Still griping about an obstructed view, Rae and I made a quick stop to the cabin to refresh our drinks, met Ana and Jenn at our previously discussed rendezvous point and headed to Lido for the Blockhead Ball. We were a little late to the party, so we settled in behind the pool, next to ADA seating where there was still ample elbow room. I was tipsy, but I was also salty because we had just realized our photo-op wasn’t until Sunday morning. While this sounds like an insignificant detail, it meant that I’d get no face time with Donnie until the end of the cruise, and that we likely weren’t going to get any VIP bracelets or extra lil’ moments at all. Which was a bummer for my lofty hopes and dreams. Especially the one where he thinks I’m SO funny and introduces me to Jenny and then I become famous with little to no effort on my part. So I felt it was important to separate ourselves from the herd, for the safety of the others. When I get salty, my eyebrows get outta control. They’re mean, you guys. It’s not me, I promise. It’s them. They are SO judgey.
Blockhead Ball was the “formal” night, and the night where there’s an hour-long period of free drinks. Do not drink these drinks. You will get diabetes. Immediately. The servers carrying these absolute liquid nightmares get realllllll pushy with it, too. Seems fishy to me. Like, what’s your angle, bruh? Who are you working for? Why is it so important to you that I drink this barely spiked sugar water? Get off my dick.
I did my best to ignore the carnie-like servers and aggressively sipped on my vodka/water as I bopped near the pool, trying to get a glimpse of the guys and their fancy attire. You can’t see much from behind the pool, so I gave up quickly, as I’m wont to do, and just sort of swung my booty around, carefully, so my skirt didn’t fall down and show everyone the front butthole I’m working with underneath my bellybutton. I sincerely hope everyone has read the previous installments, because otherwise that just sounds like a medical emergency. Anyway, I was shaking my moneymaker and suddenly something pulled my attention from across the pool. It was Melissa Lima. The perfectly proportioned mean girl who I either want to be best friends with or just like…touch her butt and giggle. She was swaying and just as I predicted in a previous blog, the wind was perfectly blowing her hair and her skirt. It looked choreographed to a ridiculous degree. The weather was on her payroll. Ana was taken in as well and pulled out her phone to take pictures. I’m gonna guess that Melissa noticed.
Once my drink was gone again, I decided I should go change my skirt to avoid any potential accidental nudity, so I put on a body-con black number. I don’t wanna be whatever, but my body kind of looks like the number 8. Some might use the term “hourglass”, but I think the number 8 is more accurately fluffy. So I like to wear form-fitting clothing, lest I look like a pile of dirty laundry. Once I returned to Lido in my new getup, I felt Melissa-levels of confident and started going a little harder with the booty and the dancing. I glanced over toward the stairs, where I saw Z standing guard and simultaneously scanning my immediate area for signs of Rae. She had gone to get pizza from a part of the ship we had no idea existed until just that moment. Oh, shoot. I just told another eating secret.
The music during the first deck party was, well, not my thing. So we gave up a little earlier than normal and decided to rest up a bit in case Z came through with those “magic” VIP bracelets. Rae does this thing where she can fall asleep on her back, in a funereal pose, and wake up without having to touch up any hair, makeup or like…sweaty areas. It’s a time warp instead of a nap. And it’s amazing to watch. I mean, to glance at. I definitely did not watch her nap. That is very, very creepy. And I swear I was napping too. I’ll testify to that in court. I did wake up around 3:00am, though, realizing that we definitely weren’t getting into that night’s after party. Z had let us down. Or we had grossly misunderstood his use of “magically appear”. It was still unclear.
Jenn and I weren’t quite ready to admit defeat in our first night, though. We decided to just wander the ship, aimlessly. We stopped by Roosevelt’s corner, to say hello to his cutie-pie face. He was guarding the majority of the New Kids’ hallway. And he was adorable. He thanked us for bringing our “asses” by, and said he looked forward to seeing them again. In retrospect, I should have been annoyed by that. But, hey. I was on a boyband cruise. My aversion to catcalls was suspended. We didn’t spend a TON of time flirting with Roosevelt, because we didn’t want to look like we were stalking the New Kids corner of deck 7. So we headed up to the casino to see what kind of trouble we could get into there. We quickly realized that nobody was awake on the damn ship. Nobody except Tim, the fireman, that is. Because he saw me, maintained eye contact from across the room and made a beeline right for me. I sort of tensed up, waiting for the big confrontation that was bound to happen after that venomous blog I wrote about him and his rampant misogyny. But he just walked past me, saying, “I loved your blog”, sarcastically. I replied, “Oh my god, thank you!” because I don’t have a quick wit at 4:00am. Then he mentioned how “the entire fire department found out about it”, to which I replied, “I’m sorrrrrry”, VERY sarcastically. Because. Found out about what? The fact that he posts asshole things about large groups of women on his Facebook? Or that some of those women have a biting wit and a domain name with which to hit back? I was confused.
So confused, that Jenn and I decided to just cash in our proverbial chips and head to our rooms for the night. I used that time to stare at the ceiling and think of all the things I should have said to Tim instead of “thank you” and “I’m sorry”. Such as:
“Oh, the whole fire department found out? I’m sure that resulted in the tear-lubed circle jerk of my feminist nightmares.” Mic drop.