(Catch up on this sequence and all things NKOTB here!)
When I left off, I was barely standing at the end of the Block-A-Versary party, because, I had been held hostage on the small stage for a thousand hours. But we hadn’t been to an after-party yet, (because Thursday’s was canceled mysteriously), so I was hell-bent on dancing the early morning away near dear Uncle (zaddy) Donnie. When we walked into the after-party, though, we were both in a weird mood, emotionally and physically exhausted and not trying to carve out space for ourselves in the jam-packed cesspool of the dance floor. So we did a few laps, said hi to people who seemed excited to see us and then settled in on two barstools, overlooking the floor.
Sitting on a barstool was pretty ideal, because we could still dance from the waist up and look semi-cool. However, it has been brought to my attention that when Megan and I are doing the same thing, in tandem, which is something we do to look cool, what I’m doing doesn’t necessarily look like what Megan’s doing. So. That was hard for me to wrap my mind around. But that’s what we did. We didn’t have a Donnie moment, because we chilled up out of the way and just took it all in. We did chat with Maria briefly, which I gather she doesn’t remember, and with a lot more people who had seen our show. There was a nice Australian woman who told me the name of a comedian she wanted me to check out, and I don’t remember what it was for the life of me. So, if you’re reading this, and maybe you’re not Australian, but just the comic was, who knows, but please leave me a message.
Finally getting to bed at around 6am is wild unless you’re on the NKOTB Cruise. Then it’s just what happens. Luckily, we were stopping in Nassau next, so we could sleep in and mosey off the boat whenever. Which is what we did. We moseyed off the ship, did a quick lap in Nassau and then noped our way right back into NKOTB-land. Nassau was sketch and dumb. Well, the port was. I’m sure Nassau in general is lovely. But the port had the same vibe as those kiosk-jockeys at the mall. And it’s like, no. I don’t want you to put lotion on my hand or straighten a lock of my hair, sir. I’ll take your word for it.
Since we had some hard-to-come-by down time, Megan and I decided to throw on our pretend bathing suits and chill with Misty at the lido pool. We brought some drinks and watched over Misty’s shoulder as she desperately tried to get enough wifi service to see if her daughter won a dance competition. And we were invested in the results. 2nd place, if I’m not mistaken. And if “Bring It On” taught us anything, 2nd place deserves a big “hell yeah!” from the Rancho Cucamonga Toros. Joyce was also lounging by the pool, but told us we were too cool to come sit by. In jest, obviously. Because she did come by and we had a talk that was deeper than the pool. A talk about life and aspirations and whether or not we were living up to our potential. Or maybe I just ascribe a lot of meaning to whatever Joyce says because I kind of want her to be my auntie.
The Group B concert was that day, but a shower and a nap put us out of commission for that. Plus, we couldn’t see ANYTHING from our seats, anyway. I did want Megan to experience the wonder that is a NKOTB concert, but perhaps I’ll just have to drag her to the Mixtape Tour next year, instead. We needed the extra time to get into costume for 70s night, after all. Megan had a mustache to glue on, from hair that we trimmed from my head. You know, because nobody would notice. And I had to straighten said hair so it looked more like Cher. That’s right. Sonny & Cher. Or, Sonny & a lady who ate Cher. The Spanx I bought didn’t have any squeezy-inny fabric on the butt cheeks, so when I put my jumpsuit over it, I had just…too much booty. Kim Kardashian-West would have blushed and averted her eyes. Sorry, KKW. Get your husband in check, though. He needs a time out.
A time out is exactly what I felt Megan needed once we were an hour or so into the 70s night deck party, actually. She was having a “good time”. A good time in quotations means she was hitting the sauce hard. With the instigator, Amanda. We took pictures with a lot of people, and half-heartedly danced to the 70s tunes with which we weren’t very familiar, and then the skies opened up and rained on my painstakingly straightened hair. All seven thousand feet of it. And then it puffed up like the world’s longest triangle. The gold, platform Michael Kors sandals I was rocking were literally taped to my feet, because the water retention in my ankles wasn’t allowing the straps to do their job, but they didn’t last long. I ripped them off my feet, stashed them under a random table and continued living my best life barefoot. It was the 70s, after all.
The highlights of the night were definitely when Amber “Wocka-Wocka’d” all over the main stage, and gave me very real “same” vibes when she all but pleaded with every god in the universe to let her be unfamiliar with the next song so she could catch her breath. But she straight up killed it. No offense, little Reagan, but #AlcoholAmber (her hashtag, not mine) might have snatched your crown. Your mom is my second auntie. I’m making a list. The other highlight was clearly the huge, and aptly timed “Bohemian Rhapsody” singalong. Even though every time I try to show a friend a video of that phenom, I curse technology for not doing it justice. Mostly because you can just hear whoever is nearest the recording device. Shout out to all my tone deaf BH sisters out there. Because same. A friend once told me I wasn’t a bad singer, but I was always off key. So.
I’ve been asked to write about Jordan and Danny, because I haven’t mentioned them yet. Here’s a crumb. ALL of the guys looked hella sexy in their Village People getups. Jon was rocking Native American garb (and we collectively decided to ignore cultural appropriation in favor of period costume) with only boxer briefs underneath, Donnie was showing us some chicken thigh in cutoff jorts and a construction vest, Jordan was making me feel things in a very “wild west at the gay club” cowboy getup, Joe was Officer Zaddy and Danny was a bear of a biker. Only, I guess not a bear because of the whole “hardwood floors” thing. But you get it. It was all super homoerotic and I’m always very on board for that nonsense. Especially because Jon always, always, presents as the least gay. It’s my favorite thing (girl).
The rest of the night involved me trying to catch up with Megan, alcohol-wise, and failing miserably because of my ironclad constitution (functional alcoholism and general girth). Then came the after party. Oh, the after party. But that’s a story for tomorrow. And trust me, you want it.