Yesterday we spent the whole day at sea, without a care in the world (besides when are we going to get there, am I getting too much sun, does the captain know what he’s doing, did I leave the iron on, …).
After lunch (I didn’t quite make it up in time to catch breakfast, because luckily no one in my room is a “vacation leader“), we layed out in the sun for a bit. I was forbidden (forboden?) to wear sunscreen because I was apparently blinding everyone and they much preferred I be red (and cancer-prone) than to stay my pasty self and serve as a reflective surface. We soaked up some UV rays for a bit, and then I proceeded to get beat in putt putt by both Adam and Tim, two people who rarely golf. I blame it on being drunk from the sun.
Before long it was time to get ready for the night’s festivities. It was the “Formal Night,” so we had to dress up some (“Did you hear about the game between the shirt and the blazer? Yeah, it ended in a tie.”), but it also meant that there was a Captain’s cocktail reception (read: free alcohol for those that choose to consume such beverages).
Dinner was another pleaser, most people electing to go with the lobster, myself choosing the prime rib. From what I remember, everyone enjoyed the food this time. During dinner, we partook in a rather enthralling conversation about salads. Dave thinks the Caesar on the boat is the best Caesar salad that he’s ever had, though Justin finds that hard to believe. The best salads in the entire world, however, reside at Bravo (the ensalada de la casa), at least according to Angie (and seconded by Dave). I also thought that I was weird when it came to salads (no dressing, just salt for me), but Trevor is such a big fan of salads with no dressing and extra tomatos, that he ordered one for before the meal, and a second for dessert. I guess you don’t want to mess with Trevor and his Iceberg Lettuce, otherwise heads will roll…
After the dinner, some of the bigger “partiers” went to the second of the two Captain’s cocktail receptions (meant for people who had the later dinner, but hey, what’s a few more drinks among friends). Then we all posed as the mandatory group photo was taken, as well as one of the fam (Mom, Adam, Dave, and I). The couple in line behind us must have gone to both of the receptions as well, as the lady was quite inebriated. Ignoring her constant exclamations that her boobs were popping out of her dress, the real sign was that she thought my mom was a swinger, and that her three sons were her dates. After being corrected by one of our friends, she then apologized profusely (and loudly) for suggesting we try incest (you may now vomit).
With pictures out of the way, we then hit up the piano bar, and then the disco bar. I of course “shook my groove thang,” and “shook it like a Polaroid picture.”
Midnight rolled around (yeah, we’re party animals), and we saw the late night, Rated R, comedy show. It was decent, though nothing to write home about (and who would I write to? I doubt my Dad cares about a comedian on a cruise ship. Plus, we’re in the middle of the ocean, how would it get to him? Do they have carrier pigeons?). By the time the show was over, it was midnight:45, so we decided it was time to sleep (hey, we’re human, even if I can do an amazing “Robot”).