But two in particular stuck out. I'd like to tell you about them.


Martín
The first one was part of a family who dined next to us every night in the restaraunt on-board. It was a fabulous dining room. The cuisine was EXQUISITE. It's said that Julia Child used to tear up and cry when she tasted something that was so delicious she couldn't help herself. I UNDERSTAND, JULIA. Some of the stuff I ate there was...SO incredible. I wanted to cry. Tears of joy, pouring forth unbidden at the utter delight and bliss at enjoying some of the most DELECTABLE food it has ever been my pleasure to ingest. I'll write more about it later. Just know it was DELISH.

Anyway, we sat next to this family from LA. They were so nice. And the head of the family was this INCREDIBLE character. He really is a character. I felt like at any minute he was going to vanish into thin air or a director was going to jump out and yell "CUT!" that's how wild this guy was. For the entirety of the cruise, we called him Martín, because that's why my Dad said he had introduced himself as. So Martín is this larger than life guy. He looks like Emeril Lagassi. And he talks just like him too. The entire dinner, he'd tell us incredible stories, gesticulating wildly the entire time. He works on the set of The Office and took great pride in showing off his Dunder Mifflin watch. Steve Carrell bought him a bike. This guy is LEGIT.

He also has a wild sense of humor. And a lot of the time he was being unintentionally hilarious. "Laughter is good for you, you know," he said, hands waving in the air. "I'm serious! It is science." You have NO idea how much I wanted to jump in and yell "THAT'S SCIENCE!" So he continues. "The liquid....whatever it is...it goes from the brain to the heart"--cue hands mimicking the movement of mysterious brain fluid rushing from your brain to your heart--"and you live longer!" At this, we're ALL cracking up, his family included. And he's like, DEAD SERIOUS. "I'm serious!" he says, throwing his hands in the air. "Laughter makes you live longer."

The maitre'd, from Hungary, I believe, came by to inquire as to the quality of our meal and encourage us to try our luck at the ship's casino. "You never know if you don't try," he told us. "And besides. If you're not lucky in the casino, you are still a winner. You will be lucky in love." We all had a nice chuckle and then he disappeared, continuing to make his rounds about the dining room. After he'd left, Martín huffs. "Do you hear this guy, 'lucky in love?'" thrusting his hands after the maitre'd. "I'll tell you something. You aren't lucky in love if you lose at the casino. No money, no honey! You know what I mean?" Cue more riotous laughter. The man's Italian-esque accent, gesticulations and dead-pan delivery made him absolutely hysterical.

He's the kind of guy who decided that 12 pieces of silverware were entirely too much for one meal. So every night, much to our poor waiter's chagrin, he'd heap all 12 pieces into a pile on the side of the table and then just pick whatever looked like it'd best serve his purpose. He's also the kind of guy who says, "God bless me," after he sneezes without a hint of self-righteousness or silliness, and his wife nods solemnly and says, "Yes, yes," instead of "Bless you," because his invocation of God's blessings for himself are probably more likely to get answered than anyone else's. He is a total modern day bon vivant.

His name is also not Martín. It's "Varton." He's not Italian, it turns out. He's Armenian. Still. I WILL be writing him into something into the future. He's just far too colorful to be left on the dusty shelves in my brain attic.


Ourselves with Martín/Varton/Emeril, his wife Marilyn (after Marilyn Monroe. No joke), daughter Faith and her husband Vaja (also Armenian).

******
Derrick

This is me with our darling waiter, Derrick. He was such a dear. He's from St. Louis, and when we started conversation, he opened right up and told us all about his family and his home (he hasn't been home in months) and his sister. He and his sister have matching tattoos on the insides of their wrists, the Chinese symbol for "Friend." That's just the kind of sweet guy he was. What was most hysterical though was he was SUCH a stickler for the proper table settings and formality. Needless to say, his reactions to Martín's silverware shenanigans were HYSTERICAL. He comes up, sees the heap of fine silver and his eyes were like SAUCERS. Then the hands flew up to his mouth, like he'd just witnessed the most scandalous thing ever to happen on the ship. "What--what?? What am I gonna do with you??" he squeaked out. Mad good times. Then we told him we were from Orlando and he about DIED because he is DYING to go to Halloween Horror Nights. He got SO animated and excited talking about how much he loves thrills and being scared, and how lame the haunted houses "back home" were. It was like watching Eddy Murphy. Such a sweet guy. I wish him the best and hope that he makes it home soon for a visit. And that he gets to go to Horror Nights.




More tomorrow, darlings. I'm tired.