Norwegian Cruise (part 2/2)

Day 4 (Wednesday) – Kicking Claire Out.

For once, I actually get up at a reasonable time. This is the second stop (I missed the first stop from sleeping in too late with sweet Claire Bear) on the cruise and today it’s docked at Belize. The ship stays docked from 8AM to 4:30PM, you just gotta take that long like walkway thing to shore. 

Before Julia left last night, we had agreed on an 11AM wake up call. Standing next to the phone ready to dial out, I glance over at Claire – still passed out cold on the bed. You know how parents who have a few kids feel when they finally get dinner cooked, dishes cleaned, living room vacuumed, kids in bed and sleeping, and now it’s nearing midnight and they finally have a few minutes to relax to themselves? That’s how I felt with Claire. I didn’t want to risk it. I walked to Julia’s room to engage in conversation the old school way back when dudes were actually gentlemen and weren’t afraid to knock on a door to ask a father for his daughter’s hand. 

Unfortunately, Jewls woke up not feeling the best and ends up lying in bed all day. I make my way to Adriana and Alana’s room, but get no answer. With Julia sick, Claire passed out, and the others not home, I begin having flashbacks to my childhood where nobody wanted to play with me. Luckily, the sun never sets on this cowboy. 

Walking down one of those pier things, I set foot on Belize. Nothing all that interesting happens. Mostly just nature walking and doing touristy shit like recording on my camcorder and buying an obnoxiously bright tank top that says Belize on it (after having my room card get declined, I had to fork over twenty American).

I arrive back in my room just in time to catch Claire getting ready. Making small talk to pamper her up, I slowly begin to pack my bullet with gun powder. You have to pet a dog before you can walk it, or in Claire’s case, you have to get drunk before you can eat so that you can handle the emotional lash back of putting life fuel into your body. 

“How you feeling? Do you even remember anything from last night?”

“I’m fine. And yeah?”

“Claire, you had to be carried to the room. You were black out drunk and complaining about staying in my room.”

Remember when she took out her bottle of Xanax and joked about taking them all? In a snobby tone, she tells me how she “wasn’t even drunk”, but that she was like that because when she went down to get her card made, that she went into the bathroom and took a bunch of them. 

Oh, well shit, obviously 2+2 = Fuck Me. 

Not wanting to completely cut the bungee cord from the bridge that Claire’s life is leaping from, I attempt to explain to her why she can’t stay in my room anymore because she’s fucking crazy, but without using the words ‘you’, ‘fucking’, and ‘crazy’.

Climbing my way to the top of the $100,000 Pyramid, Claire agrees to get her own room. Yes, of course, she attempts to pull the pity getting “fine, I’ll just go and get one now…Sorry I even asked to stay with you…I’ll just figure my credit card out on my own.” I’ve always said that a personality can bring a 10 to a 7 and a 7 to 10. In this case, it brought an 8 down to a “please get the hell out of my room.”

I said earlier that Claire kept complaining about her credit card and how she couldn’t do off shore excursions. When you book a room, you give a credit card and that credit card stays associated with the room during the entire cruise. So when I go and play bingo – they swipe my universally accepted room key and it automatically charges the credit card. The same goes for all other activities. When Claire left her room with her boyfriend, she canceled the card so that he couldn’t run it up. Here’s what makes no sense though – when we stayed in Claire’s room that they gave her free for a night, she ordered a six pack of water to her room (it’s like $20 for a six pack of water and you have to have a card to charge it to) – so she apparently had a card. 

Whenever the idea of her getting her own room would arise, she would bring up the fact that she doesn’t have a credit card to get one. She would use her damn talk to text sending long messages to her mom and uncle pleading for help. Asking them for their credit card information until she was able to get home. She would break down into tears in front of people because she “didn’t have a credit card to go on excursions” (you set the excursions up on the ship, and just like everything else, it just gets charged to your room). 

Claire turned into the equivalent of a panhandling homeless person. Just as they stick their damn cup out to each passing person, Claire couldn’t rub shoulders with someone without telling them how she got deserted by her boyfriend in the middle of the ocean and all she wants to do is swim with dolphins but can’t because she doesn’t have a credit card.

Less than an hour later, Claire arrives back with a new room card in hand.

“Oh were you able to use your mom’s card?”

“No, I just used my own.”

Well spread my cheeks and fuck my ass.

Collecting her things, she attempts to carry her eighty pounds of luggage on her own like a training Navy Seal.

“Claire, I can help you carry your stuff.”

“No, it’s fine, I know you don’t wanna help me.”

(Grabbing her heaviest bags)

“Claire, settle down, just a little bit.”

Just because I’m kicking someone out of my room, doesn’t mean I won’t help them carry their belongings. As my buddy always said – “I’m a gentleman, I’ll pay for the abortion.”

Hugging Claire goodbye, I let her know that we can still hang out and drink together if she wants. That she has my room number so just call or knock at any time. Bridge still standing, I walk out of Claire’s room a free man. One and a half days – the longest I’ve ever lived with a girl (I’ve had female roommates during college but I wasn’t inserting my penis into them).

I get back to my room and start what would turn into my basic afternoon routine – power nap anywherefrom 5pm – 8pm, shower, throw on some gym shorts and a tank top, head down to play poker, frantically pregame, and eventually head to Bliss to dance on any and every girl with a heartbeat and at least one boob.

[For anyone who plays poker – each night, usually around 8PM, a 2-5 NL game with a $100 – $500 buy in would open. Majority of people would short buy for $300 or less and the rake is insanely high – %10 per hand up to $25. Most players are absolutely awful, but with the rake being so high, I would just sit there like a good little boy waiting for the nuts. As I always say, I waited eighteen years to get laid (I should probably type that story up sometime soon), I can wait a few hours for a good hand in poker.]

Sitting down at the poker table, I give my nightly fist pounds and “what’s up” to a handful of people. I didn’t even play poker to try and make money, but there were anywhere from the same 4-6 people (mostly old dudes) who would play each night, and being on a ship as a lone wolf with no Wi-Fi or real life connection to friends back home, it’s nice to have a group of people to hang out with. They’d anxiously await Claire updates and nightly black out drunk recaps.

After the first few days of playing, I became homies with one of the dudes. Turns out, that he’s a retired movie director, and a legitimate one. James Freitag – look up his resume. It’s quite impressive and includes one of my all-time favorites; Point Break. He’s on the cruise with his longtime girlfriend, who’s also a super nice lady.

Over the duration of the cruise, we’d talk quite a bit. We’d shoot the breeze about his career – his favorite movies, actors, what inspired him to pursue directing, etc. Him being a recreational poker player, we enjoyed talking about poker and he was astonished to find out that it was me in the Torelli Angle video (for any non-poker players, just YouTube search Alec Torelli Angle Shoot on Poker Night in America. Yes, that’s me blasting off $26,000 in a Mage 99 Jealous Much Runescape shirt with hair more out of control than Sandra’s chin knockers).

They begin interrogating me about the other night (Monday when I first met Claire and blacked out).

“I played poker didn’t I??”

“Oh you played, at least for a little bit.”

“Did I lose? I lost didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you lost a few buy ins and then they wouldn’t let you play anymore.”

“Oh shit. I was that drunk? Well did it at least go to any of yins?”

I go on to find out that after I lost several hundred or so, I tried to buy back in and the floor wouldn’t let me. I was too gone. At one point when I got up to rock a piss, I came back and sat down in the wrong chair. Even after I left the game, I had come back asking if I left money at the table. Ironically, before I sat down on this night to play, I stopped at the cage, told them that I was black out drunk two nights ago and that I think I may have left money at the table. No money was ‘left behind’, I just lost it all. 

James (prefers Jamie), lets me know that I hit on EVERY girl within an eagle’s eye sight, including his girlfriend. I give him a sincere apology (which I actually meant, because as everyone will eventually find out, I don’t have the best history when it comes to girls with boyfriends) which he laughingly accepts, as does she. I asked him if I hit on the hot chick who plays craps each night. Sadly, she wasn’t playing during my recruitment episode, but obviously I’m mentioning her because she’d see a tiny bit of playing time as the clock would near double zeros. 

(Grabbing our two double Jack and Coke glasses and clinking together in a gentleman’s cheer)

“Well Jamie, sometimes you just gotta get black out drunk on a cruise and hit on everything in sight. I’ll be doing the same thing tonight.”

For the next few hours or so, I pound double Jack and Cokes as if I was an African child who stumbled upon a hose with an unlimited supply of clean water. 

Buzz going strong, I cash out and head to Bliss.

Have you ever taken a male dog on a walk where they have to stop at each of the seventeen fire hydrants and they somehow pinch off some piss at each one? Well, in a way, that’s me black out drunk on a dance floor. No house has a ’SOLD’ sign out in front and that’s due to my blurred vision. Only problem is, I have anywhere from one to a maximum of about three dance moves on any given night. 

Fundamentals and composure are not only the two most important things in sports, but also the dance floor. As long as you can flawlessly continue to knock out a single move, and have the composure to not get embarrassed as each girl drives through the toll both without taking a ticket, you’ll still end up having a hell of a time and that’s what it’s all about. I’d spend the entire night drinking, dancing, and expanding my friends list like a fake Facebook account with a pornstar profile picture.

Somebody once told me that I could walk into a female prison with a fistful of pardons, and I still wouldn’t get any fucking pussy. Evidently, I can also be black out drunk surrounded by girls on a cruise in the “middle of the ocean” and still not get laid unless they were going through a domestic dispute.

Day 5 (Thursday) – Getting Over Claire

Waking up Thursday morning all alone without Claire in my arms was absolute devastation. Pounding headache was merely a minor distraction from my aching heart. For the first time in three days, I was going to have to take my afternoon shot of crown all alone…loathing.

Believe it or not, I’m actually joking about all of that. 

Let me quote some Hopsin – “you want Romeo, you’re not worthy, you’re cock thirsty, and probably got herpes…What the fuck you got that’ll impress me so I can feel half of the magic? A loose vaginal passage, uh uh Bitch put that back in the package.”

Some background on Claire and her ‘relationship’: Claire recently turned twenty one years old. Around that same time, she began dating her boyfriend. Within a few months, she was fully moved into his house along with his five children. Nearly doubling Claire’s age, he comes in at a whopping thirty-seven years old. For the twelve or so minutes before her craziness came gushing out, she was surprisingly enjoyable to talk to and get to know. Being raised on a farm, she grew up in in a small town in Missouri attending a lightly populated school. Through a few childhood stories that she shared with me, she portrayed a bubbly, sweet, caring, outgoing personality. Problem with craziness is, it’s like putting your least favorite condiment on the world’s best tasting cheeseburger. It’s not worth tolerating, even if the rest is near perfection. 

I briefly get off of the ship to walk around Roatan. Unfortunately, it’s raining and I only have a few hours and so I again bust out my touristy side – jot around, record on my camcorder, eat gelato, and buy a bright orange Pirana Joe tank top that I’d wear for the next two nights as I’m flirting with being out of clean clothes.

Later that day, I’d be involved in two quick notable exchanges:

1. As I’m sitting at the bar next to the pool, I’m approached by a pretty middle aged woman – “Hey, where’s your crazy girlfriend at?!” She says it with a curios smile on her face. Chuckling, I give her a brisk run down of how psychotic she is and ask her how she knew. Remember a few days ago when Claire’s craziness really began seeping out while we were at The Mojito Bar? Well, she was sitting nearby with her eighty-nine year old mother eaves dropping on all of her complaints and talk to texts. She tells me that her elderly mother at one point leaned over into her ear and lets her know that “that girl is crazy”. One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure. One man’s misery is another’s entertainment. We sit down and talk over a few drinks and if I had known I’d be writing this story, she would have paid a hefty price for a one year’s subscription. She’s a flight attendant from North Carolina and begins telling me about her twenty-two year old daughter who’s a model in Miami. Wanting to continue our conversation, and introduce me to her mother who eagerly wanted to meet me, we agree to meet later that day back at The Mojito Bar. Sadly, I’d get side tracked and forget to show up (if in fact she was there). I forget her name, but if she ever ends up reading this – please have your daughter email me at[email protected]. 

1. Shortly after meeting my ideal future mother in law, I head to the buffet where I’m caught off guard by a smoking hot chick who initiates conversation as I’m pummeling my plate with food:                                                                                                                                    

“Hey.”

      “Hello.”

      “Were you at the club last night?”

      “Well not only was I there, but I WAS the club. I was black out drunk though so I can only imagine what I was doing.”

      “Haha you were dancing quite a bit.”

      “Well I’ll be there again tonight and so you should come.”

      “Okay maybe I’ll see you there.”

       (The exact description I gave my friends to describe her was the following: take a 5’4″ Mexican looking girl – you know, they don’t have a tan but just that natural dark skin tone. Add an ass to her – not the fucking outrageous asses that you see in porn, but the fit ass. This chick definitely worked out to stay in shape and her ass could bounce light rays back to the sun. Lastly, give her a beautiful face and clothe her in tightly fitted jeans and a crop top shirt pushing her tits out and her stomach in. Alright, it just so happens that it’s time for a five minute intermission…)

Strange thing is, this chick was unbelievably hot and so I’m almost certain I would have remembered seeing her. But I guess even serial killers end up forgetting a victim every once in a while. 

Again, sad ending, I wouldn’t see her for the rest of the cruise, but best believe I went scavenging. 

The rest of the night proceeded almost identically to the night before – poker and pregame, club and dancing, sleep and no sex. 

One major difference about being drunk on a cruise ship and drunk back home, is that instead of sending drunk texts, I send out drunk room dials. By this point of the cruise, I had a solid six or so room numbers. It was fourth and two and I was giving no fucks – I’d show blitz and furiously attack with a well-timed Engaged Eight. 

One major similarity between drunk cruise dials and drunk texts – I have the success rate of a seventy-four year old woman attempting to get pregnant.

Day 6 (Friday) – The Return of Claire

11:06am – I’m woken up by an incoming call from Claire. Technically, it was a return call. Last night, in an indescribable sequence of events, my genitalia magically relayed a message to my mouth that resulted with leaving Claire a voicemail. She lets me know that she’ll be drinking up at the hot tub (on the top deck of the cruise ship) and asks if I would like to join her and a few others. 

I instead decide to explore Cozumel with Julia.

(The first time I ever set foot on Cozumel was May of 2017. A buddy and I booked a spontaneous nine day Playa Del Carmen trip on a Sunday night at the strip club departing from Maryland Monday morning. I came back with what will be a few future installments of Baby Dick Tales, while he came back with a stomach virus, throwing up blood, chafed balls, and over cooked skin.)

I said it before, but Julia’s a total, all around babe (just YouTube search Julia Melim Reel 2018 and you’ll immediately get hit in the face by her vibrant personality and gorgeous smile). She actually laughed at me for not drinking while we were on the island. She assumed that I wasn’t drinking in attempt to impress her because I knew that she wasn’t a big drinker. I told her to settle down, that it’s hydration time right now, and not to worry because I’m sure that I’ll be blacked out by the end of the night. 

Hanging out with Julia is, straight to the point, fucking enjoyable. She’s positive, speaks with passion, energetic, and is constantly laughing. She even persuaded me to get a few pictures posted up on the gigantic Cozumel sign (I hate taking pictures like that – and no I will not be attaching them to this). For a few hours, we’d walk around, visit various stores, eat gelato (my weakness), carry on amazing conversation, and hold parrots while getting a picture together on, as I told her it was, our first official date (with utter failure).

Getting back onto the ship, I head to my room to power nap before carrying out my afternoon ritual.

8:30pm – As I’m leaving my room (it’s the very first one next to the elevators and staircase) to walk downstairs, I come across Claire and some dude (pretty sure it wasn’t her boyfriend). We hold a very short conversation and I make my way downstairs to the ninth floor via stairway as she takes the elevator (me and Claire each have rooms on the eleventh floor). 

Just as I’m arriving onto the ninth floor, Claire and her dude walk off of the elevator. As he’s heading into the restroom, she tells him that she’s just gonna talk to me for a few minutes. In an agitated snobby tone, she asks me if I had gotten her message and if so, why I didn’t see her at the pool. I explain to her that I did, but that as soon as I got up I headed onto the island, stayed there until early afternoon, came back onto the ship, slept, and now I’m heading out for the night. Unable to comprehend that I was busy all day which is why I didn’t see her at the hot tube, she begins speaking Crazy Talk. 

The way that you approach Crazy Talk depends on if she’s your girlfriend, wife, fiancé, booty call, or other. 

If she’s anything from your (long time) girlfriend to wife, I’d suggest staying silent, and nodding your head in agreement with a guilt expressing face. You’re simply a Florida resident that decided not to leave as a category five hurricane rapes your house – just wait it out and pray you get out of the basement alive.

If she’s your booty call or other, hand her the steak with the fat already cut off – just be blatantly honest. 

Even though I’m speaking to her in a calm voice, her anger towards me mounts as she’s unable to understand why I didn’t see her at the pool earlier. 

BECA– USE I WASN’T FUCKING THERE!!!!! 

“Claire, I got your message when I got up, but then I headed onto the island for the entire day. I came back and slept and just now woke up and got ready to head out for the night.”

“You don’t have to get mad. I don’t want us to make a scene.”

“I’m not mad and we’re not making a scene.”

“Daniel, stop making a scene.”

“What are you talking about? We’re fine.”

“If you wanna make a scene. I can make a scene.”

“Claire, you’re fucking crazy and need to settle down.”

I begin walking away – this time, flexing my calves on her as I’m making my exit.

For the next twenty seconds or so, she continues to scream at me as if she was Xena the Warrior Princess hyping her entourage up for battle. Her screeching voice vibrated down the entire hall, reaching the bow of the ship, nearly chipping the paint off of the walls.

“DON’T MAKE ME CA– USE A SCENE!!!! I KNOW HOW TO MAKE A SCENE!!!!! TRUST ME, I CAN MAKE A SCENE, DANIELLLLLL!!!!!!!!”

She keeps on yelling this non sense after following me for fifteen feet or so. I just kept walking fully expecting her to come up behind me to pour her drink on me. I felt like DeSean Jackson on a breakaway touchdown, staring up at the jumbotron just moments before getting stripped as he nears the goal line. 

I head to the poker table to start pregaming with Jamie. 

[Side story – the previous night, I had his girlfriend doing shots of tequila with me. Before he was done playing poker, she headed back to their room. When he got back there later that night, he couldn’t find her, even though her heels were thrown on the floor. He searched the room, then went back onto the casino floor and searched the bars and restaurants before going back to his room to see if maybe she went back there while he was out looking for her. He eventually finds her passed out on their balcony. Poor lady couldn’t keep up with my pregame.]

Over our usual double Jack and Cokes, I tell him about Claire’s newest episode. That eventually transitions into him telling me about his girlfriend freaking out over dinner that same night. While eating at the seafood restaurant, the waiter misunderstood her when she ordered an appetizer causing him to return with the wrong dish. Upon receiving it, she again tells him that he took the incorrect order and informs him of the actual dish she wants. Language barrier present, he has a difficult time understanding her. She begins crying demanding for management to ensure her that she’ll never have to see him again in her life. 

It took everything in me not to ask how dinner was when she came to say hi to us at the table. 

[Another quick side story – each night, located near the poker table, they’d put out a small spread consisting of fruit, some vegetables, and a finger food or two. Like a bear sniffing around a camp site, I walk my munchie craving drunk ass over. On this night, they happen to have pot stickers. As I’m loading my plate, Jamie comes over to access the same situation. Like a little kid standing in lunch line at school finally realizing that it’s pizza day, he’s astonished at the pot stickers – “OH MAN, THEY HAVE POT STICKERS?! I LOVE THESE THINGS!!!!” Having no regard for the tong and plates resting next to the food, he reaches in bare hand like a southern hick noodling for catfish, grabs a pot sticker, dips it, and devours it before reaching in for another. I suppose we all stop giving a fuck at some point.]

I catch word of a (as I’m just gonna call it) Color All party. The very top of the cruise ship has a large area reserved for outside parties – there’s a stage, gigantic projector screen, bars, couches, chairs, tables, and most importantly, dance floor. You don’t need to lead me to the watering hole, you just need to point in its direction. 

Arriving at the party, I feel somewhat out of place. Most everyone is wearing white and covered in body paint and/or glow sticks. Like the rare occasion of a rapper stumbling over his words on stage, I’m in cargo shorts and t-shirt due to my lack of clean clothes. This just isn’t going to work. It’s nearing midnight and I head back to my room real quick to change into my normal attire – Tank top and shorts (same shorts as the night before and my new Pirana Joe purchase). 

Noticing my phone is blinking, I have four unheard voicemails. All from Claire. In a sobbing voice, “Hey Dan…I really miss you…I need you…I don’t know where things went wrong…I just wish things could go back to the way they were.” I just met this girl three days ago and she’s talking about “the way things were”?!?!?!

I didn’t know whether I should laugh, call the suicide hotline, or hire her a psychologist. 

BACK TO THE WAY THINGS WERE???!!!!!!!

That’s what struggling couples say as they’re nearing divorce papers and/or murder. 

That’s what crackheads say after they were introduced to drugs and are now failed bisexual prostitutes panhandling in Las Vegas.

That’s what each mom says on 18 And Pregnant as they realize they have a better chance of obtaining their GED than collecting child support. 

That’s what Lisa Ann says to her vagina after she’s taken enough miles of dick to make a Toyota Prius overheat. 

THAT IS NOT what you say when someone kicks you out after you spend two nights with them on a cruise ship because your current boyfriend neglected you and now you’re an animal in the shelter waiting for someone to adopt you even though you’re littered with fleas and weak and frail because you refuse to eat the food that they place into your bowl. 

(I saved the messages with the intent to record them, but for whatever reason I couldn’t get them to replay. I’m just gonna assume that they blew the speaker the first time they played.)

Dressed in my new attire, I venture back up to the party. I run into Adriana, her sister, and a friend and we all pound a few shots together. We’re near the end of the bar by an entrance for cruise ship workers only. There’s five or six workers all by themselves throwing their own little get together. Two of the workers are babes – one being the cute Asian who saw me in action during bingo earlier on the cruise – yes please. 

I decide to venture in by making friends with the dudes first. You know, keep your friends close and your enemies closer kind of thing. Sadly, not long after penetration, most of the crew disperses and I’m stuck doing shots with two dudes. 

After starting drunk conversations with numerous people, and rubbing up on random butts on the dance floor, the party ends around 1am and I make my way down to Bliss. 

Same Bliss different night – drink, dance, head to my room with my fist still full of pardons. 

This time, I only have two voicemails from Claire. 

In a seductive voice – “Hey Dan…It’s Claire…as you can probably tell, I’m really drunk…and you know what happens when I get drunk…I get really horny and I just want you to come to my room and fuck me.”

Thatta girl.

But, here’s where the plan goes awry. Claire has a studio room. The studio rooms are centrally located and in their own section of the ship. To get to where the studio rooms are, you have to swipe through a door. If you don’t have a studio room key, you can’t get passed the door. I don’t have a studio room key. So Claire would either have to come to my room, or meet me outside the ‘master’ studio room door. I’m going to give up explaining the rest of what happens, just the same as I gave up trying to get Claire to understand this. 

Day 7 (Saturday) – I Finally Find My Hat

Sleeping in late, per usual, I get another call from Claire at 2:30pm. She begins apologizing for her Xena The Warrior stunt the previous day. Not wanting to cause a scene, I tell her it’s okay, no big deal. 

She wants to hang out and drink. I tell her that I just got up, to stop by and I’ll start getting ready. I ask her if she’s had her afternoon bang session yet. She’s not amused.

“All you ever wanna do is have sex.”

Correct Claire. That’s about the extent of the relationship I want with you. At least I’m honest? I always thought honesty was confidence. I suppose girls like her though are into neglect. 

But okay, fine, how about you tell me a funny joke instead. Or perhaps we can have an intellectual conversation – you pick the topic. No? No? Fine fine, let’s just go eat instead then. Wait, you gotta be drunk first for that too. Yup, I would rather just bang. 

One of my rules of life is, I try and find the good in someone and concentrate on that quality. You ever wonder why your grandparents love you so much, no matter what? Because they find your strength, and that’s all they care about and all they talk about to people. They don’t care about any of the bad. 

“Yeahhh my little grandson Danny is in prison, but look at this picture he sent me!! He’s such a great artist!!!”

Since Claire obviously woke up on the bitch side of the bed with a padlock on her vagina, she ventures off on her own to the pool and I tell her I’ll be up in a little bit to see her. 

(I head up to see Claire and our other friends at the pool. Only thing worth noting here is me seizing my opportunity to meet Mina. I mentioned before about an unbelievably sexy girl who would shoot craps each night. As I’m sitting on my stool at the busy bar, she comes dancing her way up to order a drink. Packed as it is though, she comes to a halt in bumper to bumper traffic. Leaping out of my car, baton in hand, I wave for her to come on through. Positioning my knees to the right, back slightly turned to her so that she can lean on the counter top and place her order, I uhhh, you know, ask her if she’s had her afternoon shot of tequila yet. Close. She orders a margarita and I get the same. For the few minutes or so that it takes for her to get her drinks, I initiate my charm sequence, tell her I’ll come say hi to her later on at the craps table, and get the vintage ASL.)

Ending up at the poker table a few hours later, I take a short break to go and see Julia at work to see when she gets off and what her plans are. We agree to meet at 9:30 near The Mojito Bar. Giving my final goodbye to my poker homies, I venture out for my last active duty deployment. 

Joining me and Julia at the bar are two other girls who she met on the cruise. Being entertained by the live Mexican band playing some salsa dancing type shit, they successfully egg me on into joining. Let me tell you something – when I booty bump, I put bitches through walls. When I try and salsa dance, I look like a crippled attempting to stand up from my wheelchair for the first time. 

Bombarding into my three set, an experienced salsa dancer makes his way past enemy lines and onto my home turf. Keeping my challenge flag equipped at my hip, I let him play on as he seems like an alright dude. Shortly after, Julia, Kevin, and I go to eat. 

Late night dinner conversation becomes quite interesting. Turns out, Kevin is also working on the ship. He’s a replacement comic (so basically, if for any of the cruises, any of the comedians have to cancel, he fills in for them). It also just so happens, that he knows Claire!!!!!!! For the next thirty minutes or so, we each share Claire stories and express how blessed we’ve been by her coming into our lives. He tells us that everyone on the ship is ‘aware’ of Claire and her crazy antics. He’s watched her blow up multiple times during the cruise, laughing harder during each sequential episode (by this point in time, I had decided that I’m going to be writing this story. I let him know and he gives me his email. He says he eventually wants to do an entire comedy skit on Claire). 

At one point, one of the random old dudes from the club who was salivating over Claire and the other girls dancing on each the other night comes walking by and shockingly looks at me. 

“Why aren’t you at the club?! You run that place.”

“Well you know what, Julia’s a super nice lady and so I would kinda rather spend some time with her.”

(Which, was the truth.)

Here’s where dinner goes wrong. A cute girl that I know from Bliss comes walking by and so I say hello. During my short conversation with her, she says something about being on this cruise with her boyfriend (something that I was completely oblivious to). The exact moment that Julia hears this, she begins an exasperating string of disses my way.

“YOU JUST LOVE TO TRY AND BREAK COUPLES UP!!!!!”

Have you ever seen The South Park episode where Kenny advances the farthest on the PSP and so he dies to go to Heaven to command their army against Hell’s but he’s being kept alive on a feeding tube and Cartman protests to let him die while Stan and Kyle argue to keep him alive and it turns out in the end that Cartman was right for the wrong reasons and that Stan and Kyle were wrong for the right reasons? Well that’s Julia right here. I can’t help it that studies show that majority of girls date losers, and so when they meet me and come face to face with a personality for the first time since theirs had been sucked out of them by their life controlling douche bag, that they find me enticing and enjoy being treated well until their low self-esteem slowly but surely resurfaces and they don’t feel as though they deserve to be treated in a positive manner and so they go back to misery. 

Yes, my history isn’t the cleanest in these types of scenarios (most recently explained in Spinach and Artichoke Dick), but in this particular instance, she’s denying federal law enforcement from entering her home as they’re waiving their search warrant. 

Conversation quickly turns into The Comedy Roast of Baby Dick and His Many Shared Girlfriends. 

“Well, I’ll tell yins what. This is my last night on the cruise and I’m not gonna sit here and get ridiculed. So I’m just gonna go continue to get black out drunk again and have the best night ever.”

After properly excusing myself from the table, I push in my chair like a good little boy, and head to a close by bar to pound a quick double before walking down to Bliss. 

As I’m walking to Bliss, I run into another girl named Adrianna (sounds weird I know, but I met two different girls on this cruise with the same name. At least I’m almost certain that’s what she was called, but this one hasn’t been introduced yet). Adrianna is a Polish girl with dark piercing eyes. Her wavy hair flowed perfectly distracting you from her energetic smile. I’ve seen her at Bliss at random times throughout the week. Even though I’ve had several at bats, I’ve yet to get on base. I’ve tried swinging for the fences, bunting, fuck, I even tried stepping into a pitch. 

‘DANNNNNNNN!!!! I HAVE YOUR HAT!!!!!” 

(After an intense night at Bliss, I woke up Thursday morning without my hat. I looked all over the cruise ship, asked my poker friends if I left it for some reason, even went and checked with the desk and their lost and found. It was nowhere. Clearly, the one night when I was dancing with her, I tried to execute the ‘flirtatiously put your hat on their head, sexually use it to pull them in closer, and hope that it ends with each other’s tongue eating out each other’s throats’.)

She’s wasted as if she just butt chugged an entire bottle of vodka. Pushing the other people who she’s with aside (if I remember correctly, she was with two other guys), she begins groping me and telling me to take my shirt off as she’s attempting to (without much resistance) forcibly undue my buttons (last night on the ship, we were rocking the jeans and button up). 

[Listen, I don’t know what the hell’s going on either. My job is just to experience it and then explain it to you.]

Achieving her task, my shirt is now completely undone. She takes my hand for a brief moment and proceeds to lead the entire group to Bliss. Being as it’s the final night on the ship, it’s busier than ever.

I’d spend my next few hours doing shots with each person I’ve met over the past crazy week and trying to secure as many follow up contacts as possible (I’m assuming it goes without saying that this period of time was littered with vulgar dancing).

As the night is nearing its end, Adrianna begins pulling everyone out of the club with her. When I say everyone, I mean all dudes. Somehow, I end up in an elevator with Adrianna and about seven other guys. She just started packing us in there like a concentration camp leader forcing Jews into an oven. She goes on to lead her entire brigade of dicks back to her room. 

I’m now standing in a small cruise ship room on the final night of the trip with one girl and forty feet of cock. 

She hands me my hat off of her nightstand and starts to play music on her laptop. I don’t know any of these other dudes and seems like a few of them don’t even speak English that well. 

I think there’s five options that are available during a time like this:

A) Just fucking leave. 

B) Begin a fast paced drinking game to establish my dominance where the odds are on my side of being the last man standing then I can carry my queen to eternal bliss and happiness.

C) Just give a public service announcement – “Well I’m here to fuck. We can draw straws, tic tac toe, roshambo, or you could just all be gentlemen and let me go first. Adrianna, do you have a say in the manor?”

D) Be the last train to drive on the tracks. (Wouldn’t be the first time…it’s called being a freshman on tour. People gripe over sloppy seconds? Fuck, give me forbidden fourths.)

E) Try and wait the situation out. Create a stalemate and pathetically stand there for who knows how long as the floor becomes soaked with each other’s drool and droplets of pre-ejaculated cum.

As I’m deliberating, I begin to reflect on the past week – I showed up on this cruise all alone not knowing a single person. Met a crazy blonde chick who I shared a room with for two nights. Made multiple friends and woke up drunk almost every day to go out and get drunker to relentlessly grind up on unfamiliar butt. My liver hated me, I hadn’t eaten healthy all week, and somehow I’m supposed to find the strength to fight off a plethora of raging ram rods after days of intense battle. 

Sorry to let everyone down, but I threw in the towel.

I hugged Adrianna goodbye and walked back to my room for one last time. 

Day 8 (Sunday) – Baby Wants A Corner to Sleep In

I’m awake, packed, and off the cruise ship by 9:30AM. As I’m waiting for my Uber to go from Miami to my friend’s house in Fort Lauderdale, I get three calls from Claire. Each one goes unanswered. I arrive safely back in Fort Lauderdale and I’m asleep by noon. A few hours later, I’m awakened by my buddies where I give them a watered down rendition of what you just read. Hopefully this version was a bit more entertaining. My next cruise is booked from February 2nd – 9th, 2019. I have room for one extra in my cabin and accepting applications. 

UPDATE (Unsolved Mysteries voice):

I’ve become friends with a handful of the people whom I met on this cruise on various social media platforms. Some of which, didn’t even make this story but without a doubt added their own little part to an amazing week. 

Not only did I not see the flight attendant again, I also never ran into Mina on the final night (except for a very brief moment at Bliss on the dance floor). She may or may not have been on the cruise with a boyfriend. Mina, upon being granted permission from Julia, if this story ever crosses your path, I’d love for the chance to take you out for a celebratory afternoon shot of tequila. 

Jamie invited me to join him and his girlfriend at a steakhouse in Miami Sunday afternoon. I was unable to make it but have kept in touch with him since. Next time I visit the west coast, I have aspirations of beginning the script to one of my movie ideas with the help of him and his girlfriend. 

Adrianna, you’re a babe and thanks for keeping my sweat infested hat safe. 

Julia spends each Sunday in Miami and I hope we’re able catch up from time to time. (Last we spoke on the phone, she told me that Claire and I are “legends’. That all of the crew members constantly talk of that week.) Unfortunately, after a month or so of receiving my standard but strange pictures and videos on Instagram, she unfriended me on all social media fronts. Again, not the first time anything like that has happened.  

Now, finally, Claire Bear. Oh Sweet Claire Bear. She actually deserves a lot of credit. If it wasn’t for meeting her, it’s quite possible that this cruise would have ended without a story worth telling. It’s possible that I wouldn’t have met Julia and the plethora of other friends that joined our drinking shenanigans. Claire and I still very occasionally keep in touch. Mostly through short random messages. Attached below, I’ve added a picture of us that we took during our first night at The Ice Bar. If you look closely enough, you can see the craziness in her eyes.