Barbados was our last stop on the cruise, and we were feeling the combination of too many late nights, too much sun, and the double-bonus sickness. We were supposed to go snorkel with sea turtles, but my seasickness and Matt’s killer sunburn made that seem like a terrible idea. We were totally happy just going to wander around Bridgetown and see the land of rum, though.

The cruise port is a ways from town, and they encourage you to take cabs. That’s not our style unless it’s absolutely necessary, though. We took the path along the harbor and walked. Some other people were going that way, too, but surprisingly few, considering there were five cruise ships in port.

Barbados is a very British island, the kind of place where they still have tea at 4pm every day. Compared to the other places we’d been, it was the biggest city, and by far the cleanest. It was also very busy, hot, and insanely humid. We wandered into a few shops on our way to the Careenage, which was very cute:

Souvenirs in hand, we decided to catch a cab to the Mount Gay Distillery. It was our #1 priority, in terms of things to see in Barbados! On the way, we passed Kensington Oval, the famous cricket grounds.

Mount Gay was a little ways north of town, on a smaller piece of property than I’d expected. Granted, most of their operations occur at other locations.

We got tickets for the tour, and the first stop was the little museum, where they went over the history of Mount Gay. We saw a ton of old bottles (Matt was maybe drooling a little), and even saw one of the oldest pot stills in the world. That was way too exciting.

We then toured the bottling plant, but weren’t allowed to take photographs. The tour guide introduced us to a bottle known as “the one-legged man“: it’s the size of a 12-oz beer bottle, with the same kind of bottle cap. Which means you have to drink it all in one sitting, hence the name. Of course we had to get one of those.

After the tour, they led us to the bar for the rum tasting. We tried the Eclipse and the Extra Old. They showed us the really expensive 1703 as well, but there were no free tastes for that one. It was funny how shocked some of the visitors were at drinking rum straight.

After the tasting, Matt and I shopped like crazy people. We got a bottle of the 1703 (it was $80, but that’s about half the price it sells for in the US), a one-legged man, and various other souvenirs for ourselves and other people. It was by far my favorite souvenir-shopping of the trip. We got a couple of rum punches at the bar, and sat around watching Chelsea-Pompey on TV.

Post-distillery, we decided to walk back to the cruise port and get our stuff for the beach. That may not have been the best decision, though, because it was a lot farther than we expected. And a lot hotter. And it wasn’t very clear how to get there. We managed to find it eventually, though.

By the time we got near the port, we realized that we wouldn’t have much time at the beach before having to turn around and come back, so we decided to hop a cab into town for lunch instead. We got a couple of Banks beers at the port, then caught a cab. Matt asked the driver his name, and he introduced himself as Christopher.

He avoided the traffic on the main streets and instead drove through the neighborhood, where everyone waved and said hi to him. It was apparent that Christopher probably knew 90% of the people in Bridgetown. He told us he’d lived there 40 years, and answered all our questions about hurricanes (they tend to blow right over Barbados, because it’s a reef island instead of a mountainous volcanic one). That’s apparently what also makes for the excellent beer and rum.

Christopher dropped us off at Big John’s, a local fast food restaurant serving all Caribbean food. I was wary til I saw that amongst the many roti options, they had mock duck. WIN. We ordered food and brought it upstairs to eat.

I went for my camera to get a picture of our Barbadian fast food feast, but it wasn’t in its case. In fact, it wasn’t anywhere with me. It was, in fact, in the back of Christopher’s cab.  Suddenly, I had zero interest in eating, and I wanted to cry. If there’s one thing (besides Matt) that I never want to lose on vacation, it’s my camera. Especially after having taken hundreds of photos.

We bundled everything up and ran outside to the nearest cab stand. It was ridiculous to ask about a cab driver about whom we only knew his first name, especially in a city with hundreds of taxis, but we had to try. We asked a couple of drivers about him, and they told us that there was more than one Christopher, obviously. We described him and his car, and for some reason they seemed to think they knew the guy. One of them asked, “was it 334?” (Referring to the cab number.) We had absolutely no idea, but it seemed like a lead. They said that his home cab stand was the one down a couple of blocks nearer the city center, and that we should go there and wait.

Despairing, we walked over to that cab stand. At least ten different cabbies asked if we needed a ride, so we told each of them the situation. I didn’t care if they thought I was a stupid tourist, I was willing to do anything to get my camera back. Everyone we talked to knew Christopher, and assured us that at some point he’d be back in that area. They also all made sure to inform us that someone could’ve gotten into the cab in the meantime, and may have stolen the camera. I was well aware of that, unfortunately.

The cab stand was at the center of a triangle, the intersection of at least three main streets. We picked a vantage point where we could watch all of them, and looked for similar cars matching that number. After standing there for 20 minutes or so, we were approached by another cabbie, so I explained again what was going on. He told us he knew Christopher personally, and asked, “did you tip?” That was the most critical part of the equation, it seemed, both as far as Christopher’s willingness to return, and whether or not the camera might be found. Not that we would consider not tipping a cab driver… but we were extra-glad that we had.

Rodney introduced himself, and said he might know someone who had Christopher’s cell number. He got two phones at once, and took down the number from his friend. It wasn’t til he actually got Christopher on the phone that we knew whether or not it was even the right driver. He told us that my camera was still in the backseat, and I started crying.

Christopher returned shortly afterwards, and I gave both him and Rodney $20 and thanked them profusely. Rodney told us he’d give us a ride back to the cruise port for free. I’m sure he was just in a hurry to get the hapless tourists out of his town, but I didn’t care: I had my camera back, and Barbadians had earned my love permanently.

Matt and I went to the bar at the cruise port, got a table and a couple of Banks beers, and finally ate our long-overdue lunch. I could not have been happier about life at that moment. Here’s the first photo from my recovered camera, the one I’d been intending to take in the first place:

Other people were having an equally great, if different, time in Barbados. We suspected these guys didn’t even leave the port!

After eating, we shopped at various very-crowded shops in the cruise port complex. There were many ships docked there that day, and everyone seemed to be leaving within an hour of one another. We all scrambled to shop, and Matt and I managed to find some really great stuff: a straw purse for his mom, Banks dominoes for his dad, some Angostura orange bitters from the duty-free shop, and then the next greatest thing to happen to me that day: I FOUND GO AHEAD IN THE GROCERY STORE. (It’s hard to explain why I love them so much, but I’ve only ever found them in one specific shop in the Bahamas, and I obsess about them constantly.) I bought six packages, and we hauled our many shopping bags out to the shuttle bus stop.

We crammed onto the bus, rode to the ship, and had to dig several bottles of rum out of our bags so security could bundle them up for us. It was pretty funny. It seemed we were some of the last people boarding, too.

We showered and sat on the balcony to watch the sunset in Barbados. I kept dozing off in my chair, so we went to take a quick nap once we were at sea.

We awoke at 6:30 and went up to the pool deck to take advantage of that day’s $5 drink special. We hung out on deck for a while, during which time I scribbled in this very travel journal. Well, the paper version. There was another sushi boat, too!

We headed down to the coffee bar, but Velika wasn’t working. Matt was embarrassed to order a French Kiss from a male bartender, so he got something else instead. We played a fast game of Scrabble, then went to the room to change for formal night. We had reservations at the Normandie at 9pm!

The Normandie is the very fancy restaurant on the ship, and is decorated with objects from the original SS Normandie. It costs an additional $35 per person, and it’s worth it, especially on formal night. We ordered champagne and were brought the bread basket, then an amuse-bouche of mango soup in a tiny tureen. (I would’ve taken pictures of everything, but I didn’t want to be tacky!) After that, a goat cheese bechamel souffle in a puff pastry cage for me and scallops Wellington for Matt. Then anjou pear in phyllo with a tiny salad, and for Matt a salad containing all the ingredients in an Egg McMuffin, but way better.

The entree was vegetables primavera for me, and steak and lobster for Matt. The service was formal, which always makes me feel a little uncomfortable, but the waiters were very friendly. They even removed the lobster from the shell for Matt. After dinner, they brought us Manhattans from the bar in fancy crystal glasses, and wouldn’t let us refuse to order a dessert, so we chose the miniature dessert sampler to share, figuring it would be the smallest.

They brought a tiered tray of tiny desserts, and we thought that was perfect: we could each have a bite of every item, and not be stuffed to the point of having to vomit in buckets. Then they informed us that wasn’t our dessert, that was the dessert appetizer. Seriously.

The dessert sampler was fantastic, though. And the Normandie is worth it, but you’d probably be better off starving yourself for three days before you go.

After dinner, we went to Revelations for the formal night dance party. The place was packed for once, which was fantastic. There was a huge buffet in the back with desserts and breads (we wanted to die a little), and amazing ice sculptures. We recognized most of the servers and bartenders from other locations on the ship, and Winston from Jamaica was our waiter.

We got a little table, ordered cocktails, and did some hardcore people-watching. I noticed a stir in the middle of the room, and realized it was our bartender, Mehmet, from the bar where we’d had Manhattans a few nights ago. He had what was essentially a fancy ice luge set up for martinis: he’d put everything in the shaker, toss it around over his head with a lot of flair (to the intense delight of every lady who passed), then pour it down the ice luge into a waiting glass below. He was absolutely loving the attention, so I decided to go over there for my next drink.

I ordered a Grey Goose l’Orange martini, and we ended up talking about favorite drinks. He asked about mine, so I told him about the Manhattan I’d had at dinner. It turned out he’d made it to be sent to the restaurant, so we discussed favorite bourbons and such. I told him I preferred Maker’s, so he said we should stop down to his bar the next night and he would make one special for us. Mehmet instantly became my favorite bartender on the ship, and that’s saying something.

I headed back to our table with the world’s largest martini, and it took all I had to not spill it. Walking with a martini glass in heels on a rocking ship? Not the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I found Matt there drinking Patron on the rocks. BIG PIMPIN’.

The band finished up around midnight, and a DJ who was not Ron Hollywood took over. We were just thrilled to be able to stay up late and dance again, because it was the first night of the entire cruise where we wouldn’t be in port at 7am. Hooray for sea days!

The crowd thinned out pretty quickly after the DJ started, but a group of Americans stuck around to dance. We requested ‘Rompe’, and got a bunch more reggaeton. I ended up on the dance floor barefoot in my dress. It was awesome, and everyone protested loudly when the DJ had to shut down at 2am. Regardless, we had a great time.

We slept late on Thursday, then headed to swim. For the first time since we arrived, it was slightly overcast. I’d heard from several people that it rains every day in Negril, just for a few minutes at a time, but this was the first hint of it we’d even seen.

We swam for a long time, watching the ‘reggae mariachis’ on the beach and a divebombing bird. The ocean was a little colder than usual without the sun. Around 3pm, we went to change and go find some lunch.

We got a table at Alfred’s, one of the spots that had live music a few nights before. I knew I was dehydrated, because I ended up with three beverages in front of me: water, pop, and Red Stripe. I had a grilled cheese (the European kind, open-faced and toasted), salad, and fries with Grey’s Spicy Sauce. That stuff goes well with anything.

While we sat there, it started raining a tiny bit, though not enough to really soak anything. The people who were sitting in the uncovered areas eating were unbothered by it.

On the way back up the beach, we met both Captain Eveready and Captain Moses, who offered to take us out in their glass-bottom boats. We fully intended to, but their boats were never on the beach when we were around.

We sat on the beach for a long time, reading, chillaxing, and drinking rum punch. We decided that we should run to the store for our own booze, so we could watch the sun set on the patio at our hotel. We wandered out to the street and down the block to Shamrock, the little convenience store we’d passed a few times without realizing it was there. We got a bottle of overproof rum, some Pepsi and Diet Pepsi (they’re not much on Coke there, apparently), Red Stripes, and I got a cheese bun. I was maybe a little obsessed with the concept of the cheese bun, even though I didn’t know exactly what it was.

We returned to our hotel, got a table on the patio, and got to playing cards, drinking, and watching the sunset. I probably don’t have to tell you again just how awesome Jamaica is:

We played cribbage, which involved Matt drawing a picture of a marmot for reasons I know but can’t possibly explain, then we played slappy, the preferred game of drinking people. Once the sun went down, a band started setting up on stage at our hotel. We had no clue they had live music there, so that was spectacular. As the show began, we learned that it was, in fact, their first gig at the hotel. They’d be doing music twice a week from then on, for free. Look out, Bourbon Beach!

The band was Ansel and the Foxtrots. Ansel was a guy in his 60s with one arm. He was a great performer. A few songs into the set, who should wander in but the roving trumpet player? He hopped on stage and started playing with the band. We loved it.

We watched their first set, then decided it was time for dinner. We wandered over to Roots Bamboo, and were promptly seated by a very enthusiastic server, the same one we’d had our first day. He told us his name was Billy Ray, but that people called him Slick. I’m pretty sure you can’t get by in Jamaica without an awesome nickname.

Speaking of awesome nicknames, we’d spend much of our time in the ocean every day speculating about the sign in front of Roots. It advertised Money Cologne’s big birthday bash on February 25, which happened to also be Matt’s birthday. We were sadly leaving a few days prior. We even recognized some of the names on the sign, so we knew it had to be a big deal. But the most exciting part, in general, was the name Money Cologne. Best nickname ever.

I had steamed vegetables and rice, which was way better than it sounds. Matt had oxtail and broad beans. While we ate, we noticed a couple laying on top of each other near the stage, making out.

We went back to the hotel after dinner to catch the rest of Ansel and the Foxtrots’ set. They played ‘No Woman, No Cry’; that was the 6th time we’d heard it, and by then it was actually making me choke up. Seriously, you try being in an amazingly gorgeous place with the person you’re madly in love with, and see if it doesn’t make you a little sentimental, too.

The North Dakotans were in full force for the show. They’d slowly emerged from their rooms and stumbled to the beach in front of the stage. They danced and yelled and became involved in incredibly deep conversations about things they wouldn’t remember the next day. And then at the end of the show, the band broke into ‘Hot Hot Hot’. The female bartenders came out and danced at the front of the stage, and all the old people formed a conga line. IT WAS HYSTERICAL.

Matt and I left them to the conga line, and headed over to the Jungle. My research had shown that Thursday was ladies’ night at the Jungle, and therefore the most crowded. Also, free admission for me!

There were lines of pimped-out cars parked along the road, and people piling out of taxis. We got in line and Matt paid admission. Inside, he got a hand stamp, and a guy wanded him to check for weapons. The wand beeped at both his pockets; he told the guy it was his wallet and lighter, when in reality he had a pocket knife in one of them. The guy didn’t seem to care much, and waved us past.

The downstairs of the Jungle reminded me a lot of the Gay 90s. Sort of cavernous, with bars shoved in various places, and platforms that seemed to not serve much purpose. There was an aquarium with a snake in it. It was also really strange being indoors: apart from the hotel room, we were always some degree of outside.

We followed the music to the right, and saw a bartender excitedly waving us over. We got drinks, and then went to check out the dance floor. It was the typical club floor: round, with a DJ booth above it, VIP rooms on either side, and areas for people to stand and watch. There was hardly anyone in there yet (it was good to know that Negril has the same dance schedule as Minneapolis, at least), so we decided to go check out the upstairs.

We climbed a flight of stairs that had a platform halfway up. It had three couches and a giant TV. A guy was lounging there, watching sports. The upstairs is a giant patio with a bar in the center. There’s a little food stand on the left serving typical Jamaican food, particularly of the fried variety (best idea ever!), and  stage with another DJ booth. Matt and I grabbed what appeared to be the very last unoccupied table; the place wasn’t exactly crowded yet, but the rest would be standing room only.

The place filled up quickly, and the DJ started playing. It was mostly American pop/hiphop; we heard things like Hollaback Girl. It was entertaining, but nobody was really dancing at all. After a while, we decided to surrender our table and see what was going on downstairs. After a stop in the bathroom (where Matt talked to some dudes who were trying to figure out how many mushrooms one should take at a time), we made our way to the dance floor. And that was AWESOME.

They were playing much better hiphop downstairs (we called it the Annex, because of the 90s thing), stuff like 50 Cent and Walk it Out, which I only remember how to do when drunk, much like the Electric Slide. It was packed and unbelievably hot; we were drenched in sweat. I absolutely loved it. After a long time, the DJ started switching the music to more local stuff. He played a lot of dancehall, doing that thing where he’ll mix and swap stuff out every 30 seconds or so, talking over it a ton. He told us it was his birthday the next day approximately 50 times. We got kind of sick of the talking and spastic music changes, and decided to head out. We hadn’t noticed til we were walking out that it was mostly locals at that point. All the tourists had either headed out, or were still up on the patio with Gwen Stefani.

We got back to our hotel close to 3am, and settled into our routine: drinking a lot of water and watching ESPN.

Thursday morning, we got up bright and early late and went to Paris for breakfast. There’s a little cafe I’d stopped at on previous visits, and knew it to be good. Which is to say they’d have pastries and coffee.  I think Matt died of awesome over his bacon and cheese roll.

We took our ghetto iced coffees with us, and headed out the north side of Bally’s. I don’t know exactly how hot it was, but it was definitely mid-90s. And, you know, we were in the desert. The coffee only helped a little.

this is apparently one of klein’s favorite spots in vegas. they have $1 hot dogs.

We headed east, toward the National Atomic Testing Museum. I knew it was ‘just past’ Terrible’s Casino, so we were very excited to see that in the distance. It couldn’t have been more than a mile from the strip, but, holy crap, walking any distance like that in Vegas hurts.

The museum was fantastic. I’d been to the National Atomic Museum in Albuquerque, and was even more impressed with this one. My favorite part was the little theatre with the nuclear explosion simulation that ran every 10 minutes. The loud blast didn’t scare us that much, but the giant rush of air did.

Having gotten our culture in Vegas, we headed to Terrible’s and played some video blackjack.

We watched the end of a division series game with the people at the sports book there, then decided to get our wander on back toward the strip. Matt talked to both Pete and Klein to determine everyone else’s whereabouts, and we figured we’d meet up with them later. Since Hard Rock was sort of in the general direction we were headed, we stopped there to check it out.

As we walked in the door, sweating our asses off, the first thing I heard was Def Leppard’s Rock of Ages. I knew that place was going to be awesome. And THEN:

We stopped at the Hard Rock gift shop, obtained the required souvenir shotglasses, and then decided there was no point in waiting for dinnertime to go to the Pink Taco. We went in and had us a margarita. Then we had us another margarita. Then we went back outside, and headed back toward the strip. You know how usually if you’re drinking, you don’t mind that it’s either freezing or the middle of the desert? Not so much. I was pretty sure I was going to end up laying on the side of the road.

We ducked into the mall attached to Planet Hollywood right as Colleen texted that their plane had landed. I figured we had half an hour, so we did some shopping at ABC Stores (because I’m nostalgic about Hawaii) and a shoe store where I found the awesomest Ed Hardy shoes on earth.

We got back to the hotel just as they were arriving. We went to our room, grabbed the other bottle of champagne, and went to celebrate their arrival. They’d never been to Vegas before!! We were very excited to show them around.

We went back to Planet Hollywood, and stopped at Yolo for drinks, as one should not wander the strip sober. We then headed down toward New York New York, to have dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in Vegas. It’s not that it’s great, but it’s a tradition. I’ve gone there every time I’ve been in town. Also, they have margaritas in yards. You can’t go wrong.

note steve’s statue of liberty yard!

Full of Mexican food, we went to play video poker for a while. Colleen and I smartly hid our yards on the floor next to the machines, so that the drink lady would come around and give us free cocktails. Win.

Once we blew our $20 on poker, we went upstairs to Coyote Ugly. The place wasn’t too busy yet, but the ladies were already dancing on the bar. One of the bartenders marched right up to us and demanded a dollar for the jukebox. I went to give her one, but she insisted that it come from one of the boys. They refused.

A few drinks and some awesome music later, we watched a girl take a nose-dive on the bar, then be hauled back up by her fellow dancing-ladies. We decided it was time to go. We headed across the bridge to MGM, to another of our favorite bars.

steve’s yard: for AMERICA. (he used it as a drinkholder all night.)

steve took this with his VERY LONG ARMS.

This is where it all becomes kind of blurry, but we remember Steve being really excited about the lion habitat at MGM, and then going to have a drink at Rouge. We left shortly after that, and headed over to Excalibur, because Matt’s friends were going that way to go to a club.

We met Andy and Christina on the monorail to Mandalay Bay, and introduced them to Colleen and Steve. We then headed downstairs to what seemed like the furthest basement corner of Mandalay, to the Forty Deuce. Which, you know, is an awesome name for a club, particularly one that features burlesque dancers. There was no cover at that point, so we went inside.

There were only a few tables, though, and they were already full. The drinks were approximately $400 apiece (I’m only exaggerating slightly!). And apparently the dancers weren’t even starting til midnight. We milled around, disgruntled, and finally decided to take off for cheaper drinkin’ spots, even ones without half-naked ladies.

We took the monorail back to Excalibur, then walked up the strip toward our hotel. Steve and Matt dubbed the massive construction project south of the Bellagio ‘Australia: the Casino’, then talked about it so much I was convinced it was real the next day. Steve collected hooker trading cards, and within a few blocks had a substantial collection.

We decided to head for Bill’s Gamblin’ Hall again, as it was the crappiest nearby strip casino we could think of. The outside advertised $1 margaritas all day long, but we’d already searched for them to no avail. However, at one point I wandered off, and found them at a bar in the back. There was a frozen drink machine with the mix, and then the bartender would pour a shot of god-knows-what-brand tequila on top. Cringing, I watched a group of dudes ordering two apiece, and asked them if they were any good. They told me they were terrible… what you’re supposed to do is suck the tequila off the top, and throw the rest away. That’s so awesome. (And: GAG.)

Steve and Colleen were sleepy, so they went back to the hotel while Matt and I continued onward. We wandered through the Flamingo, then O’Shea’s, just for the fact that we’d heard there was a midget bartender there. My image of O’Shea’s is sort of like a warehouse full of table games, with fluorescent lighting and not a single midget. I went to the bathroom (it was a life-threatening experience), and we kept walking.

Somewhere in the vicinity of the Imperial Palace, we found the Rockhouse. Between the crappy hiphop blasting out onto the strip and the $5 cover, we knew we had to go in. And dance, for what seemed like 10 minutes, but was apparently more like three hours. According to Twitter, we were still going strong at 3am. Round about the time the bartenders were standing on the bar pouring Jagermeister into people’s mouths, we knew it was time to go.

I walked back to Bally’s at an angle. I wish I could explain this, but Matt will just have to demonstrate for you. All I knew is that the next morning, one side of my back was hella sore.

Sunday morning, very close to afternoontime, we dragged ourselves out of bed. I hurt from dancing. We had layers of stamps on the back of our hands. In short: we were doing Vegas right.

We met Colleen and Steve in the lobby and went to get food at Paris again. This time, we went to Le Burger. Everything on the menu had a corny french name. Our favorite item, which we were unfortunately too hungover to be able to consider, was the Eiffel Tower of Power. It was a giant tube of booze, for you to share with your friends.

Le Gardenburger and Le Fries were rejuvenating. We headed out onto the Strip to do some touring.

We crossed to the Bellagio, and went in to see the fountains. I didn’t realize they did seasonal displays; the fall getup was hokey and terrifying:

We crossed into Caesar’s Palace and decided to look for the sports book. We all wanted to bet on games, but had no idea how one did that. The thing about the sports book, though, is that they have comfy chairs and many, many TVs showing sporting events. We sat down to watch another one of the playoff games, during which I took a nap. It was awesome.

After a while, we went off in search of drinks to fix the remaining hangover. Steve found a bar on a boat, but Matt and I had no such luck; we went to the lounge right by the Pussycat Dolls club (which advertised Nicky Hilton’s birthday party tomorrow!), and our tiny little drinks were $11 apiece. SCREW YOU, CAESAR.

caesar telling us to shop at the forum shops. not that his drinks are too expensive.

We decided to move on, lest we become broke at the bar. Matt and I wanted to go to Diesel and the Nike Store in the Forum shops, plus there was this bar in the middle of the mall I was kind of obsessed with, due to the fact that I’d never gotten to go there on previous visits. I don’t know… I fixate.

That bar was the right one. Colleen and Steve split a half-yard of Mai Tai that contained 13 shots of booze. The guy behind the counter even warned them about it. I got a giant Long Island, and Matt got another drink. By the time we’d walked about 20 feet, we were already feeling it. And that’s when I realized I was standing right outside Shanghai Tang. I just stood there in shock.

I’d discovered Shanghai Tang many moons ago when I came across a Deng Xiaoping clock they made. The couple of times I’ve been to New York since then, I’ve made a special trip to their store. It’s probably one of the most expensive places I’ve ever set foot in. Everything is gorgeous and ridiculously overpriced. However, I managed to find a purse there for a hundred bucks, and fell in love with it. So it became mine.

colleen and steve modeling sunglasses at diesel

We went to the Nike store, where Matt found a pair of awesome kicks. Since our shopping was a huge success, we decided it was time to head back to our hotel pool for a bit.

We changed, then headed downstairs, only to be told that the pool closed in 20 minutes. Did we care? No way. Matt and I went and jumped in, hoping that Steve and Colleen would make it in time.

They showed up a few minutes later, carrying ice cream cones. When we told them they only had a few minutes to swim, they scrambled to find a place to put their ice cream. Steve chose the little intake vent next to the pool, because it was the perfect size to hold it upright.

It was fine until Michael Vick walked by.

OK, it was really just a dude in a Michael Vick jersey. A dude who stepped on Steve’s ice cream cone!

We managed to get decent pooltime in before the lazy teenager in the lifeguard chair started making moves to close up. We went inside and stopped for food quickly, then went to our rooms for napping/changing.

Then it was time to go downtown!

Fremont Street was swarming with bikers, who were there for a big rally. It was awesome. The Jack Daniels bar facing the street in Binions had Jack cocktails for $2. Thanks, bikers!

We went into Binions and found one of the few $5 blackjack tables. Sadly, our old friend Robert Milligan wasn’t dealing. Matt and I each put down $100. His didn’t last very long (even though he was playing well), but I kept going for quite a while, always hovering around my original stake.

Pete, Christa, Klein, Stephanie, and Andy showed up, and a few of them sat down to play at a different table. They raised the minimum bet to $10 (though we were allowed to keep playing at $5), and I started betting $10-15 a hand. Since my chip stack still didn’t change much, I decided to quit while I was ahead. I cashed out at $105, and I was very happy with that. We wandered around Binion’s for a while, went to see the million dollar display, and then stood around talking with Matt’s friends. We made tentative plans to get together later, depending on where we were.

We had all planned on dressing up and going out somewhere nice, but it was getting late, and we were hungry. To change, we’d have to take a cab back to our hotel, then another cab to wherever we were going. We decided to stay in our regular clothes and just go over to Hard Rock for dinner. At the PINK TACO, of course.

We had an awesome dinner, and what seemed like 40 margaritas (but I believe was actually two). Our server took forever getting new drinks and bringing the tab, but we didn’t mind much. After that, we decided to look around Hard Rock to see if we could get into any of the clubs. It seemed unlikely, since Matt and I were casually dressed, but the first place we approached didn’t really care. We paid our $10 cover and headed into Wasted Space. Based on the decor, I half expected Bret Michaels to be there.

There wen’t many people there at first, but the drinks were pretty cheap, and the music was entertaining. We hung out, talking and watching the people who paid way too much in the table service section. The DJ would put on a good dance song for about 30 seconds, then do an awkward transition into something like ‘Don’t Stop Believin’. It was unusual, though entertaining.

Since we had to be up at 9 the next morning, we headed back to Bally’s around 1am, and crashed hard.

Tuesday, another sunrise! This time in the Cayman Islands.

We had breakfast on deck, watching the ship pull into port. We got down to the Osiris Theatre right away, and ended up with tickets on the first tender boat. Cindi wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to go to Stingray Sandbar, so she decided to stay on ship and meet us later.

We arrived in George Town, Grand Cayman, around 8:30am. The stores were just opening, so we shopped for souvenirs and postcards. We got coffee next door and sat outside, writing to the suckers back home.

On the way to the post office, we found a bank that dispensed cash in American and Caymanian dollars. I got out $20CI (about $30US) and we went to buy stamps. We split up the remaining cash for souvenirs. We then stopped into another store to look at the duty free liquor, and I nearly died when I saw Big Black Dick Rum. Of course I needed some of that, but they were unable to sell it to us because of duty-free laws: it has to be delivered to the ship directly, and the ship needs to contract with the store. They only had it duty-free, too, so I couldn’t just carry it onto the boat just like I always did with my contraband liquor. SIGH.

big black dick

We wandered around the duty-free mall with the rest of the cruise passengers, noted the location of Señor Frogs for later, then went over to the Tortuga Rum store. They had regular and duty-free booze, so I figured I’d just buy the regular stuff. That is, until we looked at the prices for duty-free. It was all ridiculously cheap, and they had stuff I hadn’t seen in the US.

Duty-free shopping: I have finally seen the light. We made a note of what we needed and headed back to the dock to catch our shuttle to the stingrays.

We met up with the excursion and walked to the shuttle buses. It drove us up and across the island to the North Sound, where we boarded a boat after much confusion amongst the shuttle drivers. We climbed up on top at the front, and we headed out toward Stingray Sandbar. The waves were splashing us way up there and our stuff was soaked, but we didn’t care. It was warm out, and there were stingrays waiting to see us!

heading into the north sound

i love the color of the water.

stingray sandbar

As we dropped anchor, we could see stingrays swimming all over the place. There were 4 or 5 other boats there already, and a bunch of people swimming. In places, the water was only knee-deep. We got some barely-audible instructions about not scaring stingrays lest they kill you, and then we climbed down the steps into the water. It was officially the best day of all time.

they know there’s squid in that bag.

stingray rubbing on wendy’s butt

The photographer told us that kissing a stingray was good luck, so they’d hold one up for us while she took our picture kissing it. I couldn’t have cared less whether that was true or not, I just wanted to kiss a stingray! When I told the guy that, he said, “OK! I’m a stingray!”

old couple kissing a stingray

They had a bag of squid to feed them, so the stingrays were freaking out about the food. They kept rubbing up against us with their wings. I’d be trying to touch one of them, and another would rub up against my butt. Consequently, there was a LOT of screaming and hysterical laughter going on at Stingray Sandbar. It was fantastic. (Here’s a video!)

So was the water. There were huge waves crashing over the sandbar, so it was nearly impossible to stand up. We swam out a little ways and bobbed around, jumping over waves so they wouldn’t knock us down. It took me far too long to learn that I needed to maybe not stand with my back to them, because I kept falling over.

Wendy showed me how to hold a squid (by the EYES), and tuck my thumb in so a stingray wouldn’t suck my hand into his mouth. I wasn’t freaked out by feeding them, but I was not pleased about holding a squid.

wendy holding a stingray

They had snorkel gear on the boat, but it seemed kind of unnecessary. Next time, I’d like to snorkel just so I know what I’m taking pictures of underwater.

Our visit with the stingrays was over way too soon. Sigh.

We were mostly dry by the time we got back to the shuttle buses, so we decided it was unnecessary to go back to the ship to change. We hoped Cindi was there waiting at the appointed spot. Matt and I ended up on a different bus than Wendy and Jumi, and it was clearly the good one: the driver sang to us the whole way back. He got applause after every song, and by the time we arrived in George Town, we were all singing Day-O together. It was awesome.

We went back to the Tortuga store to get rum cakes for the people back home, and place our duty-free order. Matt and I got 18-year Tortuga Rum in a barrel, Flor de Caña Centenario 12-Year, and cachaca so we could make caipirinhas at home. My entire order, including rum cakes and other souvenirs, was $90. SCORE.

While we were checking out, a girl came running in to see if it was too late to place an order. Her ship was leaving at 2:30, which was past the cutoff for their delivery. She proceeded to have a tantrum in the store, to the embarrassment of her friends. Seriously.

Jumi decided to go back to the ship to find Cindi, and Matt and Wendy and I headed off to find the British grocery store. It was nowhere to be found, so we stopped at a convenience store to hunt for things like Lucozade and Go Ahead (the snack from the Bahamas that I’ll be seeking everywhere I go for the rest of my life). Then we headed to Señor Frogs for lunch, and to get started on Cindi’s primary goal of the cruise: to drink a first down. Since she was sick and 10 yards would definitely kill a person anyway, we decided to help.

Our server’s name was Jesus. We ordered yards and food, then decided we needed to do a shot, too (it’s tradition, started way back in Puerto Rico!). We asked him what he preferred. He said, “I like blowjobs!”

wendy looking for cindi and jumi from señor frogs’ balcony

We ate lunch, and Cindi and Jumi finally showed up. They had given us beads before, but when Jesus brought them for the other two, we pretended like we never got any. He brought us all one of each color. We were very proud of our beautiful necklaces.

We had 9 yards in Grand Cayman, which meant we were at 2nd and 1 in Cozumel. Not a problem. When we asked for the tab, Jesus also brought us a round of free shots. They were blue, which scared me. But we all survived, far better than we did the tab, which was in Caymanian dollars, with the US total at the end. Challenge: drink 2 shots and 2 yards and then figure out who owes what. It wasn’t pretty.

We had to hurry back to the dock to catch the tender, and were only sure we made it once we saw the line. We wanted to be on the last one, but had to settle for second-to-last. There was a sign at the gate telling us that we were not allowed to bring weapons on the ship, and it was very explicit. Some of the weapons included sharpened sticks, coshes, and knuckle dusters. This held no end of fascination for us.

On the tender boat, we may have been a little raucous; the dudes in front of us were really amused until Wendy accidentally shouted “CLAPPY PENIS!” It was her special code name for caipirinhas, apparently. As we got back on the ship, we passed a wall lined with Tortuga Rum boxes. Hell yes.

We returned to our cabin to shower off the stingrays and have the best meat locker time ever. We awoke again at 7, and I called the other cabin to see if they were awake. Cindi answered, then hung up on me. Wendy called back shortly afterward. We got dressed and went down to their cabin to partake in Fuzzy Tang (Peachtree and Tang); I had my own version with rum and sugar-free tang in an empty Lucozade bottle.

We got food from the buffet, ate on deck, then went downstairs to the card room to play Oh Hell and Slappy (otherwise known as Egyptian Whiskey Rat Fuck).

Once the show started in Casanova, we went over there to watch. It was Italian night, so the competition was for Mr. Pizza. They had to do things like throw dough around, ‘dance sexy’, and sing ‘O Sole Mio’. The winner was a hysterical old guy from Long Island. Every time we saw him after that, he was wearing his Mr. Pizza sash.

After Mr Pizza, we headed to the club. There was much better hiphop playing (instead of crappy Eurodisco), and slightly more dancing. One of our favorite servers, Jones (his real name was Irwin, I think), was working there. Whenever he brought us receipts to sign, he was using a light-up pen, and this was immensely fascinating. There was a lot of dancing, and I really really did NOT want to leave. But it was 2am, and we had a date with a beach in Honduras the next morning.

Wednesday morning, we got to sleep in. We had gained an hour overnight, and our excursion didn’t leave til 11. I was too excited about being in Honduras, though (my first visit to Central America!), so I got up at 8, showered, put on my bathing suit and sarong, and sat out on the balcony, staring at the mountains off in the distance. We were going to Roatan, an island off the coast of Honduras, but you could see the mainland from the ship.

Roatan didn’t have its own tender service, so we got to ride in the lifeboats. The whole way there, Wendy and Matt and I giggled about hopping on the Royal Caribbean ship and stealing rolls for the Costa staff to eat. It’s a long story that’s probably only funny to us. Pulling up to the dock, we went right under the bow of the other ship.

The port area in Coxen Hole consists of a giant tent full of vendors, a bar, and a parking lot full of shuttle buses. We were really hoping to get on the Jesus shuttle, but we ended up on a school bus instead. We all got wristbands for Tabyana Beach, and we were off.

We drove along the coast down toward the West End. The homes outside the little port area were as expected: ramshackle buildings on stilts, with laundry hanging all over the place. It wasn’t actually as depressed as I’d have expected, but the whole island is really resort-oriented.

We headed uphill through the interior of the island, and the bus ride all of a sudden became a roller coaster. The bus would come up on a tight curve slowly, the driver would try to peer around the corner, then he’d sound his horn (which was modified to be a LOT louder), and go tearing off. We went up and down really steep hills at alarming speed; I think the bus just needed the momentum to even keep going. It was awesome.

At the top of a big hill, the driver stopped to let cars pass. The view was amazing, and reminded me of Maui.

We passed through the shops and restaurants in the West End, and arrived at Tabyana Beach around noon. I was so excited, I wanted to climb out the window rather than wait for everyone to get off the bus.

We had to stand around and wait for an attendant to get beach chairs for us, but that was fine because there was a bar right there on the beach. I’m considering that as a career option, actually.

Once our chairs arrived, I took time only to throw my bag and towel on one of them, and take off my shirt and shorts. I couldn’t get the in ocean fast enough.

Wendy and I agree that the day we spent on the beach in the Dominican Republic was one of our favorite days ever, so we couldn’t wait to repeat it. This time, though, there weren’t even tiny jellyfish in the water. It was absolutely perfect, and we were even allowed to bring our drinks into the ocean.

We spent a lot of time just bobbing around talking. We practiced wrestling moves, and I killed Cindi like an alligator. I attached myself to Matt in ways that would otherwise have been inappropriate in public. We took off our bathing suits and held them overhead just like I did in the DR. When we ran out of beverages, Cindi yelled, “WALTER!!!” and our server waded out into the water to take our orders. I could maybe live in Roatan.

After a while, we decided to take a break from chilling in the ocean, and go visit the souvenir shop. I’m pretty sure everything in the entire place cost $2, except for the coffee Matt got, which was $6.

The reef is only about 50 feet from the beach there, so we’d thought about renting snorkels. They were $10 each, whereas a kayak was $15. I was nervous about it, because I figured we’d flip over or something. Matt promised we wouldn’t, so we rented a 2-person kayak and set off to see the reef.

Holy crap, it was amazing. I loved it far more than canoeing, and it felt even more steady. In places, we were only a few inches above the reef. I stuck my camera underwater and took pictures.

We returned the kayak with about an hour left at Tabyana Beach. We ran back into the ocean, and it was there that Wendy and Matt and I invented SEAPOUND. It’s not as dirty as it sounds.

wendy doesn’t want to leave

accomplishment!

We got out of the water with enough time to catch one of the last buses. SIGH.

sometimes after a few cocktails, drinking 2 beers at the same time seems like an awesome idea.

wife guard!

have i mentioned that i’m madly in love with this boy? because i am.

We took the rollercoaster bus back to the port, and had a small amount of time to check out the shops in Coxen Hole. We headed into a big building full of little market stalls, and picked up a few more souvenirs. I’d have liked more time to see the town, but that’s good reason to return!

We tendered back to the ship and had some quality meat-locker time til about 7pm, then went to the card room to play Oh Hell. Jones came by and showed us a card trick; it was pretty much the cutest thing ever. We then headed to dinner in the restaurant, and they’d outdone themselves.

I had a fruit salad, a fruit soup that tasted like pina colada, a salad with balsamic vinegar, and a risotto cake with sweet potatoes, cranberries, almonds, and dandelion greens. Everything was amazing. In the middle of dinner, the staff started marching around, and a group of waiters went up to the balcony for SEXY DANCING. So funny.

After dinner, we went to find Pete. He was just waiting to teach us dirty words in Italian.

pete’s italian lessons

Our favorite was vafanculo, the Italian equivalent of ‘fuck off’. When Cindi asked him how to say ‘blowjob’, he told us he’d need to go consult the magazine in his cabin. While we were sitting there, Jones came by to tell us the disco was open, in case we didn’t know!

We didn’t want to go to the disco that early, so we went upstairs to see Niner. There was a guy on the violin accompanying a pianist, and a few people sitting there watching. After a while, we realized everyone was gone, and the two musicians were practicing together. We wanted to take credit for clearing the place out. Also, Jumi got lei’d!

We headed down to the disco, where people were actually dancing for once. We met Rob, Chris, and Barbara (known as Jersey and his crew). Jersey requested the Cha Cha Slide (you probably know this as the ‘everybody clap your hands!’ song), and knew the whole dance routine. By the end of the cruise, we’d seen him do it multiple times, and now the image of a ponytail boy from New Jersey dancing a stiff cha-cha is conjured every time I’m at a basketball game.

Wendy was doing her best to make sure we drank every single beverage on the drink menu, so she stole a sip of Chris’ Budweiser. I was dancing barefoot, and Disco Selva had officially become the Gay 90s. We even had lemon drops. When Soulja Boy came on, we all went out and danced, following the Helper Monkey’s lead. Arsenal and Man U were upstairs watching, but refused to come downstairs and dance.

We left around 2:30, knowing it was going to hurt the next morning.

Friday we got up early, even though we didn’t really have to, because it was a day at sea. We watched the documentary about how the ship runs, then sat out on the balcony reading and watching the ocean. It was kind of hard to wrap our heads around the fact that the cruise was almost over.

our cabin!

We had breakfast, then went up to see the ship 3-Day in progress. We’d intended to participate (they were walking a mile around the track), but most of us had lost our shoes in the Great Mexican Jungle Adventure of Aught-Eight.

We decided to go swimming. I’d never been in the pool on the ship! I didn’t realize it’d be salt water. Also, the thing about putting a bunch of us in a swimming pool together is that we turn into 10-year-olds. It’s kind of spectacular.

We got out of the pool after a while, and sat on the deck nearby playing hearts. I actually won for once!

We went to the cabin to change, and found our togas there waiting for us. When we left the cabin, we found Wendy there waiting to scare us. It worked.

We decided to go take a tour of the parts of the ship the rest of the group hadn’t seen before, and also go to the gift shop, since we hadn’t gotten there yet. They didn’t seem to mind that we were carrying drinks. Also, I got INFLATABLE SHIPS FOR $4. Plus my frequent-cruiser discount!

We visited the Roero Bar (otherwise known as ‘the bar where we took naps on the last cruise’), the chapel, and the arcade. Through the arcade windows, we discovered a secret deck for the crew! With a hot tub!

the arcade

crew deck!

“uh, where’d you last see it?”

armonia pool

dear cindi: who toasts with coffee??

At 3:30, Matt and I went to merengue lessons. The teacher was fantastic. He taught us a bunch of moves, one which he just called ‘sexy, sexy, sexy, sexy’. You circle your finger around your head as you turn around in a sexy, sexy, sexy, sexy way.

dance lessons on deck

We went down to the cabin to drop all our stuff off, then headed back up to find everyone else. They were nowhere to be found, but we did manage to wander into teatime. They had tiny sandwiches and everything. We hung out watching the next dance lesson (we’d have participated, but we arrived late), then went to hang out at the pool bar.

the special of the day

We went down to their cabin to see if they’d come back, and found the cabin steward, Towel, in there instead. I think we scared him. We finally located Jumi out on the back deck, then Wendy and Cindi up on deck 10. We went to go play shuffleboard, but were interrupted when we found soccer balls by the basketball court. We played 2-on-2 futbol, to the amusement of the staff, until I tripped and skinned my knee. We then switched to shuffleboard, a sport which requires no running or falling down.

After sunset (sigh), we went to our cabins to change clothes and pack. You have to have your suitcases in the hallway by 1am the night before docking in Fort Lauderdale, which means you have to put any clothes and toiletries you need in your carry-on bag and haul it around with you in the morning.

I’d brought a spare duffel bag, and was glad I had it. All my dirty laundry went in that, and the well-packed souvenirs took up much of my suitcase. Once we’d finished packing, we put on our togas. I love toga night!

best dress code ever.

Wendy, Cindi, and Jumi came to our cabin before we headed to dinner. Wendy still had her giant green penis. We left it behind for Rocque.

jumi is duly horrified.

We did the toga chant going downstairs, a la Animal House. Also, we still had a spare bottle of champagne, so we brought it up to dinner with us. Wendy was embarrassed about carrying it, so she hid it in a drink menu. Not the drink menu she eventually stole, unfortunately.

We were a little early to dinner, so we sat there hassling people who weren’t wearing togas. Some people had even brought their own togas and toga-related accessories from home. It was awesome. At least half the people at dinner were dressed up. The rest of them just didn’t get it.

We also had a very long talk with Mr. Pizza and his wife, Maxine.

Mark Boney exchanged our warm champagne for a cold bottle, and poured it for us. Dinner that night was spectacular. (Below is a picture of the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Seriously.) I also had soup that tasted like Creamsicle, bread with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and spinach flan. I have no idea how people manage to eat all 6 courses at dinner!

bleu cheese mousse with pickled onions and raisins

After dinner, we went to the Osiris Theatre for the passenger talent show. We’d seen it last time and there were really funny moments, but overall it was way too long. We were excited to find out that there were only 5 performances, and all of them were pretty good. There was a trio of sisters singing a Miami Sound Machine song, an Quebecois guy singing ‘You are my Sunshine’ in French and English, a lady singing a Flemish song, and Ukelele hero.

A guy named Klaus got on stage and told us how he’d been on back-to-back cruises. Last time, he’d dedicated his performance to his fiancee. This time, he was dedicating it to the awesome crew. It made me sniffly. Sadly, though, nobody got sent to the lions.

We changed out of our togas, put our bags in the hallway, then went to make the rounds of all of our favorite staffpeople. Pete was nowhere to be found in his bar, so we asked another server named Arsenio. He told us Pete had jumped overboard. Then Pete appeared and told us that he was a fast swimmer. Arsenio took our picture together, and then a photo of the old Italian guys at the next table imitating our rock hands. It was hysterical.

Sadly, we couldn’t find Niner anywhere, so we headed to the disco for Bye-Bye Disco Time. SAD!

We danced to Biggie and Tupac, and of course Jersey was there requesting the Cha-Cha Slide and Soulja Boy. The place was pretty much empty by then, but that didn’t stop us from Crankin’ Dat. I can only do half of it, but I’m fine with that.

We talked to Jones for a long time, and Wendy, Cindi, and Jumi took off at various times to go sleep. We discovered that the bartenders were unable to light shots on fire, and that made me love Rodrigo and Casanova even more, for allowing Wendy to almost burn up the ship. I want to believe they have that rule now because of her.

Jones hugged us goodbye, and we went to our cabin around 1:30. Then it was time for a fashion show, but that part is none of your business.

We arose very late on Saturday morning, got us some giant coffees at Dunkin Donuts, and headed toward my old hometown of Wheaton. It’s a tradition to drive through and see it every time I’m in the area.

i lived here for grades 1-5.

We drove through my old neighborhood and cute little downtown Wheaton, which is scarred irreparably by a Starbucks. We then headed to Portillo’s for lunch. I was thrilled to see that they now have a veggie sammich.

Very sleepy from lunch, we made our way into Wisconsin, with a quick stop for gas and naked ladies.

We checked into the hotel and then headed back out to pick up tickets, Wendy’s friend Rick, and grilling supplies. We arrived at Miller Field a mere hour or so before the game, in the rain, but this did not prevent us from getting our awesome tailgate on. We had plenty of company there, too. Milwaukeeans know how to party.

willis drinking a 40 from a plastic bag

that’s leftover deep-dish pizza on the grill!

wendy with a yard of berry weiss, smoking strawberry and tequila swisher sweets at the same time.
and she’s wearing a cape. yeah.

Post-tailgate, we headed toward the stadium, but were diverted at the Sausage Haus. We went in to use the restrooms, and they were blasting ‘Party Like a Rock Star’ at ear-bleeding volumes. We didn’t know it then, but this was some serious Wisconsin foreshadowing.

Miller Stadium is amazing. It has a retractable roof (which was closed due to rain, but that was alright), and is designed really well, in a way that makes me very excited for the open-air stadium here. Also, they have sausage races. We saw two of the sausages going up in the elevator, both leaning folded-over on the people in there with them. It was hysterical.

We found our seats and somehow ended up drinking Sparks again, for reasons only Wisconsin understands. Round about the fourth or fifth inning, Willis and Matt and I got up to go to the bathroom, and then decided to check out the outdoor bar. It was there we met Bobby Chicago and his girlfriend, the people sitting next to us at the game. Bobby and I both grew up in Wheaton, and he told me how everybody thinks he’s hardcore because he’s from the 187 (the zipcode is 60187). They introduced us to the Captain Bomb, and we possibly didn’t realize how long we were out there until Wendy texted, wondering where the hell we were.

We went back inside just in time to catch the sausage races and the end of the game. The Brewers had a pretty spectacular win, and we stuck around for a bit afterward watching to see if the Cubs fans who showed up just to aggravate the crowd would get their asses kicked. There were a couple people escorted out by the cops, but that’s about it. Also, it’s pretty funny to see the difference in the baseball crowds between Chicago and Milwaukee. As we all know, Wisconsin = booze.

We made plans with Bobby Chicago to meet up after the game, and headed to the store to shop. We stopped again at the Sausage Haus on the way back to the parking lot, and this time I found Wendy a son. He was laying on the floor under the sinks on one of those little-league photo buttons. She named him Jacob.

Since there was a line of traffic waiting to get out of the lot (admittedly, a very short line, but we’ll take any excuse), we decided to continue tailgating for a while. We ended up blasting Minneapolis hiphop with all the car doors open and dancing in the parking lot. After that, Rick drove us to the Safe House.

I cannot really express how awesome the Safe House is, so you should probably just go. We all whispered the password and passed our $5 to the girl in the entryway, happily escaping the customary televised ridicule of people who had never been there.

We shared a giant drink called the Mission Impossible, explored as much of the place as we could figure out how to access, went in the sound-effects phone booth, touched Burt Reynolds there, and a couple of us may have gotten up to naughty bidness in the downstairs hallway. Possibly.

We finally found ourselves sitting next to the dance floor, and then there was dancing to things like ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’ followed by ‘Crazy Bitch’ (best two-song playlist ever!), ‘Fergalicious’, ‘Sexyback’, and, yes, ‘Party Like a Rock Star’. The floor was so sticky that my flipflops kept adhering to it; I’d dance out of one of them, then have to dance back toward it to retrieve it again. There was a bachelorette party going on next to us, complete with a male stripper with his boxer-briefs on inside out (they dubbed him Skidmark). And there was also Black Derek, but I cannot possibly explain about that. All I remember was his shirt, and the fact that he was there dancing on the stairs with us.

I have no idea what time we got back to the hotel, because I was sleeping in the backseat most of the way there. I have vague memories of them getting lost, and apparently that did actually happen. Oh, Wisconsin.

Cindi’s mom made us breakfast out on the patio, and the local DJ dedicated a song to us on KCAD. It was then it was time to get in some nature before the party began. We headed west, to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and decided to do some hiking. Since we hadn’t really planned on hiking, none of us were prepared; we had no water, and I was wearing flipflops. But I’ve been in much worse situations before.

painted canyon, in the badlands

cindi and matt on the trail

my awesome flipflop tan

We hiked down to the bottom of the canyon, wandered around for a while, then had to hike back out. It wasn’t easy. We got to the top and all had to rest for a while. It was hot and dry, and we were thankful for the warm outdoor drinking fountain.

Further west, we passed the Home on the Range for Wayward Boys:

Then we drove to the Montana border, since neither Wendy nor Jumi had been there before.

matt in montana, while we were in north dakota

we took turns riding in the trunk

We then turned around and headed to the Medora exit, to see the cute little town Cindi had been telling us about. It was full-on western. We had lunch at the Cowboy Cafe, because they served buffalo. Ick.

horse tongue!

matt’s buffalo steak

We wandered around, stopping into a few shops, and then Wendy rode the mechanical bull. We also had beers at the Iron Horse Pub, and sat out on the patio in the glorious weather. Well, I laid on the bench there. They didn’t seem to mind. It was perfect.

Late in the afternoon, it was time to head back to Dickinson. We took a spin through another part of the park first, to see the prairie dog villages (note: Jumi is scared of prairie dogs!) and look for buffalo. We didn’t see any (presumably because they’d eaten them all at the Cowboy Cafe), but we did see a very, very excited male horse. We couldn’t stop talking about it.

Back in Dickinson, it was rodeo time. I’d never been to a rodeo before, so I had no clue what to expect.

cowboy with a cellphone

We got our programs and started putting money on the riders, though none of us actually ended up settling our bets afterward. Matt opened his program and said, “hey, mine’s signed already!” Deb got very excited, because apparently that meant he won something. When they did drawings later, his prize was revealed: a championship belt buckle. SO AWESOME.

calf roping

this kid spent half the rodeo glaring at us. he was hysterical.

I’m glad I got to see the rodeo, but I’m glad I don’t have to go see one again. I kind of felt bad for the animals, especially the calves for roping.

We went to dinner with Cin’s parents at the Crunchy Kitten, where Terry couldn’t stop giggling over double-entendres. Afterward, we headed downtown (sans parents) to Uncle Ron’s Spur Bar, where crappy karaoke was in full swing.

wendy’s $3 beer

We were kind of bored with the place, so we decided to go to Army’s West instead. That may have been a mistake on a few levels.

1) a girl told Jumi they didn’t play much hip-hop there (presumably because she’s black)
2) they had long islands in pitchers that they just served with a bunch of straws
3) there was a crazy lesbian (presumably on meth) on the dance floor that scared everyone
4) they played the ‘Numa Numa’ song (which is the reason we decided to finally leave)
5) lots of potential date-rape action going on with the dancing.

ICK. However, we rocked the naked lady matching game. A lot.

Saturday, June 30, 2007 will forever be remembered as the day we invented Fuzzy Tang. Before then, I didn’t even know that sugar-free Tang existed.

We carried our creation to the Roughrider Days parade, where we met up with Cindi’s parents and uncle Mike, who’d arrived very early to save us a good spot. Since we were still early, we took advantage of the $2 long islands that Ponderosa Liquors and Wildlife Gallery was selling right behind where we sat. Very soon, we had bathroom-related emergencies, and one of the locals took us into the beauty salon to pee. We loved Dickinson.

The parade was awesome, as expected. There were Shriners in little cars, class reunion floats, Denny Halsted the rodeo clown (the two-time Canadian entertainer of the year!), gigantic tractors, candy raining from flatbed trucks, and mardi gras beads.

Also, a “you’re going to hell, sinners!” float. That was my favorite. You don’t see that much ’round these parts.

After the parade, we went to Dan’s supermarket for beverages and such, and it was there that we discovered NOBBYS, the coated-peanut snack that’s the worst thing you’ve ever tasted, and yet you can’t stop eating them. We went back to Cindi’s parents’ house for lunch, and were joined by Cindi’s aunt Rosemary, possibly the coolest old person we’d ever met. She told us she was a pimp, and called her garden hoe ‘velvet’. It was confusingly awesome.

We took a nap, and then part of the group headed to look at scary cemeteries while Jumi and I sat on the patio, knitting. Michelle, Dustin, and Gavin arrived; we played with fireworks and monkey nuts in the backyard until it was time to go back downtown for the main event.

matt’s blue balls

wendy having a time-out

gavin’s smoke bombs

We piled in the Dead Hooker and headed downtown to the Party on the Pavement. We’d heard rumors about it, and were very excited to experience it ourselves. We began at Bernie’s Esquire (rentadrinkingbuddy.com), where we played some naked ladies, met some dude Cindi went to high school with, and got ourselves nuzzled by Bernie. He’s related to her somehow, just like everybody in Dickinson.

We went down to the other end of the blocked-off street to see the band, but they were having technical difficulties. We decided to check out the Eagles Club, where we signed the guestbook, turned off all the lights in one side of the bar while trying to ride on the motorized chair installed in the stairwell, and pissed off the people at the class of 1987 reunion by visiting their special bar. Then we went to the ladies’ room and met probably the only black girl to live in Dickinson. She told us about her favorite cocktail: Hpnotiq and Grey Goose. You drink it, and all the old guys go HOLLA!

What else could we do? The bartender asked, “you know that’s two kinds of liquor, right?” Duh. We even got one of the rodeo cowboys at the end of the bar to try Hpnotiq. As expected, it was absolutely terrible. And so we loved it. HOLLA!

We took our drinks outside, and by then the band was playing. Half the city was standing in a half-circle in the street, about 50 feet from the stage. This was confusing; apparently North Dakotans don’t know how to party, but we did: We took up spots right in front and started dancing (as is my wont, I danced barefoot). The band was none other than Bismarck’s finest cover band, 7 Tall. We loved them, and were suitably outraged that they had to remove ‘Crazy Bitch’ from their setlist. It had bad words in it, after all.

the autographed 7tall setlist

After the band finished, we hung out talking to them for a bit, and then Cindi wandered off with the high school dude to do dirty things in a port-a-potty. We went back into the Eagles Club. Matt and I visited the handicapped stall in the ladies’ room together for, uh, moral support. Yeah. While he went to go use the men’s bathroom, I busied myself with digging through drawers in the banquet room. I have no idea why, it just seemed like good entertainment at the time. While we were doing that, Wendy was upstairs almost getting into a fight with the class of 1987. When the guy almost jumped on her, she knocked his drink out of his hand and took off.

DICKINSON RULES.

We returned to Bernie’s just in time for last call, then everybody piled out into the streets to stagger around, shouting at each other. We finally regrouped, and Wendy, Jumi, and Cindi headed to the NoDak Motel for a lesbian pool party (you’ll have to have one of them explain), while Matt and I went back to the house to take advantage of nobody else being around. We didn’t hear them get home sometime after 3am.

[To see the entire Flickr photoset from this trip, go here!]

Sunday morning at 3:00am (which was still technically Saturday night), I dragged myself out of bed, tearfully said goodbye to my boyfriend (the trip had been booked long before we were dating, or I wouldn’t have subjected myself to an entire week without him), and drove to my mom’s house to catch a ride to the airport. Wendy, Stephanie, and I piled our gigantic suitcases into the sexy red Neon, and we headed to the airport.

I don’t remember much of the flight, except that Wendy and I probably giggled like retards, and our flight attendants were named Ginger and Mike. I only know this because it’s the first entry in my travel journal. In Philadelphia (the flight wasn’t exactly direct), the pilot told us we were 17th in line to take off. I’m pretty sure Crashy Airlines (i.e. AirTran) doesn’t often get precedence on the runway.

wendy examining the map of st thomas

We arrived uneventfully and only a tiny bit late. Outside the airport, we got ourselves a cab and rode to Port Everglades; it’s about a 10-minute ride, and cost $15. It’s kind of ridiculous that the shuttles charge $20+ a person.

Porters at the entrance to the dock took our bags, and we headed into the embarkation area. There was a long line, but it moved fast, plus everybody was just really damn excited to be going on a cruise. We gave them our tickets, registered our credit cards, and headed toward the ship. They took a really gay picture of us holding a lifesaver, gave us handwipes for our own personal cleanliness, and suddenly we were on the ship.

We stood in the lobby, not really knowing where to go. It’s so huge and ornate that’s confusing. We asked a crew member, and were pointed in the direction of our cabin, where Wendy’s birthday surprise awaited us:

birthday cake for wendy, a card from the captain, and champagne.

The champagne didn’t last long, and the fact that there were only two glasses wasn’t really a problem for us. We scrambled around the cabin, investigating every very exciting thing we could find (the tiny bathroom, the minibar, the cruise itinerary, the note from our cabin steward, who was quickly renamed Il Duce for reasons that are still unclear). The minibar was locked, so putting in a request to have it unlocked was our first order of business.

They had put us at the regular instead of the late dinner, so we set off to find the maitre d’s station, as noted on the map. They switched our mealtime, and we set off to wander around the ship until it was time for the muster drill.

docked at ft lauderdale

Promptly at 4:30pm, we put on our very sexy lifejackets and headed to our muster station. They lined us up three deep, and we tried really hard to restrain our laughter. The ship started moving, and just then, a little boat sped past us on the way out of the harbor. The girls screamed and flashed their tits. We hooted. The others around us were not as excited.

muster drill

lobby bar

We went up to one of the top decks to check out the view leaving Florida, and of course attend to the important business of getting us some cocktails. The bartender made me a mojito with Equal instead of sugar, and I’m pretty sure the guys behind the bar were the nicest people we’d ever met.

leaving ft lauderdale, with mojito

We sat out on the back deck watching the land receding, then found a table where it was less windy. The bartender came and asked if we wanted another round, remembering both my name and my drink. We were instantly in love with the cruise.

We went to our cabin to unpack before dinner, then went to explore the ship some more. At that point, it seemed incomprehensible that we’d ever learn how to get around it all. There are still a few places I’m pretty sure we didn’t manage to see over the course of the week. We did a great job of finding awesome hangouts, though.

Dinner was at 8:30, and there were people lined up outside the doors of the two-level restaurant when we got there. We had an 8-person table, so we were seated with a family from Chicago. They had two really cute little girls, who were both dozing off on the table by the end of the meal.

They brought us another bottle of champagne at dinner, to celebrate Wendy’s birthday. We shared it with our tablemates. Then the food started arriving, and holy crap. It seemed natural to pick out one item for every course on the menu, but it was SO MUCH FOOD. There was even a sugar-free dessert.

We wandered around after dinner, looking for a bar with no smoking. There were a bunch of old people tangoing in the piano bar, and we stopped there for a drink. It was a pretty boring bar, and we made a point of dissing it every time we walked through for the rest of the cruise. Hey, the piano guy was not awesome at all. It happens.

We went into the club, which had just opened to the public for the night; it had been singles’ night before that, and now it was time for DANCETERIA 3000 (I just made that up). We had awesome shots called the Woo-Woo, and then Wendy and I headed downstairs to the light-up dance floor. There was a huge projection on one wall that was just film of people on the ship and excursions. So funny. There was hardly anyone there at all, and we slowly realized that most of the people dancing were actually crew members. They’re there to get people involved!

Stephanie didn’t want to dance, so we headed down to a lounge at the other end of the ship (one for which we were predestined, but we didn’t know that yet). The old white-haired doctor was sitting near the bar, drinking, surrounded by ladies. It was awesome.

Heather and I sprung out of bed at 4am, crammed my car full of luggage, and drove out to my parents’ house, where we found my family milling around the kitchen, tired and crabby. We piled into the big purple minivan, left our coats in the car at the airport, and hopped on a plane. Since coffee rates much higher than vacation on my priorities list, Heather and I were almost the last to board the plane, and found ourselves seated in the very back row. I like to make an entrance.

Any extended time spent with my family is always, um, entertaining. My mom seems a little freaked out over the fact that we’re all now adults and she can’t take care of us like she used to, so she overcompensates. She was convinced I was going to starve to death on the 2-1/2 hour flight to Orlando because I couldn’t eat the breakfast sandwich they were giving everyone else, so she brought half the contents of her kitchen along as sustenance. Every time I looked at her, she was pushing a baggie of food in my direction. Halfway through the flight, she started fidgeting, and announced, “I’m bored.” Heather replied, “I’m going to have you sedated.”

Each time the pilot got on the radio to tell us our cruising altitude or arrival time or to apologize for the unexpected turbulence over Kentuckinois, we wondered if maybe there was something wrong. He was slurring a lot. But everything seemed fine until we tried to reach the Earth again, and then almost died. I watched about a hundred miles of runway rush past before the plane even touched down, and then he slammed on the plane-brakes (or whatever) and we all went lurching forward, convinced the plane was going to pitch over its front end and land us all right in a ditch full of alligators. All the passengers were laughing that hysterical laugh you employ to keep from screaming, “Sweet Jesus, we’re all going to die!” At least, that’s what I was doing. But, seriously, it’s really hard to try to convince your girlfriend, who is terrified of flying in the first place, that she has nothing to worry about when you know you just barely got out of that one alive.

The airport in Orlando is top-notch because it prominently features a Starbucks and a monorail. We monorailed, then shuttled our way to Thrifty Rent-A-Car, where the guy behind the counter was so condescending and evil that it was all I could do to not leap the counter and strangle his sorry ass out of its tortured, pleasureless existence. It’s one thing to be an asshole to me, because I’ll give it right back. But my parents? That’s cause for a smackdown.

I ended up driving a Nissan Sentra, which was clearly the better of the two cars, sad as that may seem. My dad was driving a Hyundai Something. Our first stop was my brother’s house (Scott, the Forgotten Ripley), where he lives with my sister-in-law, Ali, my niece, Kaitie, and two cats I can’t tell apart.

i have eye herpes!

proof jenni was here.

After lunch, the rest of the family headed to the Disney resort where we were spending one night before taking up residence in our rental condo, and Heather and I headed to the Atlantic Ocean.

We took the most direct route, which brought us to Cape Canaveral, and then Cocoa Beach. Since we were unprepared for chillin’ on the beach, we stopped to buy a towel at Ron Jon’s, which is apparently the original store, as if we cared. They would have been happy to sell us a towel with the Ron Jon’s logo on it for the rock-bottom price of $22. We declined and went to the crappy beach shop across the street (the kind with the stinky aquarium full of hermit crabs), and bought an ugly blue towel embroidered with ‘Cocoa Beach’ in pastels for $12. It was the beach souvenir we never wanted, but it would do.

I had the good fortune of parking right in front of a natural foods ice-cream shop that wanted to sell me a sugar-free frozen yogurt sundae, which was awesome, because that’s exactly what I wanted to buy. We headed to the beach with our yogurt, laid out the towel, and sat down to watch the ocean. Heather fed the menacing seagulls raisins, and I watched the cruise ships heading out to sea. She presented her plans for Epcot II, which will feature all the countries America doesn’t like, such as Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya. We discussed the awesome food they’ll serve there, and arrived at the startling conclusion that we hate all the countries with flatbreads. It’s chilling.

And so was the ocean, dammit. OK, it was January. I picked through shells on the beach, and found myself a whole sand dollar, which later broke apart in my bag. Sigh.

We stopped at a little Cuban cafe for plaintains and Cuban coffee, then headed back to Orlando. We met up with my family having dinner at Disney’s Pop Century resort. The place was bizarre; each of the buildings is named and decorated to correlate with a decade starting with the 1950s. The 1990s building, the one in which we were staying, had giant cellphones on the corners of the building (set to dial 407-W-DISNEY, of course), and huge CDs. The 1980s building had Pac Man across the top. Each of the structures also had various catchphrases from each era in giant letters atop them: ours had ‘You go, girl!’, ‘Y2K’, ‘Yo’, and other such painful reminiscences.

We went up to our room to change. Stephanie noted that even the bathroom wallpaper had a subliminal Mickey pattern hidden in it. Scary. Ali showed up and we piled in the sexymobile to drive over to Pleasure Island, conveniently located near the West End of Downtown Disney. No, I am not joking about Pleasure Island, either. It’s really called that, and I was hoping it would live up to its name. It’s the 21+ section with all the nightclubs, and we were going there to party with Ali’s Disney coworkers.

There wasn’t much going on there at 10pm. We went into one bar and waited fruitlessly for the single functioning air hockey table, listening to a really bad Disney punk cover band. Stephanie ordered a drink that came in a red plastic bucket. The bartender dissed me for ordering a Diet Coke. I know it seems inconceivable for someone to have fun at a Disney nightclub and not be stupid drunk, but, dude. Whatever.

We decided to try another club, so we headed to Mannequin’s. It turned out to be the techno club, complete with rotating dance floor and strobe lights. It was great, and it was crawling with superhot, supergay boys. You can’t have everything, I guess. So we rotated our way slowly around the club about a million times, dancing like a bunch of white girls and having a lot of fun. After a couple drinks, we even managed to lure Heather out onto the floor. Stephanie was in hysterics because every time we got near one of the few obviously un-gay boys in a grey sweater, he would whip out the thumbs-up in our direction.

After a while, Ali’s friends showed up and we decided to go to another club, called Motion. It was pop/hip-hop, packed full of sweaty dancing college students. I was a little disappointed about the lack of rotating floor and dry ice, but it was fun anyway, watching all the girls in the hootchie getup, and the series of about ten different guys I saw staring down Ali’s shirt.

On the way out, a guy came up to bum a cigarette off Heather, and managed to tell us in the first two minutes that he made 100k a year selling timeshares. Ha. We wandered around, and Ali bought a Jello shot in a giant syringe. She was struggling to, uh, inject it, so a girl came up to help, saying, “Suck and push at the same time, that’s how to do it. Suck and push. Teeth aren’t necessary.” So we yelled, “Suck and push!!” to help her along. At one end of Pleasure Island, a cover band called Kabang(!) was playing the greatest hits of the 90s, among others. We stood in the street and danced along with Nirvana, the Violent Femmes, and ‘Sweet Home Alabama’. Some kids formed a three-person mosh pit in front of the stage. One of the guys in the band was wearing vinyl pants. It was hard to tear ourselves away from Kabang(!), but somehow we managed to make it back to the resort, and sleep.