When we last left our geeks, they were hot tubbin and drinking Bahama Mamas.
For about an hour or so, we worked our way through the Quiet Cove trifecta Signals bar, the hot tub, and the wonderful new lounge chairs. So comfy! I liked the old ones, but these? They were just CLASSY. Not too many people were at the pool, so we had an entire hot tub to ourselves. Lionel had just bought a round of the drink of the day: the Bahama Mama. I slurped its fruity goodness and started heading toward the pool.
Hey! You cant take that there!
I turned to see Sarah, pointing at the giant sign that says No drinks allowed! In my head, it sounded just like that episode of Charlie Brown where snoopy couldnt go anywhere with his master. No Dogs Allooooooooooowed. For the first time, I understood what that little cartoon dog had gone through. No drinks allowed? Well why dont you just go and ruin my vacation before we leave the dock? Next, youll be telling me that Mickey Mouse doesnt work here anymore, and that they stopped serving chocolate soufflé at Palo! And now? I had a decision to make. Drink? Bubby goodness? Drink. No, wait. Those bubbles look awesome. Ok, hot tub. But the ice cubes might melt out here! GAH!
In the end, I slammed half of my beverage and hid the rest under my lounger. I popped into the hot tub. Just in time for the bubbles to go off.
Push the button!
Lionel pushed it. Nothing.
Push it AGAIN! (severe tones of duh in my voice)
He pushed again. Nothing.
Let me do it. (cant he get anything right?)
I mash it. It mocks me with its silence. I turn back to Lionel and inform him that it is broken. He tells me he tried to tell me that but I wouldnt listen. I continue not to listen, and think about my poor drink, all alone under the lounger. I wonder if it misses me.
As it turns out, the hot tub has a get-your-butt-out-and-give-someone-else-a-chance timer on it now, which lasts for about two of the longest minutes of my life. Once the bubbles started up again, my half-full (yes, I am an optimist) DOTD with the melting ice cubes was all but forgotten. Ahhhhhh. Sarah joined us, chiming in with Im ok just to stay here for the entire three days.
Ever wondered how many GYBOAGSEAC timers can you get through before your hands turn all pruny? The answer is four.
My husband knows that I have a hard time relaxing. I regularly interrupt the most blissful state of sloth on the couch by getting up and doing a few dishes, or by finding something that might have a little bit of dust on it. I cant help it; Im just always on the move. Even now, as I type, I have internet explorer open with six active tabs. I have no idea where I got my ability to multitask from, because I certainly didnt learn it from my parents. My mom cant even figure out how to use an ATM machine.
Lionel saw the first signs of twitching, and reluctantly asked if I was ready to go to the room.
YES PLEASE!
Off we went.
Weve never stayed on Deck 2 before this trip, and initially I was concerned about its distance from the Cove Café, Signals, and any other place on the boat where you can sit with a drink in relative, scream-free peace. In years past, Lionel would zip up and grab us a fancy schmancy coffee while I zipped back to the breakfast buffet, and we would meet back on the balcony to enjoy breakfast. And now? We had to use ELEVATORS. I hate elevators. I think it all stems from the job I used to have as a newspaper delivery girl at the Windham hotel. Up one floor, stop. Up another floor, stop. 20 times every morning. It literally left a bad taste in my mouth. So since then? I avoid the beastly things whenever able.
Sadly, Im fit, but not THAT fit. Sprinting up to the adult pool would not be an option. I did manage to survive the elevators, for the most part. I only got slightly nauseous when we would stop on every single floor, which repeatedly jostled my booze-filled belly.
Other than that? We really liked the room. Our porthole was a decent size, and gave us a wonderful view of a guy sitting on a folding chair under the gangplank, an area which is apparently not visible from wherever the supervisor stands:
I am invisible to those who walk the gangplank.
We divvied up the spoils from the
Castaway Club gift, which was the same as last time we sailed. Not that Im complaining. We also unpacked everything, because the luggage was here! Yay!
Ok. Let me rephrase that. I unpacked. Sarah merely opened her suitcase. Apparently, after a week of living out of it at our house, she felt no urgency to use the drawers. I, on the other hand, had my hanging organizer in the bathroom and my suitcase under the bed before Lionel could say hey, you need a hand with that?
Post unpacking, we explored the ship a little more and then got ready for the muster drill. Sarah and I debated putting shirts on over our swimsuits for decencys sake, but then the Bahama Mamas convinced us that a bulky life vest over a bikini was decent enough. Once we were out on the deck, you might have thought we would feel a little conspicuous. But the Bahama Mamas also took care of that. At least we had the foresight to put on a pair of shorts. You know, for the sake of the children.
Erica and Sarah, keeping it real. East coast!
Post mustard, we went to Sarahs new favorite place: Scoops. Which is now called something else that I forget the name of. They serve great paninis there, as I would find out another day. But for now? ICE CREAM!
Tiny little Sarah can eat her weight in ice cream. I know this, because I have seen her do it at least seven times in the few years that I have known her. Also? She scarfs it down before you can blink, and then goes back for more. Shes so fast, you think shes only eated one bowl. When, in fact, she has eaten twelve. And no brain freeze! She has cranial nerves of steel, that Canadian.
I would post an ice cream pic, but no one has yet to capture the ice cream ninja in action. She steals away into the night, leaving behind only the faint smell of vanilla. Or chocolate. Or whatever she ate.
Next up: streamers galore, our illicit non-budget trip to Palo (with still MORE ice cream), and I sleep through Hercules: the Muse-ical.
Its true.
OMG i'm laughing so hard that i'm crying..no really. I think that's the best description of me and ice cream that anyone's ever written.
Oh and you're the only eyeshadow wearing freak on that boat sista! 
BTW...worst picture of me ever. looooook into my searing red demon eyes of PAIN! mwaahahahaha. no...no really.
