Paging Isaac, Your Friendly Bartender

So now that it’s been quite a few weeks since we returned from our cruise-that-didn’t-explode, I’m glad I jotted down some notes during it.  This whole middle-aged forgetfulness thing is really setting in now and I kid you not, it is a complete and total horror show.

So thanks to diligent notes, my stories continue.

Being the consummate bargain-hunter, my husband jumped at the chance of upgrading us all (for a nominal fee) to a higher floor.  What? One story higher than the Titanic immigrants for the price of a smaller, less exotic vacation?  Why of course, sign us up!  Trouble is, our new cabins were – without exaggeration – located one hundred rooms apart.  He was stern (with 2 kids), and I was bow (with the other 2 kids).  Kind of an interesting concept for a family vacation but whatever.  We rolled with it.  And packed walkie-talkies.

Night One:  exhausted and untan, we called it a night and parted ways – obviously at the center of our floor.  Nearing closer to our room, my daughter and I came upon a commotion between two staterooms.  It quickly escalated into shouts of “Call security!”

Yep,

We were riveted.  She ran and I stayed.  It was as if telepathically we both knew:  I would be the witness.  Actually, it was more that I was TRANSFIXED TO THE POINT OF PARALYSIS when I looked into a room and saw a man with his hands gripped around a younger man’s throat.  I know, right?  NIGHT ONE!  Barely past the Statue of :Liberty and we’re sailing into Crazy Town.  Epic.

So while I’m giving my best “I am not missing one detail of this domestic disturbance” glare, my daughter breathlessly arrives back – with Malcolm, our affable and comedic cruise director.

Now, I don’t know what Malcolm was doing slumming down on our particular floor (and I certainly don’t know how any guy with the words “Woo Hoo” on his name plate was going to be able to assist) but hey, the guy had a radio.  He called for security.  I gave him my best “You can take it from here” nod and off we went, giggling and clicking away in our high heels.

In the days to come, there was a security guard (of sorts) stationed outside those rooms so we felt very safe there.  Malcolm, on the other hand, stayed clear.

I’m not sure how you move past that on Night One but I did see the Domestic Disturbance (“Call Security!”) Woman doing karaoke later that week so I imagine she did move on.

And there it is:   my smooth-as-a-baby’s-behind segue into karaoke.

My loyal readers already know of my affinity for karaoke.    

But partaking in my favorite pastime takes on an entirely new meaning when it is offered (deep breath) with a live band.  That’s right. 

Live.

Band,

Shut the front door.

I could state the obvious and say that my life took on a more cosmic meaning after experiencing something  so profoundly enjoyable.  I could even admit that yes, I did entertain the thought of maybe ditching this whole classroom thing and becoming a singer in a band (a band of course that only played to people who didn’t mind hearing the same four songs on a perpetual loop the entire night long).  And, sure, I could even brag that –especially following that nut-job from down the hall – I kinda killed it.

But I have to be completely honest. 

All these things paled in comparison to the best part, hands down:  when my party-of-eleven-ridiculously-awesome-family-and-friends stormed the stage a la the finale of  “Little Miss Sunshine” and started dancing.  It was a riot.  Even better than Betsy’s karaoke cartwheels a few nights later (this singing stuff wasn’t a one-and-done thing, it was – much to my husband’s eventual boredom – nightly).  But the cartwheels were just because she was a wee bit smashed. The family kick-line in the middle of a Gretchen Wilson song trumps drunken acrobatics every time.

Anyway, so yes, basically this cruise could’ve stayed in the harbor and it stillwould have been the bomb. Then again, when you vacation with fun people you can pretty much head to a campground or, I don’t know, the Poconos and save a ton of money but who knew?

I’ll stop here but I might even have to throw together one more installment because I haven’t even gotten to the Poolside Party Guy with the nine-and-and-a-half-fingers.  So much mockery, so little time …

I will leave with one minor annoyance … mystery … plea … conundrum … fact:  If everyone that has read this (and – knee-slap notwithstanding – enjoyed it)  would  ALSO go over and LIKE my Facebook Page …  I would have more followers than my local septic guy.

Just sayin’.   Go help a sista out and LIKE the page!  You’re only one click away:  www.facebook.com/eyerollingmom

Then be like Faberge shampoo and go tell two friends …

Thanks for tuning in!