Stay with me, folks. I just took a little too much Robitussin to get rid of the Berg Flu that keeps on keepin’ on. And let’s just say that I’m feelin’ real weird with it. And apparently I no longer use Gs at the ends of words. I’m 80% sure that what I’m about to write is a true account of what happened on the cruise. But it’s been almost two weeks since it happened. So.
With an interior cabin, there’s no way to know what the hell time of day it is on the ship. This is great for a NKOTB Cruise specifically, since you have to just sleep whenever you can fit it in, regardless of the sun’s position. Thursday night was the only time we slept during conventional hours. Ish. Waking up around 10am, Rae and I decided to prop the door open again, to encourage passersby to see how gross we are. Really, it’s because we were on deck 7 and heard that everyone just does that. In case of a New Kid sighting or something. Nevermind that I didn’t have eyebrows on yet, or that my bare legs were very hairy. I was sitting cross-legged in bed, sort of chatting with Rae, when who should come wandering in, but our new best friend Z. I say best friend because this sweatpants-clad piece of man-meat hopped into bed with us like we were at a damn slumber party. Right in the crack between our two twin beds. I was bracing myself to swat away his hands because I was 100% sure he was going to french braid my hair or ask if we wanted to play “light as a feather, stiff as a board”. He flounced, y’all. Google that word if you have to. I mean, there aren’t really any chairs in there, so I don’t blame him, but it was the level of familiarity that threw me off. I didn’t even have a bra on. My sad torpedoes were at ease. Of course, Rae looked adorable in her matching PJ set and perfectly “rumpled” hair. I did not. I looked like if Frank Gallagher were a 32-year old woman.
So there we were, three girlfriends, gabbing about boys. Me, Rae and the ultra-buff Z. We talked about my comedy career, about our real lives and about our “personas” on the boyband ship we were currently riding. Then something sparked Z’s memory and he pulled out two wristbands for that night’s VIP after-party. FINALLY. Kind of let me down on the magic of it all, though. Pulling something out of your sweatpants pocket isn’t really making them magically appear. I don’t want to get too hung up on the details, but I mean…I like a good illusion every once in a while. Except. We needed two more bracelets. We had a foursome. That wouldn’t do. He said he’d go “look” for more, and then said he had to wake Donnie up at 10:30 for the photo-op for Group B. It was 10:32. So off he went to rouse the D-Dub after likely only 3 hours of sleep. And I bet he still looked amazing. Donnie and Brandon Reichert are in the same warlock coven.
It was around 11am and we were awake and with nothing concrete to occupy our time. It was weird. Group B’s photo-op would take up most of the day, so we knew we didn’t have to be on high alert for a New Kid sighting. So we went to get breakfast. Which I honestly didn’t even know was a thing last year. Sure enough, the buffet had french toast and eggs and sausages, oh my! The trouble trifecta got into a little argument about how cooked eggs should be, I won because my palate is the most refined. And then we sat. Trying to ignore the rocking ship long enough to drag a piece of egg-bread through a puddle of syrup. We saw Christina and Dan, shortly after sitting down and grabbed them to debrief about their photo-op. Christina was full of special Joe moments, as she tends to be, and she and Dan (Faux Joe, excuse me) were appropriately outraged that the icky fireman had confronted me the night before. Faux Joe and I talked a bit about how odd it was for strangers to approach us as if they knew us, but agreed we kinda liked it. Then Jenn, Rae and I moved on to try to squeeze in a nap.
The downtime on the ship, much like my cold-medicine brain right now, is a big mushy fog. But I do know that sometime after breakfast, Z reappeared in our cabin with two more wristbands, so our fearsome foursome might be whole again at that night’s after party. It was then that he told us some juicy tidbits about his career as a bodyguard, stunt man, and small-part actor on Blue Bloods and, wait for it…The Sex and the City Movie. Remember when Jennifer Hudson is unpacking Carrie’s things and the delivery man tries to get a look at her goodies? She says, “Ain’t nothin’ in there for you” and we all squeal? Well, that leering man is Z. He was convinced I hadn’t seen the movie since I didn’t immediately realize it was him. But listen. I’ve seen that movie a hundred times. I am basically Carrie Bradshaw. If she was fat, brunette, 15 years younger and VERY poor. And I can’t find any evidence on the internet to back up this claim. So I guess I’m gonna watch the damn movie again with Z in mind. I blame the tears on him. I really do.
We closed out our chill day by heading to the formal dining room for dinner. It’s important to do that at least once per cruise so you have something to complain about the rest of the time. The menu always looks so promising, but the food is overcooked trash. You know what sounds amazing? Scallops to start, and then prime rib and a baked potato, with a creme brulee happy ending. Sounds good. Was trash. The scallops were the size of quarters and just as hard. The prime rib was a dull brown all the way through. I even asked for it to be cooked rare, citing their tendency to overcook EVERYTHING. But the server assured me they do not have that problem with prime rib. I’m hoping it’s a cultural difference so I can give him the benefit of the doubt. And then the creme brulee. You guys. It was so overcooked it tasted and felt like scrambled eggs. Not the good kind I like, but the hard, lumpy kind that Jenn and Rae like to choke down. It almost ruined my favorite dessert for me for the rest of eternity. Almost.