(Read it from the beginning HERE)
**It has come to my attention that some people may have read a bit too much into my musings about Z. I would like to take this opportunity to clarify that he was nothing but professional on the cruise, never crossed any lines or boundaries and had only a platonic, friendly discourse with Rae. In other words, much like in my own life, there was no sex. I am a comedic writer, and take creative license for entertainment value. Also, I projected my own tendency to look at butts onto Z during my photo-op blog. He did not look at butts. He just made sure everyone got on stage safely, and without embarrassment. I 100% looked at butts. I apologize if my writing style and allusion gave the impression that Z was anything other than a consummate professional.**
Back to the fun stuff. Not that eating crow isn’t super fun. If you’re into that sort of thing. Didn’t Ozzy Osbourne do that once?
It was GPS Night on the cruise. The one theme you can count on and start planning years in advance. Or, if you’re me, you just nod and buy whatever your cruise roomie tells you to buy. In this case, it was a sequined white body-con dress, a beauty queen sash and a mother-effing tiara. Because. Go big or go home, right? Right. In a sense, I’m always going big. Because. I’m a size 14. Get it? See? I still have jokes. I tend to have more of a “anything but a pageant girl” look to me, but decided to roll with this costume as much as I’d rolled with the others. And again, I didn’t have any Spanx, so I just had to let my body live its life. Visible bellybutton indentation and all. I didn’t have quite the level of misplaced confidence I had on Superhero night, but the squad and I did look pretty fierce walking down the hallway together, in our red, white & blue glory, tiaras twinkling in the poor lighting. If you have a squad, you have to strut. It’s the rule. So we strutted right on up to deck 10, where we knew there was room for us to dance in VIP without getting intimate with stage-hugging Blockheads.
The second we stepped up on the open deck, we were smacked in the face by mother nature. She’s kind of a bitch. I spent a lot of time being too lazy to get my hair cut, so it’s long and majestic. This doesn’t really work for gale-force winds in the middle of the night. I was worried I’d accidentally strangle someone. Which is exactly what I was on spacious deck 10 to avoid doing on purpose. It was so windy, I’m told I shouted, “Oh my god, this wind feels like I’m being slapped in the face by a hundred dicks!” So at least I don’t let my education in English Literature go to waste. We posed for about 10 seconds in our painstakingly put together beauty queen outfits, then Jenn and I gave up and went back down to our cabins to change into something more weather-appropriate and dance-conducive. I came back up in leggings, a black t-shirt, a top-knot and a great new attitude. I was ready to dance. Rae tried to fight the good fight and keep the pageant getup on, but gave in shortly after us and also slipped into something more comfortable. Except, in this instance, we all very much meant “more comfortable” and not “naked”. Please just use the reminder, “not in a porn way” as a general rule for reading my stories unless instructed otherwise. No penises were seen in the making of this vacation.
You can’t see much of the action from “VIP” on deck 10. I spent a lot of time asking the wind, “How is this better?!” because when I hear “VIP” I assume it’s better than the general population. But, the more I get access to different VIP areas (*ahem* humble brag *ahem*), the more I realize they’re just areas with fewer people that give the illusion of being a “chosen one” and therefore fool you into thinking it’s better. Sure, I wasn’t rubbing the front of my body up against the back of a stranger all night, but I also got left out of all the shenanigans onstage. I have no idea what happened during the GPS party. I was just up on 10, literally dancing by myself and chatting with security staff who seemed like they had kind of had enough at that point. They ran out of fucks to give, and so had we. Between salsa dancing with one, to getting a shoulder rub from another (in a porn way), these guys had become our insta-besties. I’ve been saying that I was on a crusade to gather best friends. And I succeeded. With Rose Tours security staff. Hey bois. Get at me.
At one point, I looked around and was actually by myself. It was the wee hours of the morning, and I looked up from my pseudo-Cumbia dance moves just in time to see Rae disappear into a doorway, All Access pass floating in the wind behind her, with a security dude who looked a lot like Magneto. But like, a young one. Oh, ok. That was the last I’d see of her, surely. She had been gunning for one of those all weekend. A pass, not a Magneto. One more quick glance saw Jenn clad in a stranger’s sweatshirt, ducking down a flight of stairs into oblivion. And then there was me. Twirling barefoot in the rain, cold and wind, insisting to everyone who looked at me that I wasn’t cold because I was from Michigan. It was only after the awkwardness of my situation dawned on me that I decided I should head back to the cabin and try to get an hour or two of sleep before we were kicked off the ship.
But. I had locked my key in the room. I was in such a hurry to wear a t-shirt that obscured some of my belly that I left it behind. Like an idiot. I knocked on the door but nobody was in there. And nobody was answering my texts. So I did what any logical, sleepy, drunky BH would do. I went to chat with the cute security guard sitting at attention near the New Kids’ rooms. Roosevelt was happy to see me, of course, but I was just complaining about how I needed to lay down. I was hesitant to spend too much time there, since I didn’t want to look like I was stalking the guys in the early Monday morning hours. I literally wasn’t. I swear. I was just about to say that when I heard the shuffling of bare feet coming down the hallway. I looked up and locked eyes with a rumpled Jordan Knight. He jumped, looked genuinely terrified that there was a fan standing there, and then froze. I realized he was nervous I was going to ask him for a selfie, so I laughed, put my hands in front of me like he was a wounded animal, and said, “It’s cool. I’m cool.” He relaxed a little, in his plaid PJ pants and nighty-night t-shirt, asked Roosevelt if he could arrange a wakeup call for 7:00am, and then raided all of Roosevelt’s snacks without permission. It was truly a sight to behold. He padded back to his room, Oreos, chocolate chip cookies and perhaps even a slice of cake in hand, and presumably went to sleep in snacking bliss. It was like seeing a rare, exotic animal in the wild. More afraid of you than you are of them.
I said goodnight to Roosy once Rae answered my text and met me back at the room, and became one with my bed for very little time until those dreaded and jarring announcements starting shouting at us all to get the hell off the ship.
I’m sad this is the last installment, but with any luck, some more New Kids-specific stuff will come up that I can write about. Provided I don’t have to buy anything. Because, you know. I’m not a successful adult. Thank you so much for reading these and indulging my need to prolong every little detail of the trip. I sincerely love you all. Most of you all. I at least tolerate you all.