Season 2 Episode 3 - Cruises, Vacation Recovery & Nap Act

This video is about Season 2 Episode 3 - Cruises, Vacation Recovery & Nap Act

Hi y’all, welcome to Still Stella – Living Life Sarcastically.

This podcast comes with a trigger warning: Extreme sarcasm and mild emotional violence.

Today we’re talking cruises, vacation recovery, and why Congress needs to stop playing and immediately pass the Nap Act.

Because let me tell you something…

vacation is exhausting.

People always say, “Enjoy the journey, not the destination.”

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:02

Welcome to Stella. Living Life Sarcastically. Hi, y'all. Welcome to Still Stella, Living Life Sarcastically. This podcast comes with a trigger warning, extreme sarcasm, and mild emotional violence. Today we're talking about cruises, vacation recovery, and why Congress needs to stop playing and immediately pass the NAP Act. Because let me tell you something, vacation is exhausting. People always say enjoy the journey, not the destination. That's a lie told by people who clearly ain't ever caught a red-eyed flight to Florida with swollen ankles, airport anxiety, and one eye open because your childhood trauma taught you if you fall asleep first, somebody's drawing on your face. I don't care if I'm 53 years old and sitting in first class with a tiny first class blanket and a complimentary pretzels. Somewhere deep in my soul, I still believe if I fall asleep in public, I'm waking up with idiot written across my forehead in Sharpie and my hand in warm water. That's just how we were raised. So after the hour and a half drive to the airport, the overnight flight, and approximately 17,000 lines later, we finally made it to the cruise ship. And cruises, maybe they are just organized cattle herding with rum packages. You stand in line to get on the shuttle, then stand in line to board the ship, then you stand in line to check in, then stand in line to stand in another line. By the time we got on board, I had been awake so long I was starting to hear colors. Now if you've ever cruised, you know they don't let you into your room right away. And your luggage is somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle for half the day. But listen, we came prepared. We packed our swimsuits in the carry on and headed straight to the adults only section where we'd rented a private cabana for the week. And I'm telling y'all right now, that cabana was one of the smartest financial decisions I've made in my adult life. Forget retirement planning, forget a four hundred one. Invest in vacation naps and fruity drinks. That first afternoon we climbed up there, half dead from travel, got handed cold drinks, stretched out on that comfy little bed, and took the kind of nap that resets your entire personality. I'm telling you, I woke up healed, baptized by seabree Zum. Epic. Now here's the thing I hate about cruises. The people Lord help me the people. There are just so many of them. And it's like the second folks. Board a ship, a cruise ship, all basic home training evaporates right into the ocean. Manners, they're gone. Patience gone. Situational awareness never existed. Their mamas would roll over in their graves if they saw how they were acting at that buffet line. And people get weirdly aggressive like they've like they're stormin Normandy for a dinner roll. Relax, Brenda. The shrimp cocktail ain't running off. We're all trapped on the same floating Walmart. We'll get there. It really is like herdin' cattle, except the cattle usually have better social skills. Now our balcony room was absolutely gorgeous. Perfect for sitting outside with coffee in the mornings. Unless the wind was blowing so hard it launched the patio furniture across the deck like it was auditioning for Twister Cruise Edition. One morning that chair slammed so hard into the glass door I thought I was about to meet Jesus in a bathrobe. I still drank my coffee though, because I'm committed to my routines and my poor decisions. The food was exactly what cruise food always is half amazing, half suspicious. I'm just not really a buffet person. There is something deeply unsettling about watching four hundred strangers hover over communal mashed potatoes like raccoons around a dumpster. I know, logically, the kitchen probably isn't much better, but I need that illusion. Let me believe fewer hands touched it. We stopped in the Dominican Republic, the Virgin Islands, and Tortola. Now Tortola, ooh baby. That rum tastin' at the distillery was worth every second. Nothing's funnier than a line of middle aged people politely waiting to do shots at eleven AM. Like it's some kind of sacred ceremony. The third sample was called pantydropper, and you can visibly see some people clutch their pearls. Then the last one, the lady pouring it goes, This one's for the men. It's called go all night. And without missing a beep, me and this woman, at least twenty years older than me, locked eyes, clinked glasses, and said they wish. I laughed so hard, I nearly needed medical assistance. That right there is female solidarity. Forget feminism, that's sisterhood. And honestly, it was the perfect honeymoon. Life gets busy, work gets just plain chaotic. Everything starts feeling like one giant unpaid group project. Sometimes you need to disappear onto a boat, drink fruity nonsense, and remember why you actually like each other. Then of course, vacation has to end, and suddenly you're standing in twelve more lines trying to undo all the relaxin' you just paid for. There's the exit line, shuttle line, airport line, flight delays, and then the drive home. By the time we got home I looked like I'd survived a minor natural disaster. And while the dogs were happy to see us, I'm pretty sure they were also disappointed their vacation with Tutu had ended. That woman spoils em rotten. Frankly, they probably wished we'd stay gone another week. And then comes vacation recovery, which is a real thing. Nobody talks about it enough. You need a vacation from your vacation. There's unpacking laundry, life waiting on ya. And all I really wanted to do was puppy snuggles and unconsciousness. Which brings me to my platform issue, the Nap Act. I believe all workplaces should be legally required to provide menopausal accommodations. A cold room? A fan pointed directly at your face. Emergency chocolate icebacks and little preschool nap mats under your desk. Now you tell me productivity wouldn't skyrocket if everybody got a mandatory twenty minute afternoon nap. Now yes, some folks would absolutely sleep straight through to quitting time. And honestly, I support that too. At this age we're all still trying to figure out who we are. At least once a week I question every life choice that brought me here, and wonder if I should burn it all down and start a whole new career. Then I remember Bills and every profession has idiots. Construction, art, event planning, gallery ownership. I've done a little bit of everything. And no matter where you go, there's always gonna be somebody making you question whether humans should have evolved this far. That's just life. Burnout is real. Brain fog is real. Hot flashes are straight up terrorism. And remote work might be the only reason I haven't ended up on the evening news. At least when the infernal internal inferno kicks in, I can blast the AC, grab an ice pack, and suffer privately like a lady. So remember, or maybe I already said this and forgot because brain fog is driving this bus. Marry your lobster, drink the rum, and hug the friends who don't secretly root against you. Thanks for listening, y'all. If you'd enjoyed today's chaos, follow or subscribe so you don't miss next week's episode. And share it with all your real ones. Thank you for listening to Still Stella Living Life Sarcastically.