"So live your life, ay, ay, ay" --Rihanna and TI

When you are on an airplane and the child in the seat behind you is shrieking for the joy of shrieking every few minutes and kicking your seat non-stop, what is the correct response?

A) Nothing
B) Request a seat change
C) Announce loudly "Hey! Why is my seat vibrating?"
D) Turn and glare at the child
E) Turn and glare at the parent
F) Say something to the child
G) Say something to the parent
H) Slam your seat into the "reclining" position and throw your arms over your head to further make your presence known
I) Throw peanuts up over your head in an attempt to hit the child and/or parent
J) Other
K) All of the above

I ask because I have had conversations with parents who have had very different responses to this question. So, I put this to you, Gentle Reader. What is the right response?

"Well I hope you understand I just had to go back to the island" --Leon Russell

[Sweet, no? They didn't throw poop at me or anything!]


We are back from the birthday extravaganza. Took a trip to Barbados, a lush island with gorgeous beaches!

We have now seen white-faced monkeys and howler monkeys in Costa Rica and green monkeys in Barbados. 'Cause monkeys? Way cool! Did you know the polio vaccine was created using green monkey kidney? No wonder they look so serious and move so quickly. Although these got within two feet of me. Maybe they figured with the rum punch emanating from my pores there was no way I was with the Salk people.

Aside from the monkeys, the spectacular beaches, and the rum (there are three different rum distilleries on Barbados and the Mount Gay Rum distillery dates back to the 1700s(!) and, YES, they give tours and tastings), there is also no shortage of fine food. If you think you might be heading to Barbados, I'd recommend making a reservation (well in advance) at The Cliff for dinner. Request a waterside table. The food, drink and service are impeccable and the view is spectacular! It is the perfect place to view a sunset and once it's dark you can see the rays and turtles gliding in the water by the light of the torches. Truly, a world class restaurant experience!

Classic moment at the resort pool...

A fat, ugly Brit in a Speedo lounging next to Hubby informed us that it was unusual for them to come to Barbados in March as this was high season for the Americans but they got such a good deal they couldn't resist. This was after he found out we were from DC. And they say we're rude! Ha!

"Bodies in the sand, tropical drink melting in your hand" --The Beach Boys

Happy Monday, blogland pals.

Yes, I said, Happy Monday. It's my birthday! And I'm doing my birthday dance! (You may want to avert your eyes--my dancing is not a pretty sight.)

Plunked between the Ides of March and St. Paddy's Day is my little birthday. And, as you read this, I and the Hubster are spending it, and the whole week, in an undisclosed location. (We had to wait for Dick Cheney to vacate and he took his sweet time. If you see him, tell him he left a half a box of Cheez-Its and the January issue of Hooters and Howitzers Monthly.)

Yeah, I just traveled a few weeks ago but that was for (yucky) work. This is for R&R&R&R: Rest and Relaxation and Rays and Rum drinks. So, as you read this, picture me basking in some much needed sunshine and hoisting something fruity and rum-laden in your general direction in a toast to you.

Give yourself a hug for me and go out and do something you've been wanting to do.

See ya on the flipside. Have a great week!

"Shoop, Shoop, Shoop Shoo Be Doop Shoop Shoop" --Whitney Houston

I've noticed a small uptick in traffic here lately and I'm grateful that you take time out of your busy day to read my --how you say-- words.

But it also makes me a little bit wary. One of the problems with gaining readership is that, before you know it, you're famous. At first blush it sounds enticing... exciting... muy sexio! But think again.

Sure, it might be nice to live in hilltop houses, drivin' fifteen cars. It could be cool to have some of those houses featured on Cribs... to have a staff of people at my beck and call... to get the best tables in restaurants... to have stores open just for me... to have hunky young things throwing themselves at me... to get fancy gowns and fabulous jewels sent to me for special events...

Yeah.

Where was I?

Oh, right. I don't want to be a celebrity.




Because none of it would be worth it if I couldn't exhale on vacation.

If I were truly famous, I'd have to worry about being surreptitiously photographed for the cover of Star or The Enquirer in their "worst beach bodies" segment.

It's one thing for these rags to feature "best beach body" pictures, but when I am standing in the grocery store checkout and see that they've captured beautiful people in the worst possible photos EVER--with close ups of extra flab rolls and cottage cheese tushies, and with captions that read "Oh oh" or "Guess who?", I just feel so sorry for those people.*

It's not that I have such a bad bod. In fact, I'd say I look pretty good for ninety. But I can only deal with Jillian so many days in a row. (By the way, I've advanced to her Level 2 Workout and I'm proud to say I've cut way back on the weeping.)

Regardless, everybody has something about their bodies they're not crazy about** and everybody has at least one bad angle. If they can make tiny Reese Witherspoon look that bad, I shudder to think how I might show up. (I'm guessing with an angle that makes me look like one of those enormous sea lions, except this sea lion would probably have a handful of greasy french fries en route to her open mouth.)

And, it's not like they have to listen when you beg them, "Please! Please! Don't show my face!" So, maybe it's time to invest in a pair of these:



Yeah, that looks cool.




*And then I try to guess who they are.

**Uh, uh, you first.

"Said you expected me to follow you all over the world" --Marti Jones

Men? Generally speaking? Way different from women.* Years ago, I organized a holiday weekend ski trip for a dozen people. One of the guys brought this tiny satchel along for luggage. Not even backpack size. It was the size of a doctor's bag. I asked him what he had in there. He said a t-shirt and a clean pair of underwear. That was it. For the three day weekend. Klassy with a K, he was.

This, in no way resembles me. I would pack my entire closet if not for airline weight restrictions. Thus, I must choose. Call me Sophie. So, I LOATHE packing. I lovelovelove to travel and I love having the right things with me but I LOATHE packing. (That's right. All caps twice!) I do it at the absolute last possible moment. Pack my deodorant?! But I'll need it in the morning!

I know women who have duplicates of all their toiletries to make packing easier. I resist this, because, then, what excuse would I have for not packing early?

Add to this: I feel like I have to have every option available to me so everything has to be washed or dry cleaned, in case I might like to pack it.

Hubby: Is that an evening dress in the dry cleaning pile?

Me: *blink*

Hubby: We're going to the beach.

Me: Shh! I'm packing!



* Oh, please. You were bound to hear it eventually.