A Hairy Problem

          St. Bob is on a quest.  He wants to buy the shampoo and conditioner they have on Viking cruise lines.  He is this close to booking another cruise, just to get their hair products.

          Now, as a reasonable person, you might think these items could be for sale online.  Not a chance. Oh, sure, some traveler may be trying to sell theirs on ebay, but are those opened? Old? Germy?

          He called the company and spoke to someone in charge of such things, and was told that even he—the “in charge” guy—couldn’t acquire them.  Like giant diamonds in a hidden vault in a hidden warehouse, it simply couldn’t be done.

          Well, you try not to tell St. Bob that something can’t be done. He picks up that challenge, puts it on, and does battle with the impossible dream. And sings it.

          Meanwhile, I am calculating what it would cost, per ounce, to go on another cruise just to get the shampoo and conditioner. I’m figuring several thousand dollars per container.

          Maybe this is why some people sell their homes and just cruise for the rest of their lives. They may not see loved ones for awhile, but their hair looks awesome.

It's not too late-- grab a few copies of my super-inexpensive book, A Little Christmas Prayer to give as gifts. 

Ah-laska!

           You know my philosophy: Either things go great, or it’s material. Win-win.

          So I never even hope for smooth travel; I kind of wait for the disasters and, as you know, travel never disappoints.

          This time we cruised to Alaska with dear friends and had a fabulous time with them. St. Bob’s text notification is a quacking duck, so every time ducks flew overhead (which was often) he pulled out his phone to check his messages. Much to my amusement.

Did we see whales? 

          Nope. Did we see bears?

           Nope. Did we see moose? 

          Nope. Did we see the Northern Lights?        

          Nope. Did our helicopter ride to the top of a glacier get cancelled due to bad weather?

          Yep. Did our whale-watching excursion get cancelled as well? Yep. But we did get to zip-line, see two bald eagles, and eat ourselves into oblivion.  I think that last one is required on all cruises.

Well, that and watching my Youtube Mom videos here.

Lucy's Got More 'Splaining to Do!

           You know that my luggage brand is “Ricardo,” right? This fact is not forgotten by my family.  Nor by Karma, nor by any other supernatural powers that turn my trips into comedy routines.

          St. Bob and I just returned from a cruise. 

          The first leg of the trip took us to Chicago, where we saw this giant replica of a Bracchiosaurus that roamed Utah exactly where I grew up. Timing is everything.

          In Barcelona I tied my coat around my waist and pretended to be tidying up at Park Guell, and sent this photo to our kids:

          Brandon wrote, “I guess somebody’s Gaudi do it.”

          Then I got hooked on a jigsaw puzzle on board the ship:

          The next day I saved a little dog on Las Ramblas from getting hit by a car. He had chewed through his leash and the owner was just sitting there, eating and talking, not paying attention. You’re welcome, Spain.

          Next, off to the French Riviera. I was pointing out a building to Bob, in Monaco. I was telling about the flags, vaguely aware that Bob had worn a dark jacked and a baseball cap that day. Suddenly I looked up and it wasn’t Bob, but this good sport of a guy:                                                                

          And, of course, Bob came over and told him this is not the first time this has happened. Brandon said, "You found Dad's doppelganger."

          We got back on the bus and I dropped my water bottle. Bob asked if it broke, and was actually disappointed when I said no. “Darn,” he said, “I was hoping I could tell everyone that your water broke.”  Yep, this is how he thinks.  I texted the kids and Richie wrote back, “It’s really a shame there isn’t video of this.”

          And then, in Nice, we saw a twin of our cat, Simon, who passed away a few months ago. Maybe it really was Simon, letting us know he was now living in the lap of luxury. Or maybe he came to Nice because he thought it said Mice.

          Eventually we came home. I showed my ticket to the flight attendant and said, “2B?” She pointed out the way, and then I winked. “Or not 2B?” 

           She needs to buy mybooks. Especially A Little Christmas Prayer, the perfect Christmas gift.

Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

            I am opposed to misspelled products.  Every day I go into the kitchen and see a refrigerator that says SAMSUNG when it should say SAM SANG. 

I’m toying with the idea of pasting a little A over the U.  I don’t care that this is a surname in Korea.  Where I live it looks like a grammatical mistake.  (Although I like the idea of the little character named Sam, singing.)

            But now my husband has done the unthinkable.  He has bought a misspelled car.  Made by Chevrolet, a part of GM, which has more than 200,000 employees who should know better.  It saddens me to report this, but they have spelled it Cruze.

            Now.  Any schoolchild can tell you this is not how you spell cruise.  (And, I just noticed, any spell check program will jump all over it as well).  It isn’t even how to spell Cruz in Spanish, because of that little E on the end.

            Furthermore, there is already a car out there called the PT Cruiser, so “cruise” is taken, right?  Is this why they misspelled it—to distinguish it from the other car with cruise in its name?  Why aren’t they being sued?  Hey, if you came up with a soft drink called Coak, do you really think Coke’s attorneys wouldn’t be all over it?  Remember when there was a store called Sacks?  Even worse, it was a consignment shop called Sacks Thrift Avenue.  You can imagine the gasps of horror at Saks Fifth Avenue, and of course they sued.  And rightly so.  You can’t use a name that similar in the same kind of business.

            Bob thinks the whole thing is hilarious, and called each of our children to see if they could guess “why Mom doesn’t like the new car.”  Every one of them said, “Because it’s misspelled?” 

            He says it’s going to sit in the garage for a few weeks, then go on a talk show, and jump on the sofa about how much it loves my Altima.  It certainly won’t be because it loves the spelling of its name, I can tell you that.

            And this entire travesty wouldn’t have happened if Bob’s Chrysler 300 hadn’t had a weird vapor lock problem with the gas cap, which made it die every time it stopped.  Talk about your out-to-lunch car manufacturers who haven’t even had a re-call on that one.

            Frankly, I think the real reason he bought it is to keep me from driving it.  And because he has a pattern of buying misspelled items.  Before the Chrysler, guess what he drove?  An Infiniti.

Motor on over to the little box on your right, where you can sign up to receive these glimpses into my ridiculous life on a regular basis.  And if you see me in the Cruze, please look the other way.