Old Guys Rule

Guarding the gate to
Old Dubrovnik.

An old man who had been eying Kellie from across the aisle walked up to her as she was examining melons in the produce section of a supermarket. She’s been a bit wary of older men ever since an uncomfortable encounter she had with an elderly gentleman in Croatia back in 2009. Kellie had been standing near the eastern gate in the stone wall that ringed the old city of Dubrovnik, gawking at the guard protecting the city entrance, when an old man ambled up to her and began speaking. Not knowing Croatian, Kellie could’t understand a thing he said, but his words were soft and gentle, and she smiled and nodded while struggling to comprehend his message. Kellie said it felt like a farther-daughter moment – right up to the point where he reached out and grabbed a handful of breast. “Nooooo!” Kellie shrieked.

Emergency Blow

Well it looks like Living in Kellie's World has taken a little detour into my past life as a submariner. Here's a brief followup to yesterday's story.

Michael, from DearHarrison.com, asked if angles and dangles grab your stomach the same way a roller coaster does. Sadly, no.  However, you can simulate a short roller coaster drop by grabbing a blanket and sliding down a passageway when the ship takes a large angle. The practice is strongly discouraged since flesh typically looses in a collision with pipes and machinery . 

While it won't put your stomach in your throat, conducting an emergency blow is definitely and E-ticket ride. During an emergency blow, high pressure air is rapidly dumped into the  main ballast tanks to make the ship positively buoyant. The result is essentially an uncontrolled ascent to the surface. The following is a Navy promotional video of a Virginia Class fast attack submarine. At about the 28 second point you'll see a clip of submarine breaking the surface following an emergency blow. I get goosebumps just watching it. Enjoy.

A Visit to the USS OHIO.

It was early morning when we pulled into San Diego Harbor to pick up Rear Admiral Konetzni, the Pacific Fleet Submarine Force Commander, and the 25 guests that we would be taking to sea for a day cruise. It’s a pain in the ass to position a nearly 600 foot, 18,000 ton submarine next to the pier, so we just pulled into the harbor and small boat came along side to transfer personnel. The admiral was the first to board and he raced to bridge to speak with me.

An Informed Electorate?

Sitting in San Diego County Superior Court on election day, waiting to see if I would be selected for jury duty, the conversation among the perspective jurors eventually turned to the general election. Nobody was talking about the presidential or congressional races, we were in California, the left coast, and the outcome of those contests was not in doubt. Instead, the discussion centered on the eleven propositions before the Californian electorate. Normally, I won’t hesitate before leaping into a political debate, but I was among strangers so I decided to shut up and listen.

Civic Duty Calls

I completely forgot that I had jury duty starting today. Luckily I chose to vote by mail this year. Kellie decided not to vote at all. She views politics as just another form of organized crime and she refuses to consort with criminals. For those of you who are less jaded, 

Please Vote!

Underway For Patrol

Just north of Submarine Base Bangor, a draw bridge spans the Hood Canal. Ships headed for the Pacific Ocean must pass through the bridge’s narrow opening, providing families one last opportunity to waive goodbye to their sailors before they head out to sea. One of the hardest facets of military life is the family separation. Ballistic missile submarines like the one I commanded typically deploy on patrols lasting just over two months. Six month deployments are not uncommon for fast attack submarines, and aircraft carrier battle groups sometimes deploy even longer. 

Subase Bangor is at the lower end of Hood Canal and the Hood Canal Bridge is at the upper right.

Underway

No story today, just a copy of my favorite picture. I'll write about it tomorrow.

If Men Had Boobs, Mammograms Wouldn't Hurt

Photo credit

Today, IASoupMama shared a blog post about how much she likes visiting her gynecologist for her annual lady parts examination that includes speculums, pap smears, and other fun procedures. She suggests it’s like a day at the spa. However, she’s not looking forward to her first mammogram.  I've never had a mammogram myself, but they don't sound very pleasant. The breast is compressed between two plates until it's about to burst, and then it's shoved into X-ray machine for portraits. (If you have man boobs do you have to get a mammogram? I'm not asking for myself; I have a friend who want's to know.)

For me, my once-a-decade anal scoping is anything butt fun, and I’m eternally grateful that my doctor pumped me full of midazolam, a Men In Black drug that produces amnesia. If I don't remember it then it didn't happen and I'm still a colonoscopy virgin. I’m also thankful that men don’t have to get penisograms. That might hurt. Although, if there ever is a need for such a procedure, I’m certain that discovering a way to make it completely painless would shoot to the top of our nation’s list of medical priorities. And researchers would definitely find a way to make the procedure pleasurable just to ensure that men don’t try to skip their annual penisogram. I'm not even a doctor and I can envision a number of ways to make the penisogram fun. 

So this is how you make an officer and a gentleman.

I had intended to become a lawyer, but that’s not what happened. Instead, what was supposed to be a temporary detour on life’s path turned into a thirty-year naval career. There are three routes to becoming a naval officer: you can attend the Naval Academy in Annapolis, MD; you can graduate from a university with a Naval Reserve Officer Training Corps (NROTC) program; or you can do as I did and earn a commission after just three months at Officer Candidate School in Newport, RI.

I've Lost That Writing Feeling

In the past month I've written just two posts. Lame. The left side of my brain has spent so much time geeking out on PHP, MySql, and Yii that the right side of my brain has gone to sleep out of boredom. Constantly reading and writing stuff like this:

while ($row = mysql_fetch_array($sql)) { //

$attr_desc = $row["attr_desc"];

$sub = $attr_desc . "[]"; 

switch ($row["attr_ctrl"]) {

case "D":

if($n==0) 

{

 echo ("<select name=" . $sub . ">"); 

$n=1; 

} 
blah, blah, blah – kills any chance of writing stuff like Crimsom Tide or  I Had a Plan.

In a desperate effort to resume blogging, I've just signed up for the BlogHer's November NaBloPoMo. I am not a her, but since two-thirds of my dwindling readers are female I guess I'm okay. And I have no idea what the hell NaBloPoMo means except that to participate I have to write everyday. I fully acknowledge that today's post is a rather feeble effort, but a man has to start somewhere.

Be Careful About What You Post On Facebook

When I’m not working, Kellie complains about the loss of income.  When I am working, she complains about my schedule interfering with her travel plans.  To remedy the situation, Kellie recommended that I get a job that not only pays well, but also allows me to deliver my services from any location. Regrettably, I'm not properly equipped to be the next Deuce Bigalow. 

I Had a Plan

I always insist on having a plan, but my senior year of college was half over and I still had no idea how to pay for law school. Sitting in my mother’s house during winter recess, I wondered if the armed forces might have a program that would fund my education. So I spent a day visiting the local recruiting offices near my home in Massapequa, NY.  The Navy recruiting office was my last stop, but like the other service branches, they had no need for lawyers. They were looking for warriors. As I was walking out the door the recruiter asked, “Hey, what’s you major?”

“Physics and philosophy,” I replied.

“Come back here and let me tell you about our nuclear power program.”

Evolution: The Visual Ape

Men are visual creatures. When a woman enters a man’s visual field, electrical signals flood the optic nerves, lighting up synapses throughout the cerebral cortex, triggering the neck to rotate so that the eyes can lock on and commence tracking. The behavior is pure reflex, an involuntary muscle reaction, like breathing, over which men have almost no control. Most women tolerate this reaction from their men, not because they believe the common refrain that it’s okay to look but not to touch, but because they have come to realize that there is no hope of altering this behavior. Performing the movement is not without risk to the male, either from the swift backhand of a not so understanding mate, or from the serious internal injuries that can result from frequent and violent twisting of the head and neck. As my x-rays reveal, severe cases will require extensive surgery. 

My Secret Fantasy

I harbor a secret fantasy, but indulging it poses a serious risk to my marriage. Many men, I’m sure, face a similar dilemma, a longing to taste the forbidden fruit that brings only fleeting ecstasy and, yet, ultimately yields unending grief. Too much mental energy is wasted imagining the impossible. Too many nights I awaken in a cold sweat, unable to release the obsession that steals my sleep. Too may days are lost to wasted daydreams, contemplating how to transform my phantasmagoria into reality. Unless Kellie is willing to grant me one dispensation, I am destined to perish with this urgent desire left unsatisfied. She could let me fulfill my wildest fantasy. All she has to do is let me win just one damn argument.

Meno-Poise

Joan of Arc had it easy, they only burned her once.  Kellie, on the other hand, has been repeatedly tortured by hot flashes for more than two years, and there’s no sign that her inferno will extinguish anytime soon. There seemed to be nothing that I could do to help until I noticed a TV commercial for a new line of menopause products from Kimberly-Clark: Poise Roll-On Gel, Poise Body Cooling Towelettes, and Poise Personal Lubricant. I wanted to relay my discovery to Kellie, but she’s not usually receptive to my advice and suggestions, especially regarding feminine hygiene products, so I decided to test these latest innovations in menopause cooling technology myself.

Inside Cabin

I was flying to New York on Delta Airlines, flipping through Sky Mall magazine because my MacBook, iPad, and iPhone all had to be powered down for take off, when I came across an ad for Sea Shield,^TM a great new product for waterproofing all your Apple toys. It was exactly what I needed. Then I saw the price, $39.98 for a what was essentially a Ziploc bag. I got angry because I realized that I can buy a box of 250 one-gallon double zipper Ziploc bags for only $39.98 – that’s 16 cents per bag. Even I can make money with a 250 percent markup.

Indecision Kills

I was doing speed limit, 35 MPH, which seemed to be the common practice in Alaska, unlike back home in California where you're a traffic hazard if you move at anything less than 80 MPH, when a Mr. Squirrel darted out into the road.

Vacation Education

Contrary to what you may believe, it's not easy to vacation as often as Kellie and I do, and without a sufficient math, science and engineering background, traveling can be fraught with peril. You might think that Kellie would defer to my superior intellect and education to help keep us out of trouble while skipping around the globe, but that's not how things work in Kellie's World.

I'm Back

No, I have not forgotten about my blog, and yes I will post a typical Kellie's World piece again soon (I'm working on something right now). In the mean time, I have to tell you how upset I am that my post on Johnny Depp has jumped to the top of the list of my most popular posts. It's not even a good post; it's just the subject matter that's making it pop on Google searches. I'm tempted to delete it. 

Death By Marriage

Today's guest post is an excerpt from blogger and author Scott Bartlett's new novel Royal Flush. In this vignette, the Wisest King Alive is getting ready for his wedding ceremony. I think the same man presided over my nuptials.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Wisest King Alive buttoned his tuxedo lethargically. His beard flowed absurdly over the front.

“Tuck it back like this,” Eliza suggested. She had been fussing with his facial hair for the past hour.

Whose bag is this?

Photo Credit

Why am I the one who has to carry the marital aid through airport security? I’m not the one who needs it. Hell, I don’t even need Kellie’s company on my own personal pleasure journey. I’m perfectly capable of handling my own travel arrangements, and when I travel alone, I can arrive anytime I please, though I do prefer it when Kellie gives me a ride. 

On more than a few occasions, the TSA agent has spotted something suspicious in my luggage, triggering a public search of my carryon bag. I think they do it for the entertainment value. You can’t tell me that they don’t x-ray at least a thousand pocket rockets a day. Security agents know exactly what things look like and they are not dangerous unless you encounter severe turbulence and accidentally poke someone’s eye out. They just want to watch you cringe when they waive the damn thing around. Kellie could have purchased a nondescript beige appliance, but no, she had to choose the flaming red model with a cubic zirconia encrusted periphery that dazzles the eye and makes everyone’s head swivel trying to locate the source of brilliantly flashing light.

Beyond my periodic tuneup, we’ve set some ambitious goals for our Alaskan cruise. On those days when we don’t leave the ship for an excursion, we'll be doing morning and afternoon workouts; there will be no pigging-out at the buffet trough, and we’ll both be doing some reading. I’ve selected three light pieces for myself: the August edition of Foreign Affairs, The Submerged State: How Invisible Government Policies Undermine American Democracy, and Why Does the World Exist?: An Existential Detective Story. Kellie didn’t bring any books so I’ve made a selection for her, something a little deeper than pulp I’ve chosen for myself. She’ll be reading Fifty Shades of Grey.

I downloaded the entire trilogy for her a few weeks ago after her friend Melissa sent her a text about the book. Melissa was so captivated by the story that she sat in bed reading till almost two in the morning. After finally putting the book down, she jerked her husband up for a little late night literary romp. David welcomed his wife’s new nocturnal energy and enthusiasm, but the benefit was short lived. Melissa finished the entire trilogy in less than a week. Luckily for me, Kellie is a slow reader. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another post for the dudes at Dude Write.

Divorce

 Sharks Cove on Oahu
courtesy of TripAdvisor

You wouldn’t have known it by looking at me, but I was miserable. Instead of going home to my wife and children after a day of working on the ship, I spent a couple of hours at the gym to avoid returning to my empty apartment. Each night I'd drink a bottle of wine and numb myself to sleep. In the morning I would wake up and repeat the same lonely routine all over again. Eight months had passed since I separated from my wife. Tomorrow I would be appearing before the family court judge for the last time. My divorce would be final, dropping a painful milestone on an unhappy period in my life. Rather than picking up the bottle again, I grabbed a towel and headed down to the hot tub.

Road Rage

Source

Yesterday I had the pleasure of driving 733 miles from Park City, UT, to my home in Oceanside, CA. Many of you were on the road with me and some of you really pissed me off. If I were six inches taller I’d drag you from your pickup truck and whack you in the head with the wrist brace protecting my arthritic right hand. I don’t know what candy store issued your drivers license but some of you need a little refresher course on the rules of the road.

Turn The Ship Around

There are occasions when I’m not in a very good mood and I just may be a bit negative. Kellie might say that the occasions when I’m not negative are as infrequent as Haley’s Comet – that’s if she had any clue about astronomy. But Kellie has a remedy for adjusting my emotional state, she calls it smile therapy. She insists that I grin for 30 seconds, and before 30 seconds can pass, I’m laughing, and the bad mood and contrary attitude have evaporated. Kellie intuitively understands that you cannot not maintain a negative attitude or foul mood while behaving in a joyful manner.

You Should Have Known Better

You know, I don’t write these posts for my own benefit. There’s valuable information here that could save you from considerable misery and hardship. For example, if you want to know how to avoid maiming your genitals, checkout The Serrano Pepper Incident. If you think your wife may be trying to kill you, read A Series Of Unfortunate Events. Or, if you can’t understand why your husband never seems to listen to you, then remediate your science knowledge by studying Evolution: Why Men Don't Listen. 

With all the lessons I’ve shared with the blogosphere, you might think that my own wife would actually learn something from me, but sadly she as not. It seems that she failed to gain a thing from Read The Label, Obey The Label, which clearly explains the hazards of confusing sleeping pills with laxatives.  Like me, Kellie sometimes suffers from a little congestion while traveling, so before our six hour hike up and down the Virgin River in Utah’s Zion National Park, she decided to take a stool softener to help ease things along. Instead, she accidentally took a sleeping pill.

Don’t make the same mistake Kellie made; keep reading Living in Kellie’s World and take these lessons seriously.

Doing It With Regularity

Kellie and my oldest daughter both vetoed this post when I first wrote it about a year ago, so it went unpublished. It may be Kellie's World, but it's Joe's Blog, and I'm posting it. I know full well there's a price to be paid for such brash independence.

Summer Vacation Time Is Here

Kellie's Blogging Court

Some bloggers blog anonymously. Well, it's probably no secret that I've taken the full public disclosure route for Living in Kellie’s World.  Not totally though; Kellie still has veto authority, and so far she's only exercised it once – to reject my post about certain bodily functions that sometimes go awry while traveling. But I didn't delete it. The draft is still sitting there waiting for me to say "screw it" and publish it anyway. And since I’m finding it very difficult to write during the summer, the urge to override her veto is very tempting. Too bad she’s also in charge of the Supreme Court.

We leave for our summer vacation on Saturday, and in the past, vacations have been good fodder for my blog. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. In case you missed them, here are some of the escapades from past vacations.

The French Holiday 
The French Holiday – Part 2
Love and Marriage
A Series of Unfortunate Events 

Wish me luck.

Auntie Linda

Today's story isn't a typical Kellie's World piece, but when I sat down to write, this is what came out.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Top to Bottom: Linda, Joe and Tony

Call me Auntie Linda she insisted. That was difficult because she was only two-and-a-half years older than me. My mother’s only sibling felt more like my sister than my aunt. Linda lived on Essex Street with my grandparents, and I lived on Ridgewood Avenue with my immediate family. We were only a few blocks apart, walking distance for Brooklyn back in the early sixties. Living so close, we saw each other frequently, and while we played well together most of the time, occasionally we fought. When she pissed me off I’d pound my fist in her back, smack between her shoulder blades, taking her breath away. Then my mother and grandmother would argue about who was at fault.

Johnny Depp? Please.

Matthew McConaughey - I get it.

Most of the time I understand why women swoon over certain hunky actors. Matthew McConaughey - I get it. Hugh Jackman, wet (don’t ask me why this is a necessary criteria) - I get  it. But Johnny Depp - I don’t get it. He's always struck me as being a little light on manliness, but women seem to love him. Over 40% of the images in my Facebook news feed are pictures of Mr. Depp. It would appear that a large percentage of the women in my age cohort have contracted a virulent infatuation with Mr. Depp. Kellie is one of the afflicted and her condition has reached an advanced stage.

The Bullfight

Kellie and Joe

I am The Bull. Unfortunately, Kellie is The Matador. And if you know anything at all about bullfighting, you know that the bull never leaves the ring alive; although, I do occasionally get lucky and give her a good goring. Whenever Kellie wants to get her way, she slowly wears me down, lancing me repeatedly, bleeding away my resistance until enfeebled and exhausted, my slaughter becomes inescapable. 

Vacation With Kellie

Just because I haven't blogged about traveling lately, that doesn't mean that Kellie has not been busy filling out her vacation dance card for the remainder of the year. Here’s what it looks like so far:

Downhill

Lesson Learned

It’s Kellie’s World, and that usually means I do as Kellie desires. When I ignore that simple rule and neglect to conform to my wife’s wishes, I usually find myself imperiled, as I did during a skiing and snowboarding trip to Squaw Valley several years ago.

Part III Of My Colonoscopy Trilogy: Routed

This is the third and final post about my colonoscopy. The previous two posts were written before the procedure; this one was written in hindsight.  (post 1, post2)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anxiety gripped me as the day of rectification approached. I wasn’t concerned about complications or pain; I was worried about the emotional trauma that comes from getting violated. Butt thanks to a heavy dose of Midazolam, my memory of the event has been wiped clean, leaving no track marks of the dirty deed.

That's Not How You Do It

Photo Credit

Kellie, tears streaming down her cheeks, begged me to release her from her misery. I often have to take responsibility for life’s unpleasant tasks, so I gallantly stepped forward to cut a red onion for her. Pressing into my first slice, Kellie started to say something. In my head, I heard a needle dragging across a record; Kellie was taking exception to my technique for hacking produce. “Hey, that’s not how I slice an onion.” 

Rock My World

About 430 miles into our 970 mile trek from Gold Beach, Oregon, back to our home in San Diego, we decided to stop for the night. When you wait until midnight to find a room, you pretty much have to take whatever you can get. We found a Motel 6. Too wound up from driving to go to sleep, we sat in bed with our computers on our laps, sipping Smoking Loon cabernet from plastic cups.

John Hutchison's Ray Guns Silenced

Today's post is an update of Monday's saga: My Neighbors Have Ray Guns. You may want to read that post first.

John and Nancy Hutchison
Photo Credit

The sheriff finally came for a visit and forced my neighbors, self proclaimed scientist (crackpot?) John Hutchison and his gang, to turn down the volume on the homemade ray gun they claimed was cleaning the Pacific Ocean. My neighbors complied with the deputy’s request, telling him that the ray gun had already decontaminated land and sea all the way up to the North Pole. It was a bittersweet victory. On the one hand, I’m grateful for the silence, but, on the other hand, I may have lost the most fertile source of blog material imaginable. Now, with the ray gun operating at reduced power, who knows what ill awaits us?

Sleep Battles

Sleep Battles was first published on 2/2/12.  It was revised and republished on 6/18/12 for Yeah Write Challenge #62
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

While waiting for my daughter Kyra to finish her piano lesson, I sat in my car browsing through my mobile Facebook app.  I noticed that Kellie had updated her profile information, but it appears that she might not understand what sort of items to place in each of the categories.  

My Neighbors Have Ray Guns

I received a phone call from a woman who identified herself as Nancy Hutchison. Nancy’s husband, world renown (never heard of him) scientist John Hutchison, had designed a device to remove radioactivity from the Pacific Ocean and installed it next to our vacation rental property in Gold Beach, OR. Kellie and I decided to make a quick thousand-mile jaunt up the coast to investigate. 

Home Invasion

I hate it when I hear strange noises in the middle of night. As the man of the house I’m obligated to investigate. The clanging in my kitchen at zero-dark-thirty didn’t sound like one of my teenagers foraging for food, but someone was definitely looking for some grub. Needing a weapon, I picked up my 24-inch Stiff Stick (it’s a massage device, pervert) and headed downstairs. My approach was intentionally unstealthy, but my stomping did little to scare off the intruders. I raised my Stiff Stick and turned on the light expecting to find the Hamburglar rummaging through my refrigerator for ground beef. That’s not what I encountered. I lowered my Stiff-Stick and stood there speechless and staring, unable to comprehend and process what I was seeing. 

A Child Is Born

It was midnight when the phone rang. The doctor wanted permission to perform an emergency Caesarean section. “Your wife’s condition is extremely serious. Her kidneys are failing; her liver is failing, and her blood pressure is 210 over 180. We had to medicate her to prevent a stroke. She’s not sufficiently coherent to grant consent for the procedure. The baby has to come out, now.”

The Secret To Having More Sex (With Your Wife)

There's an old joke that goes like this: “How do you stop a girl from having sex.” When telling the joke, you usually pick a descriptive modifier and insert it in front of the word girl to single out the particular ethnic group, religion, or subculture for which you want to display your gross insensitivity.  Also, a graphic expletive typically replaces the word sex, preferably something with a hard “k” sound. It's a well known comedic fact that the “k” sound is naturally funny. That’s why Kellie calls me a dick head instead of a penis cranium.  Although, based upon the principle just stated, penis cranium should be funny too, and dick cranium should be even funnier, but neither phrase rolls off the tongue very well. Interestingly enough, if you say the words dick cranium quickly, it sounds like it could be the name for some rare radioactive element.  But I digress.  Anyway, the joke is a very customizable little gag. The punch line, as many men already know, is: “You marry her.” The humor comes from its near universal truth.

Kellie Speaks

I’ve been begging my wife to write a post for the blog, but she always say no. Yesterday she had to write a few paragraphs for a contest to win a travel book; I snagged it for today’s post. 

Crap, I just turned 49, and I am stinging from the realization that 50 is now less than a year away. Fifty years-old, what does that even mean? Am I really going to be half a century old?  Have the best years of my life already passed along with my youth, or will the knowledge and experience that come with age make the next 50 years even better?

Lessons From A Drag Club

Kellie is the one
in the middle. 

I got stuck with designated driver duty for Kellie’s birthday party at Lips, San Diego’s ultimate nightclub for some good old-fashioned drag queen fun. It’s not as enjoyable if you're sober, but it’s much more educational, and I learned a few new things about drag culture and lifestyle.

If you are male and homophobic, try to

Birthday Week, Are You Kidding Me?

Today is the official kickoff of Kellie’s birthday week. It seems that one day of celebrating isn’t sufficient for the queen. Is this normal? Do all wives get a birthday week, or have I been brainwashed? 

Crimson Tide

“The three most powerful men in the world: the President of the United States of America; the President of the Russian Republic; and the Captain of a United States ballistic missile submarine.” – Crimson Tide

Ten years ago, I was the Captain of the USS OHIO, the lead ship of our country’s fleet of ballistic missile submarines. Commanding a nuclear powered submarine, armed with 24 intercontinental ballistic missiles, has a tendency to inflate one’s ego, but my wife, Kellie, was usually there, pin in hand, to burst my bubble.

Happy Memorial Day, To Me

Kellie has a long list of chores and other household duties she wants me to attend to today, but I objected. I reminded her that today is Memorial Day, and since I am a retired veteran, she should memorialize me.  “Don’t you have to be dead first?” she inquired. “That can be arranged if you don’t help out a little more around here.”

Man Rules

I didn't write these rules, but I wish I had. My college roommate Cedric sent them to me this morning, and since I had nothing else for today's post, I'm sharing them with you. What's interesting is that I've written about a number of these issues already, sometimes touching on several of the rules in a single post. I've added a few links to related posts. Enjoy.

The New Diet

Taking a vacation, and cruising in particular, can be detrimental to one’s physique. I didn’t do too badly on our last trip; I only gained four-tenths of a pound – each day – for 34 days – for a total weight gain of close to 14 pounds, with most of the damage occurring at my waistline. Kellie’s figure suffered a similar fate, and although the exact numbers remain classified, seeing exactly where she packed on the fat is no secret – most of it landed on her ass. We would love to take even longer vacations, but the risk of diabetes is too high. 

There's No Place Like Home

We arrived home from our 34-day vacation yesterday evening, shortly after eight o’clock. It didn’t take long to recognize that we were back in the real world. Our daughters forgot to open the doggie door, so our beloved pets presented us with welcome home gifts number one and number two right in the middle of our dining room floor. Our girls also left us a sink full of dishes. Plus, the garbage pails have been at the curb since at least Monday, and for all we know, the trash cans might have been on the street the entire month we were away.

How Long Will This Be Going On?

“Kellie, how long until you’ll be ready to go?” I inquired.

“I just have to brush my teeth, get dressed, and put on some makeup,” she replied.

I clenched my teeth and counted to ten.  I’ve lost count of the number times that I’ve asked Kellie a simple question, often requiring a minimal but meaningful answer, such as yes or no, or “I’ll be ready in five minutes, dear,” only to get some useless, non responsive reply that requires me to be clairvoyant to figure out what she’s trying to tell me. Even if I could see inside Kellie’s mind, I would never venture a look.  Who knows what could happen to me? Medusa might reside there.

Kellie gets a cruise ship for that?

Day three after my fall at the hot tub aboard the cruise ship, Adventure Of The Seas, my elbow and forearm are still swollen and tender. It could be just bruising or it could be an infection; the ship’s Columbian doctors are not sure yet. I’m hope that their training is as rigorous as in the United States. I’m guessing that even if it’s a little substandard, they can probably handle a few stitches and an infection. They have me taking antibiotics, which should keep the situation under control. Still, I’m a little worried.