That Thursday night was by far the longest on this cruise (even longer than the first sleepless night), mostly due to self pity and some major heartburn from hitting the pizza a little too hard after hours. I caught a few on-again off-again Z's out on the rear deck (and bumped into one of our dinner table's "Party Girls" while out there), but eventually dawn came and I slunk off to the fancy breakfast at 8 (didn't even bother with the gym that morning). I got even more depressed when I saw that my cutie Asya was not even there to serve me my meal. The day had really only just begun (our last 24 hours on the ship) and I was already determined to fucking hate it. Not a good start to things.
I kicked in our cabin door at around 9AM and was actually eager to wake the Wolfman up as loudly and violently as possible. For some reason he took my abuse and left relatively unconfrontationally. Then I slept. I woke up around 2PM when the Wolfman came back from his trip to the ship's spa. He got the full treatment done: The facial, the manicure, the pedicure, the face shave, the haircut, and the back shave (I hope he tipped them good for that last one... That must have destroyed at least 5 razors). After I was done laughing at the pretty lil' Wolfman (and after he was done chasing me around our 10-foot squared room with his freshly polished nails reaching for my throat) I got cleaned up myself and went hunting for lunch.
Once again I missed the fancy lunch and had to catch the cafeteria offering in the back of the boat. But there I ran into both Crystal Right and the Lohan who were also catching a late mid-day meal. They wink-wink, nudge-nudged me about the possible hanky panky that they thought I had partaken of, but I just looked at them sulkily as I explained what went down with 45 Year-Old after they had both left the Disco the previous night... Well I guess it was "earlier that morning," but I'm just going on an embarrassed tangent now. Anyway, Lohan and Crystal Right both stared at me in utter disbelief when I was done telling my tale. "No fucking way!... She didn't look like a... I mean, I never would have guessed that.... Ooooh, sorry we left you there like that..." was all they could say. I felt a little better after that (knowing that it wasn't just me who couldn't tell if chicks were [dangles fingers in the air like Mr. Roper when explaining what Jack Tripper was]).
I'M A BABY WHEN I'M ANGRY
Then I went to the Dance Class being held in the Paris Lounge theater in the front of the boat; making fun of uncoordinated fops who don't mind making asses of themselves in front of eager crowds is a pastime of mine. Don't worry, the irony is not lost on me. While looking for a seat though I came across two more dinner table friends, the Two 'Ams. While we sat and mocked the losers being taught (well, they were being taught, they just weren't learning very well) the opening dance sequence to Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me I told them all about the fun that the girls and I had partying and dancing the night before. I had originally left out the part about Gator Babe leaving on the arm of a 45 year-old carpet muncher though ('cause quite honestly I wasn't sure if that would offend my current audience), but soon one of them brought up, "Sooooooo? Did you and one of the girls.... You know?" That's when I sighed and broke the news to them.
The Two 'Ams took it almost as bad as I did; and quite honestly all this talking about it was really starting to make me feel reassured that I wasn't a complete loser of a man. Everybody mistook the signs. Everybody was appalled.
I hung out with the Two 'Ams until the 4PM Galley Tour. This sounded like it would be lame, but was actually interesting to see how they cooked all that food for all us customers and still made every last plate scrumptious (I'm running out of adjectives here at page 7... Should I have used "yummy"?). I was also pleased to see that none of the cooks back there had ever seen the movie Waiting (either in English or Spanish) and what those sick fucks in that fine film did to people's food behind closed doors. I tested them to see if they really had seen it by getting a couple of the cooks to check out my perfect "goat," then I called them faggots and kicked them each 5 times... They both started screaming and crying, asking me "why for did you do's that?!" Anybody who had seen that movie would have congratulated me on my precision and performance of that almost impossible position and would have understood that they deserved those kicks.
After that I just laid out on the top deck absorbing the last of the Caribbean rays of the day with my 5 closest daiquiri friends. Then came the early dance show "Fiesta Latina." Eh, it was something to do before dinner.
The Wolfman and I found our (now usual) group of dinner pals already seated and saving two chairs for us. Being the dick that I am I made it a point to take the one farthest away from Gator Babe. She looked a little hurt, but that was nothing to what I felt like the previous night, I kept telling myself. Crystal Right tried to explain to me that she had talked to Gator Babe earlier and found out that 45 Year-Old really was dragging her around against her will, and that all they did was just talk and listen; and by that she meant 45 Year-Old talked (and ranted and raved about her stupid kids) and GB listened. I still didn't buy it. Crystal Right wasn't there in the cafeteria last night. But whatever, I thought, bring on the dancing girls!
And dance they did. Fiesta Latina was a cheezy Copacabana/Ricky Ricardo stage show with hunky guys cha-cha-ing around the stage with exposed chests, and hot, hot women with legs up to there (times 2!) mamboing around like the busty goddesses that they were. The music was awful, but after a few minutes I stopped hearing it and could only hear the faint sounds of bosoms bouncing up and down to the beat of gorgeous, muscular female legs stomping on the floor. Two thumbs up!
We all got up when the curtain came down, and the Wolfman and I rushed ahead of the rest of the group to the Mardi Gras Dining Room for the final real meal of the trip. It was at this point that I somehow got into my head that my cute little Asya would be mine that night.... Of COURSE it didn't happen (I doubt I'm ruining any plot twists in telling you this), but at this time I thought it was a sure thing. I was a hunky guy who tipped well, she was a feisty Eastern European temptress who would invite me to the crew's party below decks after dinner was over, showing me how to dance, drink beer, and then let me draw her naked on a couch. I had it all planned out, and I was actually getting a little nervous during the meal. I know, I scare even myself sometimes.
Dinner was fantasmorgasmic again, though it was punctuated every so often with Babu, our Maitre'D, reminding us all that the entire wait staff made their livings off of tips that patrons gave them on this, the final night of the cruise; he made it a point to tell us that this tipping ceremony included himself as well. I gave Babu a decent tip, but I saved the rest of my cash for Asya and Roma. As I slipped the money to Asya I thanked her for being so great, funny and cute, and then I asked if she was free that night after the dining room closed. I don't think she understood me. At first she just started talking about the late and early hours that she had to work, then she started talking about the shitty cabin she had to share with three other girls (which still sounded like a bigger space than what the Wolfman and I were in... and a whoooole lot kinkier), and then she started rambling on about how many months at sea they had to sign up for during each enlistment, and how they think "Well, one more 6-month sign-up doesn't sound so bad," but then before they know it they're floating around the world's oceans doing the same thing over and over again, week after week, day after day, kissing the asses of annoying rich fucks who don't care or appreciate all that they go through to make sure that their all-important vacation isn't ruined.... She did it all in adorable broken English, so I couldn't help but smile. Roma seemed to understand my request though and whispered something into her friend's ear. Watching Asya's expression change from anger and frustration into understanding and flattery made my day, but still she turned to me to say "I am sorry, but we are must to be in our cabin by 11 o'clock on the tonight, because we must all to be up by 5AM for the busy last morning tomorrow. I am so sorry yes!" I fully understood what a busy day without sleep was like, so I accepted her and Roma's final hug, blew them each a kiss, and then left the Mardi Gras Dining Room for the last time with a bittersweet cloud over my head. For some reason I did feel a bit better to see Gator Babe strike out with the chiseled waiter from the next table over. No, I felt a LOT better. Not bragging, it's just human nature.
Our whole group followed up dinner with the "Late Night Adult Comedy Show" featuring "some spicey [sic] comedy with 'Michael Macy.'" We were warned that if we were easily offended that we should not attend. Despite the fact that this usually means lameness we had nothing else to do until the Disco opened at 11, so we all went in. Gator Babe made it a point to sit next to me (and because of my funk over being tossed aside by Asya I didn't fight it), and we began talking like old friends. She berated me for not bailing her out the previous night, and assured me that as soon as they left the cafeteria she lost 45 Year-Old in the corridors and ran back to her cabin (Beaumont confirmed this with when she said GB showed up and crashed). I laughed at her, she laughed at me, and everybody in our group laughed at our own stories more than the comedian on stage. We even had some people around us asking us to re-explain certain aspects of our tales because they missed the first part. A few losers kept telling us to "Shush!" but we told them to fuck off (well Gator Babe and Crystal Right did, fingers and all).
Risa the Cruise Director then came up on stage after "Michael Macy" finished his fairly quick act, and gave us a bunch of stats about how many passengers there were on board, how much all of us ate (that made us feel good), and how many house points the red and blue teams (based on our even or odd table numbers in the dining rooms) scored for the participation competitions throughout the week. Despite the fact that the Evens (our team) were dominating the games during the entire trip, Risa announced that the Odds won by a landslide of points.... Well, whoever on the Odds Team gave that tub of annoyance Risa that rimjob... fuck me, he EARNED that win.
We all left the Paris Lounge after the show and all of us (including the Two 'Ams and the Party Girls) made a bee-line for the Disco. Hell, even the Wolfman came! We laughed, we drank, I smoked some more, and we danced like epileptic gibbons in the middle of seizures. I have rarely had this type of thing occur, but that second night of dancing not only matched the first night in pure funness, but I think it surpassed it. Usually, when you try to capture lighting in a bottle again by doing the same thing that was so much fun the first time, you fail miserably at it and are left to ponder why things went so wrong the second night — not this time. The beer tasted better, the music was jiggier, and the companionship was feistier! Though it wasn't until around midnight that I noticed that the Wolfman had disappeared sometime earlier — probably to get some sleep in our cabin. I remember thinking at that time "Ooooh, he better remember that he promised that I would get the cabin to myself on our last night since I have to drive home tomorrow! If he doesn't remember I might just try that whole 'hand in the warm bowl of water' dealy on him, and maybe the 'hand full of shaving cream and the fly on his face too'! Fuck it! This might call for a full-blown Cleveland Steamer!" But I pushed all that from my mind. Now was the time to concentrate on learning the moves to that "Right foot 2 stomps! Left foot 2 stomps! Sliiiiiiide to the left, sliiiiiide to the right! Criscross, criscross! Cha Cha real smooth..." song that the DJ was playing every 30 minutes. Oh, and that one song with Superman in the lyrics where you hurl your body across the dance floor a couple of times every refrain. Had to learn that one too.
The girls and I kept going until about 2:30, by which time I was deeeeeeead tired. A week of over-exertion and very little REM was finally catching up to me, and if I didn't want to die in a horrible 6-lane blocking, 40 car pile up later that day I knew I had to get some shut eye. I asked Beaumont if her friend Gator Babe wouldn't mind if I gave her a kiss goodbye, and she said that she wouldn't, but to go for the cheek. So went a little Clark Gable on her and just pecked her there, but then all the other girls started asking where their kisses were, so I went and did my rounds (I even interrupted one of the Party Girls who was getting macked on [and macking right back] with 45 Year-Old Lesbian to give her her kiss... Man that REALLY threw 45 Year-Old off her game), and we promised to keep in touch so that we could all plan another cruise together some time in the future. And then I retired for the night.
Knowing that it was over, and knowingly marching back to my room that night was one of the toughest things I ever did. But like George Costanza learned, always leave on a high note.
The Wolfman wasn't in the cabin when I got back and I counted my blessings (I also switched the numbers on all the doors down our hallway so that if he did try to do something to me that night he'd get that Indian couple next door instead). Then I fell into a deep slumber.
The following morning was kind of a blur to me. I have fuzzy memories of the alarm clock going off, grabbing a banana and some bacon and eggs in the breakfast buffet and eating with the Wolfman (who kept insisting that sleeping on the back deck was probably more relaxing and manly than sleeping in the room... that absolutely fucking liar), packing all of my shit up again, and standing in line after line (moving my suitcases two or three feet every 5 minutes) just to debark the floating palace. I didn't see anybody else from dinner table 104 that morning. Then we left the Inspiration and walked the block to my car. I didn't look back. Not that I was teary-eyed or anything, just that I learned that PCD (Post Con Depression... though it's what I call any depression that kicks in when something huge and fun ends abruptly, forcing one to fall face first back into the real world with hardly any decompression time, thusly getting an emotional version of the bends) needs to be accepted as soon as one can accept it. It's like ripping a band-aid off quickly versus slowly peeling it off a still oozing wound.
The Wolfman and I listened to Opie and Anthony the entire ride back, and the return trip wasn't half bad. In fact by the end of it we were laughing about all the good times, and cringing over the bad ones... and then I pulled up to the Wolfman's place to drop him off. Shit. I forgot I blew it up just prior to the trip. I had to use my last sleeping dart on the great hairy one (God I hope I refill that supply!) and then I just shoved his unconscious form out the door before flooring it to my real estate agent's office (I thought long and hard about it and it turns out that it'd simply be cheaper and easier for me to move and not give out my new address than it would to make it up to the Wolfman).
After I got home I did what I always try to do after visiting a new city or domain: I put in a movie that took place in the town or setting I had just been in order to see just how accurate the film was to its environment. Usually it's not very, and this was no exception. I chose Titanic as my flick (shut the fuck up! It's not that bad), and there were a ton of things cinematically wrong with it. Take for instance all the shots on the outside decks... There's no wind (or there's just a slight breeze) whenever anybody's out there. Bullshit: The deck of a cruise ship going as fast as Titanic or the Inspiration, along with the height above sea level that you're at while at the railing, causes there to be a constant strong wind blowing at you; you can't wear any loose clothes or a hat without holding it firmly against your body while exposed to it. Also, there are tons of night shots on the Titanic in which Jack and/or Rose look up to the starry sky from the deck (which is decorated in thousands of electric lights) and lose themselves in the Milky Way. Bull and shit: Even the fairly soft lights on the rear deck of the Inspiration blocked out all but the strongest stars in the sky. I even went to the darker front of the ship on several occasions through my many sleepless nights and noticed the same thing. It was almost as bad as being in an actual city and trying to find the Big Dipper or Capricorn with all that light pollution blotting out the heavens. Thirdly, and probably the most bullshitty of all the lies told in Titanic, is the falsehood that there are tons of cute rich girls willing to fuck poor schmucks in steamy cars in the storage hold at the drop of a hat. Well, I dropped many hats that week, and not even an ugly chick was willing to run away to Coney Island with me when we made port. Feh!
THAT'S ALL, CHICOS Y CHICAS
So to wrap up, this was by far the best week of my life (where I didn't get any). Go on a fucking cruise.