Click here to check out the beginning of the 70s party.
So, we left off at the 70s party when I was talking to a handsome Aussie guy who had something shocking to show me. I told him that with all the crazy things I’ve seen it took a lot to shock me. And what he showed me qualified as a lot. A whole lot. This Aussie pulled forward the waistline of his shorts, and when I looked down, I saw a huge black spot on his penis (see, I was so taken aback that I had to use the clinical term)!
Me: "What the hell is that?!"
Him: "It's a bruise! No idea how it got there, tho."
Me: "How does one even get a bruise just right there?"
After an hour or so, the Bruised Aussie and I parted ways. He seemed just as interested in Karaoke as I was, so I gave him my buddy cars and emphasized that I really did want him to actually call me.
Cali and I did a quick change before the Singles Dinner, which was not unlike speed dating. You sit at tables of varying size and are assigned a number. After every course, two numbers find a new table. Upon first glance, we found the crowd slightly tragic, but we went with it, planning to ditch dessert in time for the free drinks at the captain's reception. I ended up chatting up some very engaging guys and having a better time than expected. But we missed the Captain’s reception by a long shot.
One of the NYC gays told me that Miss Richfield 1981 was absolutely not to be missed, so I dropped in. She has a great schtick (50-something midwestern pageant girl) that's well-executed, but I can only do so much racial/xenophobic-stereotype humor.
That night was the Lost Continent party. Back in NYC when Calipornia and I were costume shopping, we were planning on calling it quits for this party after we found grass skirts, but we saw the parrots sitting on the rack.
Me (joking): "We have to take these on the cruise!"
Cali (pausing): "We're SO taking these on the cruise!"
We didn't really try on our complete costumes until the night of their respective parties, and the biggest snag in our plans presented itself with these birds that went on our shoulders. Their feet were connected to strings, which we tied to leafy sashes draped over our shoulders. But they kept flopping over, so the birds looked totally dead. This turned into the big joke of the night. That and our putting the birds to our ears during Lady Gaga's "Telephone."
Oh, and then this happened.
|RuPaul Drag Race's Jujubee|
Calipornia: “Did you hear what happened?!”
Me: “What, that Jujubee is here?”
Cali: “No! Someone shit himself on the dance floor at the party!”
Me: “Shut the fuck!”
Cali: “Yeah, I guess he was on G or K or LMNOP. Whatever. Anyway, he was wearing a jock strap and ended up shitting on his own calf when they were carrying him out.”
Me: “What is this, the Black Party 2005?!”
Cali: “From now on, this party is the ‘Lost Continence’ party.”
At the after party in the ice skating arena, I ran into the Bruised Aussie, who a) had not called and b) was wasted (again). And because I'm a glutton for punishment, we danced for a bit and started making out. He may or may not have had a hand inside the front of my grass shirt for an unspecified period of time.
Him: "You know I can't sleep with you, right?"
What the hell! Okay, that's cool. Can I ask why?"
Him: "I'm just not that kind of guy."
You mean to tell me that you've been damn near jerking me off for the last I see. Well alright!"
I danced with him for a few more minutes before sending him stumbling on his way. After people watching from the stadium seats, I decided to take one more stroll through the dance floor before heading to bed. I got about halfway through before a short Italian couple stopped me. Like off-the-boat Italian. Like only-1-of-them-spoke-functional-English Italian. I really don't think 10 minutes passed before we left the party.
Did I mention that the ship's upper suites are ridiculous! Yeah.
Click here to check out our Saturday in Ft. Lauderdale before we set sail.
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