I Could Really Go Off On A Rant Here

You would have to be living under a rock to not be aware of the awful tragedy that occurred today on the campus of Virginia Tech. Some nutball shot up the place and ended some promising lives. And ended his own eff'd up life.

This just gets all over me like a cheap suit. I'm outraged! I'm furious! But you don't see me shooting up the place.

If you're bent on offing yourself or are relatively sure that once you've done your deed that a police officer will see to it that you are issued instant justice, just off yourself and be done with it. Don't front off and take others with you!

Bastard.

Post-Op Pics

CruiserMel, blogger, a woman barely able to move her elbow following many cross-country treks in search of rock and roll and cute boys. Gentlemen, we can rebuild her, we have the technology. We have the capability to make the world's first bionic blogger, or at least one who can schlep her own luggage. CruiserMel will be that woman. Better than she was before. Better. Stronger. Faster. Funnier?


Yes, o ye faithful - I am making good on my promise to reveal photo documentation of my recent radial nerve release surgery. These pics are not for the very squeamish. Nay, not even really for the not-so-squeamish.


But you asked for it and ye shall receive. Here ya go, you sickos.

Here is my pre-op freckled and un-swollen elbow 8 days ago.....before Dr. McHottie got his lusty hands on me.

This photo shows what I've had to look at for the past 7 days. And it's been a miserable existence. Not being able to bend at the elbow has really cut into my drinking ability. Or maybe it's just the Vicodin that cut into my alcoholism. We may never know.

This is the foam cube thingy I have shared my bed with for the past 7 nights. We've grown quite fond of one another. He's squishy and snuggly and we can't keep our hands off of eachother. But we don't take it out in public. We're modest that way.

How'd this get in here? Oh yeah, I needed a cute boy to look at. Maybe you do, too since the ugliest of ugly is fast approaching.

And here's what Dr. McHottie did to me. Oh, the Versed was divine, but if I find out his home address, he's got some 'splainin' to do. My modeling career is over.

And that ladies and gentlemen, is what you've been clamoring for. Seriously, be careful what you wish for next time. I have a digital camera and I'm not afraid to use it.

Signed,

The Bionic Blogger

Twilight Sleep

hiya kiddos, it's me, the one-armed doped-up slug. please forgive the lack of proper spelling and punctuation, but typing was taught to me using both hands, not one, and old habits die hard. i know you asked for before and after pics, but since my arm is masked by a cast of some sort right now, it's rather dull. wouldn't you rather wait for the unveiling (and thus the gore)?

thought so.

let me tell you something.....gather 'round.....versed. (prounced ver-sed') versed is one of man's greatest inventions in the world of medicine. and my anesthesiologist, chris? he's the second greatest invention in the world of medicine. i love that man. i love him so much that i announced it to at least five nurses and doctors as they wheeled me into recovery wednesday, but only after i professed that my surgeon is the hottest doctor in the world - to his face. he said he would be sure to tell his wife, in case she didn't already know. honestly, he beats dr. mcdreamy hands down. did i mention that versed should be used to get info out of terrorists? it's that god. i mean good. hee.

unfortunately, they didn't send versed home with me. or chris or dr. mchottie, either. just vicodin, methocarbamol, and ketorolac. my new friends. they tend to make me throw up, but they've caused me to lose 6 pounds since tuesday, so they're allowed to stay.

the funniest part is this cube of foam rubber that i have to weave my arm through to keep my arm elevated. it reminds me of those robot people in the "i want my mtv" video from the 80's. it's huge and it laughs at me when i have to go to the bathroom. too bad there's no video for that because it should be on television, i'm sure. i'll try to get someone to take a picture of it (the cube) and post next week. it's just too hard to describe.

must sign off for now - time for a pill or two. heh.

oh, before i go - a big ole thanks to all of you who have been nice enough to drop by my little blog and give me tips on painkillers and/or your well-wishes. lucky for you, i'm not on versed right now because i'd profess your hotness in public for certain.

wait, you'd like that, wouldn't you?

thought so.

But What If I'm Not Coherent Enough To See Sanjaya Ousted?

Hiya folks. It's Tuesday night and I'm looking at my elbow with a wistful, longing look. My flawless, but freckled skin will be swollen and probably black & blue this time tomorrow night.

Yup, CruiserMel is going under the knife tomorrow. And I'm a little uneasy because they said they don't plan on putting me under. Dammit. Oh, he says he's going to make me "feel funny and talk even funnier," but seriously - I have to stay alert?

WTF?

I'm being punished for letting my tennis elbow go on wayyyyy too long back in 2004. Back then, I did the physical therapy route (and had a ferocious crush on my therapist - is that normal?), did two rounds of steroid shots in the joint, but eventually had some surgery to fix the problem. They must have used chopsticks to do it, because all I had to show for it was two little scars that look like cigarette burns.

Then this year, perhaps flared up by my cross-country pursuit of rock & roll and thus schlepping luggage around, I found myself back in the doctor's office for yet another steroid shot. Yeah, it worked - for a whole 10 days.

After more tests and my own griping about "but it hurts!" they realized that it wasn't the original tendonitis (tennis elbow) that was giving me fits, but a pinched nerve. They won't use the chopsticks this time - oh no, they're using ginzu knives (maybe I'm making that part up...). Either way, my pretty little elbow will be scarred for life.

See? I told you it hurt!

So - I will not eat nor drink anything after midnight tonight. Not even bourbon or Triscuits. I will roll out of bed in the A and head for the hospital where I will be poked, prodded, and hacked away at in a region of my body that has given me grief for way too long. I will be sent home with an array of pain-killers which will probably spawn a creative streak never before seen, yet I won't be able to do a thing about it.

Because, in typical CruiserMel style, I didn't ask some really important questions like: How long before I can blog again? How will this affect my "art?" What, no blogging??????

So, kiddies, I will do my very best to give you a report as soon as I can - but it might be one-handed - and thus in code. I hope y'all don't forget about me. I certainly won't forget about you! (except while I'm on pain-killers)

Please keep checking back, pweeze? I promise something by the weekend - if only the before and after photos.

Stay tuned!

My Little Neck O The Web

I know, I know - this has been done before by bloggers better than I, but it's Friday and I feel the need to blog, though I've got nuffin. So deal with it or step off, pal.

Ever since I've added sitemeter to my blog, I've been fascinated by how people stumble upon my little piece of the web. And from where! Sometimes, it's very straightforward and sometimes it's just weird. Gather 'round the campfire, my children, and let CruiserMel share.

Comfy? Good. What's that? No, I don't have any marshmallows. You should've brought your own.

*clearing throat*

Boys and girls, there once was a girl named CruiserMel. And she started reading a blog. And that led to reading another blog. And another. And so on. And so on. She felt like an outsider and in an attempt to nurture her inner writer (and because weird stuff just happens to her that people seem to find entertaining), she started her own blog. Little by little, a wee audience was born.

Oh I know who are my regulars, but occasionally I'll get a comment by someone who piques my curiousity. So, off to the sitemeter I go. Many times this commenter pops over from another blog (thanks, by the way - so flattering), but sometimes it's just plain twisted.

Here are a few of the recent searches that led people to my ramblings:

1. poop while drunk - okay what is up with this one? If you cannot poop when you are drunk, then you aren't doing it right. I'm not a doctor - get away from my blog.

2. paulina poreskova - I'm pretty sure I only mentioned her name once (in reference to being the wife of Car's singer Ric Ocasek). I've had at least 15 hits because of people Googling her. Surely, I am not the be all-end all of all articles about Mrs. Ocasek. Poor Paulina, she needs a press agent.

3. urban legend reverse parking - I think this one came from someone in England. Do they reverse park because they drive on the wrong side of the street? I had no idea Brits were so backward. Honestly, why would you ever think to put those four words together in one thought?

4. polished toes driving - You need to be contacting Ripley's Believe It Or Not if your toes are driving. That's a really neato-torpedo trick ya got there. It's a shame Ed Sullivan isn't alive; he'd be totally down with this. You could've even subbed for the plate-spinning Romanians occasionally. That would make great television!

5. zapps cracked pepper and sea salt - I believe this is in reference to the potato chips and I can't imagine why, oh why, anyone would be researching these tasty treats on the internet. Call me baffled. And now call me someone who has the muchies.

6. first kiss reaction - I feel for this person. He/she wants to see if he/she is normal. I'll let you in on a secret - if you're reading my blog, you are not normal. Sorry 'bout that. Google didn't disclose that before you clicked on my link.

7. rozerem advert, Abe Lincoln, spaceman, beaver - These hits seem to come mostly from overseas. And apparently they don't get it either. Funny story - there's some guy who writes a blog about advertising, in an educational manner, I guess for students of advertising. He wrote a lengthy piece about the Rozerem ads being brilliant, etc, and then shares the links of three articles/blogs that "don't get it." Mine was one of the three. I feel so immortal. The day I discovered this was better than winning an Academy Award, if I were to ever get one of those.

8. naked passengers overboard, galveston, cruiseship couple - this is the most recent frequent search that brings folks over here to my web, er lair. This story has really captured the attention of alot of people. It's probably not because it's newsworthy, but because they are just looking for an alternative to reading about Anna Nicole. And NO, I am NOT the woman who went overboard, nor was I naked at the time. Wait, that didn't come out right.

So that, children, is my excuse for a blog entry tonight. Lame, yes. Quite. I had no choice but to post something! I had to get that Sanjaya picture off the top of the page. It was just too disturbing.

My Eyes! My Eyes!

I wonder if Mowgli knows he's gay yet. Someone should tell him. Or just F him in the A and get it overwith.

According to KP's Mother.....

This was too funny to not share. Did you hear about this?

Pair saved after going overboard
09:52 AM CDT on Monday, March 26, 2007
The Associated Press
GALVESTON, Texas – A man and woman fell overboard from a cruise ship in the Gulf of Mexico early Sunday, but both were rescued after a four-hour search and appeared to be in good condition, a cruise line spokeswoman said.
The 22-year-old man and 20-year-old woman fell 50 to 60 feet from a cabin balcony, said Julie Benson, spokeswoman for Princess Cruises.
Both were onboard Sunday afternoon and being evaluated at the ship's medical center. They sustained minor injuries, Ms. Benson said.
The cruise line didn't know how the couple fell, although it appears to have been an accident, Ms. Benson said. The ship, Princess Cruise's Grand Princess, was about 150 miles off Galveston at the time.
The captain turned the ship around after friends of the man and woman told the crew about 1:30 a.m. that they'd gone overboard, Ms. Benson said. The ship's crew used spotlights and rescue boats in the search. One passenger was rescued by the ship's boats at 5:30 a.m. and the other at 6 a.m.
The search was aided by the Coast Guard, and a nearby cruise ship also offered assistance.
The man and woman, whom the cruise line declined to name, will have the option of continuing on the trip or returning home when the ship reaches port.
Such incidents are considered unusual but this is the second this month. A man was rescued off the Florida coast after eight hours in the water.

My friend "I'm In Slacker Mode" aka KP, got a call from her mother today.

"Did you hear about the couple who fell off a cruiseship this weekend and when they were rescued, the man was naked?"

"Um, yeah" kp said.

"Was that CruiserMel?"

When I stopped laughing, I felt all warm and fuzzy. Apparently KP's mother thinks I'm 20.

I love that woman.

Planes, Trains, Buses, and Automobiles

"GY%TURIOOXZMGHKF%^KLU+++#$!!!&*&*&*$$Bananapatch." That was the quote of the weekend in Philly, my children.

There were all kinds of fun and excitement present during my trip to see E, her hubby CJ, and my very first (yeah, I was a virgin) Meat Loaf concert. But what's left of my brain cells that E personally tried to kill singlehandedly can only focus on one thing at a time today.

CruiserMel's travel ghoulies have returned. I know I haven't gone into a whole lot of detail here, but I'm famous in some circles for my misadventures in all things transportational. And it usually occurs when I'm doing something whacky like having to be somewhere at a certain time.

Let's travel back through time, shall we? Friday I left work early, really early, in order to ward off any possible travel ghoulies that might make themselves apparent. I arrived at the airport almost a full 2 hours before flighttime, because I'm a good citizen that way. Of course, once you've gone through security, they have you captive and before I knew it, I'd purchased a diet coke, a bottle of water, a Wendy's spicy chicken sandwich, two trashy gossip magazines and some toothpaste - all in separate transactions. Overpriced transactions.

We boarded right on time. American rolls like that. We pushed from the gate at precisely 5:25 as scheduled. We're driving and driving and driving for ages when Captain I Will Get You There Whenever I Please announced that Philadelphia had not cleared us to take off. Wait, we're not in Philadelpia are we? Nope. He said that those pranksters in the tower in Philly were afraid it MIGHT rain or be windy or something (I think they just wanted to go to a strip club) and so we had to be held in something comparable to a cement pasture in the middle of nowhere. For almost two hours. He told us it could be 5 minutes or 120 minutes until we were given clearance to take off.

My newfound friend (we'll call him Coolest Guy in the World to Sit Next to on a Plane) immediately asked the flight attendant "So when does the bar open?" She had a look on her face like "Do you know how many of you creeps have asked me that in the past 3 minutes?" but really said "I'll check with the captain, it's his call whether we can pull the cart out." We both informed her that it would behoove her to sashay up to the cockpit and tell him the natives will get restless if we don't see that cart tout suite! Fast forward about a minute: The captain said if he can't drink, you can't drink. Nah, I'm kidding. Nevertheless, we were left drinkless for two hours. Luckily, I had my water and diet coke to drink. It's not the same, but I had people eyeing me in a lecherous way and I'm pretty sure they would've shivved me for my water bottle if there wasn't a restriction on weapons on a plane.

Two hours later, we were airborne, enjoying adult bevs, and on our way. Captain I Will Get You There - got us there in record time.

So, it's midnight on Friday and E & CJ arrive at the airport with cocktails in hand. And so it began - a night of giggling, tunes (aka toonces), bourbon, and more giggling. Until 7:15 in the A when E passed out with her head at the foot of her bed and me on top of her husband in the same bed, trying to talk him into joining me for another cocktail. I'm not one to ever call CJ the voice of reason, but he urged me to go on into my room and lie down a little while. Um, yeah. Like the dead.

When you go to bed at 7:15 in the A, you kind of lose the day. Ever happen to you?

Okay - so it's time to whore-up and get our fannies to a place called Upper Darby, PA. Being college edumacated folks, we wisely decided to take a train for the 12 minute ride. Once upon the train, the conductor comes by to collect our money. CJ asked how many more stops until 69th Street. After a pause: "W$*(%&$*%)#$%*(%$*DFJ$($?" Huh? "I can't understand a word that man just said," I said in my Texas twang that I only have when I leave the comforts of Texas, loud enough to draw attention from our fellow trainmates. Then he said it again. A woman on the train had to translate. Being originally a yankee way back, CJ gathered from that woman that the conductor had said "This train doesn't go there" sorta. We got our instructions to get off the train and jump through unbelievable hoops (and a city bus) to get to 69th Street. CJ just glared at ME during our adventure like this was all MY fault and said something about how we'd better find him some pink wine (yeah, he's explored his feminine side and kinda likes it) soon. We were all on board with that emotion. Then he volunteered what he thought the conductor had actually said and it sounded something like "R$*&#$*RSL#$%&$*$E&Bananapatch." I'm still laughing about that one.

I won't bore you with the details of the concert, though it surprised me how much I enjoyed it. Yeah, that's Kasim in the picture. I don't want to ruin anyone's appetites by showing a picture of Meat Loaf. You can thank me later.

But just because the night was falling together just fine during the show does not mean our travel ghoulies were gone.

We hailed a cab (thinking this was the best idea, she said with a straight face) to take us to our original train station where the racecar was parked. Um, yeah, so we've had a few cocktails, an overpriced hotdog and little sleep so we're cracking jokes in the back of the car when we realize that the driver was hopelessley lost. And we're from Texas. I thought CJ was going to take the guy on, but luckily we saw a policeman who set us on the correct path. And we got a big discount. At that moment, as we were getting out of the cab, I said something about how the driver was beginning to look kind of cute. And E said the 2nd best line of the weekend: "Yeah, he's good looking for a Hindu."

Believe it or not - the weekend actually got better from there. And soon, it was over, all too soon. Wahhhhh.

Yeah Baby!

Philadelphia, here I come!!!!!!!!!

Y'all have a great weekend now, ya hear?

At Least My Toes Rock

Does anyone say "lame" anymore? If they don't, well then I'm really uncool.

I have completely gone frump this evening.

The day started out great - I cranked it out at the office. Really got stuff done. Before I knew it, it was 5:00 and I was outta there.

Then I stopped at my favorite salon-de-nails (okay, I really wanted to say that in Phillipino, but I have no idea how to do that) and had my precious tootsies and fingers freshened up. Great toe color this time - it looks like metallic merlot, but OPI called it something much more clever. Christina (yeah, like that's her real name) put my freshly polished toes into these flat bright purple flip-flops and I was on my way. Home, I thought.

But then I remembered that I wanted to stop by the liquor store to purchase a half-gallon of my friend E's favorite adult beverage that she can't buy in Pennsylvania. It was senior citizens night at the liquor store, so the place was loaded with shrivelled-up old farts utilizing their 10% discount. (Excuse me, if you make it to 65 why does that qualify a person for a discount? I swear, it's like a dare the store is throwing out there: if you are hooked on booze and can actually live to 65, we will front ya the extra 10%.) Anyhoo, I fwacked in on my purple flip-flops, minding my own biz when I heard little whispers coming from, count em, three little old peeps and felt the glare of their tri-foculs on my pretty lil feet. Funny, but I don't think they noticed my merlot-y nails. Geez, get a life, grandma.

I figured okay, since I've already been seen looking less-than-lovely, why not stop at the Walgreen's for a few items. Same thing there! Jimminy Cricket, stop staring at my shoes! Move it along, there's nothing to see here.

Throwing caution to the wind, I hit the quickie mart for a twelver of diet coke and good grief people - eyes UP, will ya? You'd think no one looking like trailer trash ever went to a 7-11!

I gave up on my other errands and headed home. I got CruiserDog fed. Then I got into a comfy tshirt, shorts and my new soft fuzzy robe and "proper" flip-flops. It's not much prettier, in fact the orange flip-flops are a little bright for the pastel yellow of the robe, but CruiserDog is colorblind, so it's okay.

Mmmm, hunger pangs. Make a salad? Grill a chicken boob? Nah - oatmeal. Yeah, oatmeal. In a plastic cup so I won't have to do a dish. Yeah, see I told you it would be lame.

I turned on my roommate aka "the telly" and sat down at the computer to catch up on some blogs. (Dammit y'all, this will take me all night to get caught up, you prolific things, you!) I didn't notice what channel the telly was tuned to, but soon found myself staring, open-mouthed at the wonder that is "Dancing with the Stars." Being too lazy to change the channel, I kept one eye on the telly and one eye on the computer. Before long, my eyes were doing this field goal thing and I had to choose. I tried to choose the blogs, but for goodness sakes, I think this trash has positioned a barbed hook right in my left cheek. (minds out of the gutters, boys) And it's soooooo bad! Uh-oh - here comes Sir Paul's ex - this could be entertaining. They're talking about her fake leg and stuff. Oh no, they aren't really thinking that thing could come OFF are they? That's it, they've hooked me, at least for the next few minutes.

Dammit. It didn't come off. And you just know the bookies in Vegas were taking bets on this, too. And she looked like hell. Who gave her that dress? It doesn't even deserve explanation except - uhhh.......no.

Turning back to my blogs, they announced Apollo Ono. Remember him from the Olympics? Man, that boy is c-ute! I never noticed that before. And he's brought it tonight. Okay, we can jump to the finals now, Mr. Producer.

Anyway - that's what's shakin' in CruiserMel's world. Jealous, are we?

My Number Came Up and Wouldn't Ya Know, I'm Busy

What I'm going to confess here may come as a shock to you. Don't be afraid. I can appear completely normal when meeting parents and bosses and schit. I really can. My momma didn't bring up no slacker. Well, relatively speaking.

I have a leaning towards some weird stuff. I used to be a complete CourtTV whore until I decided to get a life of sorts. But, for real, I actually thought up the concept of CourtTV once in the shower years ago, but then I got shampoo in my eyes and the thought washed away down the drain. Damn. Missed Opportunities is my middle name. Or names. Whatever.

In 1996 when the OJ trial was on 24-7, I was right there cheering for the good guys, fumbly as they were. I didn't even flinch during the days and days of DNA test results, the "mountain" of evidence, Judge Ito's coffee mugs, Kato Kaelin's hair (I think I even had a dirty dream about him, but that's a story for another day), the bloody glove and the "N" word debacles, and Nicole's drug-rehabbing friends. Geraldo Rivera was my hero. Greta van Susteren became a household name because of OJ Simpson. I was there for every minute. I didn't miss a beat. And I would've fried his ass. Here's just how sick I am: I recorded the closing arguments and the verdict. Seriously, I have over 18 hours of this shit on videotape. I guess if I am the last remaining person on earth, I will dust them off and pop them into my dilapidated VCR to wax sentimental between reading my library of autobiographies by all of the players, including Kato. And not being a slacker, I didn't wait for the paperback versions. No, not me. I'm pathetic.

Ever since I became eligible to serve on a jury, I practically run to the mailbox to see if I've been summoned. 699 times out of 700 I'm disappointed.

But not today, kiddies. There it was in all it's proper governmental #10 window envelope-ness. I ripped into that sucker like it held a winning lottery ticket, getting a wee paper cut along the way that I didn't notice until just a second ago.

My eyes scanned down the page and found that it's for criminal court. EUREKA! I began to tingle with delight. I was as giddy as, well, as I usually get. I continued scanning until I saw the date.

(Aside: for three years I've battled tennis elbow, which some "friends" have described as a drinking and/or blackjack injury (I can't have enough friends), suffered through surgery and months of physical therapy and it's still not right. So, I'm scheduled for more surgery on April 4.)

Yup, my date with Lady Justice is April 3rd, the day before my pain ends (hopefully).

So my dilemma now is this: Do I try to have my civic duty postponed and possibly wait another year before my number comes up in the big jury hopper (bummer) or do I actually go and possibly get chosen only to let down our justice system by sayin something like "Ha. Gotcha. I can't serve because I'm getting cut on tomorrow"? (another bummer)

I don't want to be an American Idol. I don't want to be Miss America. I don't even want to be on that show with Howie Mandel and the suitcases. I just want to be a juror. My needs are few.

A Question About Groupies and Musicians

All my life I've heard stories of (and seen a few) women who apparently cannot contain themselves at concerts. And by themselves, I mean their breasts.

It probably started back in the days of Elvis, Tom Jones, Englebert Humperwhatshisname, Davy Jones, David Cassidy and Mick Jagger. Maybe before that time. It is a tradition that goes on to this day. And it has me baffled.

So I posed a question the other day to my friend, T, about concert behavior by some women.

No, not the ones who scream and dance like no one is watching (that would be me). No, not the ones who make banners proclaiming their undying lust for Billy Joe Armstrong. Not the ones who write messages on tshirts like "I *heart* U, John Mayer." Not the ones who faint from pure passion at Justin Timberlake shows. Not the ones who find themselves sitting with bikini tops on the shoulders of their dates at outdoor music festivals, worshipping Rick Springfield or some other 80's icon. Not even the ones who feel compelled to show their breast implants to Tommy Lee, though this one I kinda get, not that I would ever........

The ones I asked T about are the ones who throw their bras (and other underthings) up on the stage at their beloved rock gods. Bras are expensive! What's the point?

"Do you suppose they bring a spare in their purse to throw on stage or do they simply get overcome by a desire to disrobe and must discard their dainties onto some unsuspecting musician?" And what's HE going to do with it?

I truly don't understand it.

So I ask you, my oh-so-wise readers, what's with that? Guys don't do it, thank God, but why not? I mean, Avril Lavigne might just want a pair of your boxer briefs, ya know.

Inquiring minds want to know. Okay, just me.

It's Beginning To Look Alot Like Springtime

I think I just needed that little cry last night. It was precious. No, I'm lying. It was ugly. And snotty. And felt awesome. Thanks to my reader - no wait - make that plural - for your tender little kicks to mine hiney. I knew I could count on you kiddies. It also helped that I think I might actually be up to date on reading your blogs that I had gotten behind on. You are some funny peeps, Peeps.

Today has been all about music and in particular CruiserMel's concert scheduling for the next few months. I dig this stuff! Oh quit rolling your eyes like you didn't know that about me.

The morning started off with me putting my passport together with my plane and concert tickies for my trip to Philly in 11 days, which will include some facetime with Kasim. Yeah, you thought I might get through 5 posts without mentioning him, did ya? Wrong-o, sucka. I still don't know what to wear, but CruiserMel will be rockin' some fresh highlights to really show off an enormous zit or a piece of spinach in my teeth, as per usual. But anyway, I'm a Meat Loaf virgin and all atwitter to see the big Bat Out Of Hell III show in all it's glory. I've got a theatre background, so hopefully I can get past ML's overacting and just enjoy the music. Oh who am I kidding? I'll have my eyes on the bass player so who really cares?

Then I firmed up my plans with L and S (geez, I've got a bunch of S friends) for seeing The New Cars (yeah, here it comes - say it with me my children - including Todd Rundgren) in southern Louisiana in May. Can I get an AMEN? On a sad note: Kasim can't be there, but if it's the same guy who filled-in for him on a few shows last year (Atom Ellis - he's perdy dang cute, too) then we'll be reasonably thrilled with the show.

THEN I had lunch with my friend S (same as above but not the S who helped me with screwdriver chores last month) wherein we laid out our gameplan for buying John Mayer tickets Friday morning for his appearance in Dallas in June. Keep your fingers crossed, will ya, that she's successful with her connections for getting us a private audience with J-May......okay, a small huddled crush of fans backstage with Johnnieboy. Double bonus on the J-May show: the odds are good that previously-blogged James Morrison will be the opener! I don't know what I'll do with that double bill of singer-songwriter-gods in my presence. Oh yeah I do - I'll faint and spend the entire concert in the medical tent. *glaring at S because she will so NOT come be with me and miss seeing Johnnie and then she'll rub it in my face that I missed his song dedication to me (yeah, right) for months afterwards*

All this and I just might cave-in and go see Jimmy Buffett in April with L (man, I just realized I've got several L friends, too) because isn't that what MasterCard is for?

So it's been a pretty good day at the CruiserMel corral. No bills came in the mail today. I had ravioli for dinner AND Eddie Izzard's new show "The Riches" starts tonight.

Life is getting greener. And you guys were a part of helping me see that. You guys get me, you really get me. *wiping a tear* Nah, just kidding.

How Do I Adjust The Color?

I am such a total slug. Ever since I started this blog I've experienced life's little nuances in a far richer way than ever before. Even driving down a road I've driven 1000 times, I can find something interesting and more times than not, I hear that voice in my head saying "that's something I could blog about." Having a stupid little blog has opened my ears and my eyes and my world is more colorful, if only in tiny ways.

That being said, I don't have a clue what's wrong with me. Can a person have writer's block and not really be a writer in the first place? It's so frustrating. I want so much to be the kind of blogger who spills over with witty, interesting and most-importantly daily posts. The best I've been able to conjure up lately is a weekly posting and frankly, I think I've lost my mojo.

It's not like funny schit doesn't happen to me - believe me, funny schit happens all the time around me - but for some reason it's not translating to the computer screen and I find myself spending time typing an entry only to hit the delete button.

So, I apologize for not keeping up to my own high standards and posting at least 2 or 3 times a week. I think it's the high pollen count. Or this sty I call my home. Or the fact that I need reading glasses so badly that I had to buy a magnifying makeup mirror to properly apply my mascara, but it also makes my tiniest wrinkles look like fjords in Norway, not to mention that apparently I've lived with a unibrow all of my life and never knew it.

Maybe I just need to adjust the hue or tint or whatever so I can get back my grip on finding the color in my world again. Yeah. That's the ticket.

Perhaps I just need a good little cry, nothing serious. I think I'll watch an old episode of Grey's Anatomy. That should do it.

Move it along. And can ya pass me a Kleenex, please?

CruiserMel Wins A Platinum Award

Hey guys! It's great to be back on dry land, but I have to say for the millionth time - cruising the high seas is greater than great.

Our adventures began with CruiserMel being awarded Platinum status by Carnival Cruises. I wasn't sure what that meant, but maybe a little speedier service from the bartenders, which would've been fine with me. But no - it meant that I'd spent untold dollars on their ships 10-plus times and thus would garner personalized stationary, petit fours delivered to the cabin, and priority spa appointments, among other things. It even included a free shot at insulting the captain. Yeah, you read that right.

It began with the first rear-end kissing from a staff member who greeted me as if we were old pals and said "Welcome back, CruiserMel. If I can do anything to make your stay nicer, please feel free to call me 24 hours a day." Um....okay. Then the invitation came. "You are cordially invited to a special cocktail party honoring our Platinum members." Okie dokie - free watery drinks and pseudo-warm mini-quiches. What the hell - it's free. I left L at the blackjack table (since it just wasn't workin' for CruiserMel at all) and found I was special. There were all of 8 Platinum passengers amongst 15 uniformed officers and staff-members. And there was real caviar and Moet champagne! The real deal. Was this really Carnival? I quickly found myself surrounded by three officers (cruise director, assistant cruise director, and the chief purser) and they were placing their lips firmly upon my buttocks and well on their way to causing hickies. You'd have thought I was the princess of cruising. [And they would be correct.] Before I knew it we were playing movie quote trivia and giggling from the free Moet.

Pay attention, here's where the insulting comes in.

A nice looking Italian man approached and took my hand in his. He said he was glad to "finally" meet me [what?] and apologized that he needed to excuse himself as he had to have dinner with the employees of the month. Before I could see how many stripes were on his shoulder, I poo-poo'd him away with a flippant "well, isn't that nice of you" and turned my back on him. I saw the faces of the now-snorting and laughing staff members and realized the error of my ways. Yeah, I'd poo-poo'd the captain. And I was their new hero. I was at Queen status now. Luckily I never saw the captain after that. I know what you're thinking, but hey - he should've SAID he was the captain!

L and I had specifically chosen this ship so as to surprise our Romanian friend for his birthday. His triple-take when he first saw us was priceless. So was his face when he opened his prezzie of approximately 10 pounds of chocolate candy. [This particular Romanian will do anything for chocolate and frankly, it's kind of gross how he attacks it.] But the look on his face was more touching than a little kid on Christmas morning. He took us to his favorite Mexican restaurant in Cozumel for great food and several Mexican beers with lime wedges. We window shopped for jewelry. We had a lovely day in port. Soon it was back to the ship for more pampering and fun.

Though CruiserMel left a few pesos (read: alot) on the table in the casino, the trip was a fun one. 5 days, 4 nights of fun and frolic. And hot guys. Very hot foreign guys. One can never have enough of those.

I've been home 48 hours and now have something that seems quite alot like the Tourista. I'm sure it's just a virus, but part of me thinks it's either those limes in my Mexican beers or the captain put a time-released whammy on me. Not fun. Payback can apparently be hell. Believe.

On another note: I killed my camera on my trip to the mid-west in January and didn't get any pictures of CruiserMel's foreign men. Alas, in between my trips to the bathroom today, I mustered up the strength to buy a new one online. And it is sswwwweeeeeet. I can't wait to shower y'all with my photography prowess.

On yet another note, and this one is weird: in checking out the google searches that lead folks to this blog, I've come across one that had me stumped until I watched my recorded American Idol from last Thursday. The search words were "Kelli Pickler Implants." Once I watched the playback, I got it. Good grief - have you seen those things?

Time to go - and by "go" I mean GO.

So get on outta here. Seriously. Arriba!!!!