"By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea" --Atteridge and Caroll

[Obviously, not me. Who the heck wears pearls to snorkel? That's just inviting an oyster uprising.]


"I discovered I scream the same way whether I'm about to be devoured by a great white or if a piece of seaweed touches my foot." --Kevin James


We went snorkeling in Cozumel.

Well, mostly, I went snorkeling in short bursts and the husband pretended I wasn't about to get eaten by a great white shark. He was rather convincing in pretending not to be concerned. In fact, he looked like he dozed off there on his beach chair, but I'm sure it was just to reassure me that there was no cause for concern, despite my dramatic goodbye speeches and forlorn last hand wave. Every. Single. Time. I. Went. Out.

So, snorkeling: I go out into the sea and I look around and, well, that's it. But there's some pretty amazing things out there, even without the great white or the giant squid or that thing that offed the Crocodile Wrestler.*

So, on the last day before we were to head back, when the husband said he'd do the snorkel thing with me**, I was pleased. We both went out into the sea and looked around. And there was pointing! Yes, honest to god pointing! By both of us. And maybe by a fish or two. There was so much to see!

But, here's where we differ. Where I would get a little freaked out when I found myself in a school of fish and worry that I might accidentally flipper one of them, the husband was reaching out trying to touch the parrot fish.

Anyway, even more amazing, I'm talking with an acquaintance about snorkeling in Cozumel and the following conversation ensues:

Him: Yeah, if you don't mind them biting.

Me: What?

Him: The fish bite your nipples.

Me: Whaaaat?!?

Him: You probably kept your top on.

Me: Yeah...?

Him: Every time I go snorkeling the fish bite my nipples.

Me: You're kidding.

Him: No, I'm serious. *pause* They don't bite hard.

Which leads to the simultaneously delicate and indelicate question du jour: Ever had your nipples nibbled by a fish?



* Well, he didn't really hunt them, now, did he?

** Not a euphemism.

"Talk, talk" --Talk Talk

A very old joke...

A guy joins a monastery and takes a vow of silence: he’s allowed to say two words every seven years.

After the first seven years, the elders bring him in and ask for his two words. "Cold floors," he says. They nod and send him away.

Seven more years pass. They bring him back in and ask for his two words. He clears his throats and says, "Bad food." They nod and send him away.

Seven more years pass. They bring him in for his two words. "I quit," he says. "That's not surprising," the elders say. "You've done nothing but complain since you got here."

I think sometimes I could be pretty happy taking a vow of silence, floors and food notwithstanding. I go through periods of being social and periods of being downright anti-social, the latter especially when I am feeling crowded, overwhelmed, beaten down or compressed. And, so, completely burned out, I really enjoyed being quiet in quiet Cozumel, sans commitments, just hearing the waves gently lapping against the shore.

Truly, even at my most social, I am not a chatter. I *can* chat and, oh, it's true, I blather on here, for you, my cheeky monkeys. But IRL, I can, at least at times, lean toward the quiet side--you know, those times I'm not drilling you with questions. Doesn't mean I'm not interested. If you ask me something*, I'll answer and maybe even expound a bit. With those friends who like to debate, I'll go full bore. But I wasn't raised in a family that encouraged chatting for the sake of chatting.

The husband, on the other hand, is a chatter. He'll talk to anyone at any time anywhere. I notice this particularly when we are on vacation because we spend large blocks of time together then. It takes him no time at all to meet a variety of people. Where I am enjoying the quiet, he'll be striking up conversations. He'll offer to fetch us drinks and ten minutes will go by. I'll find him at the bar, with my watered down drink still clutched in his hand, chatting. He hasn't even realized the time has gone by. And it's not all on him. He has the kind of countenance that invites chatting. People will choose to chat with him all the time. His face says, "Why, yes, please tell me what Houston is like in July." While mine apparently says "Do you have a death wish?" I don't think I intentionally put a squinky look on my face but there it is.

So, it was with interest that I noted one of the Date Lab questions in this past Sunday's Washington Post: "Chances you'd talk to a stranger in a bar..." I have talked to strangers in bars. I've had strangers in bars talk to me. But it's not the norm for me. I'd say the chances are ~10%.

What are the chances you'd talk to a stranger in a bar?



* You could at least pretend to take an interest, fergawdssake.

"So much that I wanna do when I dream I'm alone with you" --ABBA

True confession: I have never played Spin the Bottle. No really. If I had, I'd totally tell you. I've played Truth or Dare, which, let's face it, is a stupid thing to do. Let me get this straight: I can either tell you something I had no intention of ever telling you or do something I had no intention of ever doing? Sign me up! What could possibly go wrong with this plan?

But, alas, I was never invited to play Spin the Bottle. I've never been in a room with people playing Spin the Bottle. I've heard of people playing Spin the Bottle but I have no first hand knowledge. I have a hard time imagining ever being that indiscriminate about whom I smooch on. Suppose you do get the dog. With it's ALPO breath and floppy tongue and muddy paws* and sheddy fur and over-enthusiastic tail. The slightest encouragement and the next thing you know, this happens (Warning: strangely NSFW):



Um, no.

Do people still play Spin the Bottle? Have you ever played Spin the Bottle? And, if so, was it *nudge*nudge*wink*wink* fun?



* Okay, that's pretty hot.

"It's been a long November and I've reason to believe" --with apologies to Counting Crows

[So much truth in those chickens.]


*wild eyed panic*

What?!

Why are you looking at me??!

Oh, um, yeah. I'm posting. On a Sunday. Crazy shenanigans, right? Next I'll be mixing chocolate with peanut butter.*

I... well, see, I may have signed up for NaBloPoMo.

L.A., you're going to post every day in November?

Sure!

You posted a total of seven times in the month of October.

*twitch*

Seven times!

Which just proves I can come up with things to talk about. Like NaBloPoMo, which is pretty fun to say. NaBloPoMo. NaBloPoMo.

Na

Blo

Po

Mo

You're mouthing it, aren't you? I like the way your lips move when you read.

Yeaaahhhh.

It's going to be a long November. So, tune in here daily to watch me sweat. Same Bat Time. Same Bat Channel.





* You're kidding! When? Why didn't I see this on Twitter?**

** Note to self: See? Proof that Twitter is utter rubbish.***

*** Note to self: Um, try not to alienate your readers, many of whom are on Twitter.****

**** Note to self: You're bossy.

"Let's call the whole thing off" --Ira and George Gershwin

I have a friend who I love. Dearly. There's just one little, itty, bitty thing she does that irritates me.*

When looking at art--and we both like to look at art--she will talk about the particular palette for the piece. But instead of saying palette like I would, and like Miriam Webster's online pronunciation does, and like every other person I've ever heard does, she will say pa-LET, with the accent on the second syllable. Now, it's a French word and maybe in Pa-REE that's how they say it. I dunno. Never took French.** But it comes off sounding pretentious and goofy.

Here's the thing, I can't really say anything because I am guilty of similar transgressions.*** I make a Rachael Ray**** appetizer of endive, mandarin oranges, almond slivers and goat cheese. And it's good, I tell ya. It's really hard to get it wrong, which is a key requirement for my kitchen successes. If I tell people what they're eating? I say on-DEEV instead of en-dive, as Miriam says it. Because that's the way I learned it, right or wrong--dunno, no French, remember?** And even as I'm saying it, I think: Jeez, how pretentious. But it doesn't stop me from saying on-DEEV next time.

So, what do you say all pretentious and snooty like? Do you ever intentionally mispronounce something just to see if someone's paying attention?*** When someone else pronounces something wonky, do you call them out or embrace the potato, poTAHto philosophy?




* Pretty good, right? Just one thing? Dang good, I'd say! When I was in high school, a friend told me that at most you got 80% of what you wanted in another person and it was just a matter of choosing what 80% was important to you and what 20% of the yeech you could tolerate. Like Frost said, that has made all the difference.

** Shut up. You know what I mean.

***Forgive me, Blogger, for I have sinned.

****You say Antichrist, I say Easy Appetizer Supplier. It's not like I have to listen to her giggling when I make it. Wow, can you imagine if you heard the Rachael Ray giggle all the time like some sort of horror show tinnitus? *shudder*