(You can read Part One here if you haven’t already.)
Thursday morning crept in and I was only mostly hungover, so I was in a pretty good place to begin the cruise adventure. The TT (that’s what I’m shortening “Trouble Trifecta” to from now on because it’s easier and it sounds like titty which I find hilarious) and our faithful fourth, Ana, checked out of the haunted AirBnB, said goodbye to the headless horseman or whatever, and set out in search of some brunch. One of these years I should probably try to get to port early so I can do that whole, “I saw Joe at embarkation and now I’m pregnant with spotlight-seeking twins!” thing, but I am not a morning person and my face is pretty frightening without at least two pounds of carefully placed makeup. And again, lines. I hate standing in line.
We sidled up to port sometime between 2 and 3pm, wine bottles in hand and a vague memory of our attempted (and foiled) vodka smuggling from last year hanging over me, and there was NO line. We waltzed right on. And NOBODY even glanced at my damn wine bottle. It could have been filled to the brim with cocaine and I would’ve walked it right onboard. But no. It was just stupid Cabernet Sauvignon. I did have my blue lipstick on, though. I wasn’t going to take any chances. As far as I knew, Donnie was face-blind to me and could only see the color blue, so you better believe I led with those #blukaki babies. I had it on for the infamous interview (and fans hated it with a weird passion) and I had it on when he recognized me and grabbed me in the crowd during the tour this summer. So. Yeah. It was a thing. A thing I’d like to discontinue because of waning makeup trends, but still.
Once aboard, we lost Ana and Jenn, so Rae and I headed to deck 7 to survey the land and get our door decor up. Since our door decor was literally just one poster that we recycled from last year, it wasn’t a tall order. While standing in the doorway, I saw a dude wander past, said a cordial hello, and when he turned to say hello back I realized he was super foxy, so I revised my hello to sound more like, “hell-ohhh” and he smiled and did the same. Good start. Off to a good start. The countdown to the dreaded muster drill was upon us, and Rae and I wanted to take a lap before standing in excruciating heat for the rest of our lives, so we headed for the elevators where we ran into Mr. Hello again. Me, my Spanx leggings and my Lay-Z shirt were giving it all we had in the flirt department before we realized he was a member of security. And that he clearly had eyes for my roomie and not me or my big butt at all. But that didn’t stop me from answering with, “we’ll leave the door open for you” when he said he knew where our room was. Mr. Hello introduced himself with only one letter. We’ll call him Z. I said goodbye coyly (for no reason, since he was giving me nothing) and we headed up to muster miserably.
Mother-effing muster, you guys. I know it’s a necessary evil, and honestly, it’s not even the thing itself that’s annoying. It’s the other women. Particularly this loathsome foursome in front of me who had somehow managed to get wasted before sail-away. Was I a little jealous? Of course. But I got over it when I realized they might not have any bones in their bodies. Because they couldn’t manage to stand up by themselves without grabbing on each other and switching places every five seconds and making me roll my eyes so hard I got permanent vertigo. Andrea Barber (you know, Kimmy Gibbler?) was standing directly in front of them and I was just waiting for her to get an errant elbow to the back of the knee or something. Truthfully, I’d be curious to see her react to that. But she stayed perfectly calm and unbothered. Bless her heart. I was groaning audibly and making “can you believe this?” gestures to everyone around me. The only saving grace was a peppy lady who ran up to me to take a selfie, thus fanning my pseudo-celeb delusions and placating me for the time being. Thank you, Kristy. You saved those women from my vengeful tongue. Tim the fireman knows what my angry rhetoric can do. Don’t ask him about it, though. He’s still very salty.
Finally released from that sweaty deck-hell, Rae and I trudged slowly up to Lido to get situated for the Sail Away party. Half of my eyebrows had melted off, but my blue lips were still intact and we were somewhat visible from the stage, so I had high hopes. Still. The moment would come. The moment of recognition and “Oh man, I can’t believe you haven’t been showered in special treatment yet!” I was waiting. Waiting, half-heartedly dancing and sweating the previous two days’ alcohol consumption out onto lido deck. While I read a message from Jenn that said, “I can see you and your face is literally melting”, the guys made their way down to the center stage. Donnie walked right past Rae, who was right in front of me, grabbed her and kissed her on the cheek and kept on walkin’ as I stared lasers into his face.
I kept dancing, pretending like my skin hadn’t turned to actual liquid, and then I happened to glance toward the stage just as Mr. Wahlberg aggressively pointed at me, and when I didn’t believe he was actually pointing at me, nodded, mouthed “yes, you” and then smiled and waved back at me in recognition. Bless that man. I mean, it wasn’t the royal treatment, it didn’t save me from the sweaty cesspool that is the lido deck crowd, but it did make me smile. And I hate smiling. So that means a lot.
(Read part 3 here)