Sloppy New Year!

I was pretty fucked up that night, I can tell you that. In fact, in between what I remember and what I’ve told you already, I wonder how much new there is to add for New Years. But, an event like this is sure to have at least one or two interesting moments, and surprisingly, it was the adults who catalyzed them.

Not that my peers weren’t present, of course. Joey, for example, was dutifully playing craps yet again in the casino. He promised me he’d make it up in time to see the ball drop. I only saw him once again that night, as I walked past the casino at 1am. He still seemed to be in the black.

And Brian was on hand, drunk, to tell me of his life goal to get head from a girl while he plays Gears of War. And Rebecca showed up to tell us she virtually finished off her pot without us. And Nick, also drunk, still with his entourage of underaged family members, gave me a free drink. That was sweet of him. And another guy, who was either a random stranger or Trent (who was a random stranger at this point) bought me and Nick and Rebecca a shot of something. And Amy, who I’d seen before but went out of my way to avoid meeting, came up to me to tell me she danced with my father.

I was confused too. Who is this girl, why was she dancing with my father, why was my father dancing with an underaged tramp, and how did she know I was his son? Well, those were all answered easily enough. My father was standing pointing-out-his-son distance behind me with the Fat Sisters, and in his inebriated state would not turn down a dance with a young blonde. Her motivations… well, that assumes she has cognition. As I continued to learn later in the cruise, this is debatable. All I’ll say now, to pique your curiosity: shower.

All that happened after the ball dropped. The night was actually quite dull beforehand. Hell, I spent 5 minutes trapped in the stairwell, unable to get onto the Lido deck because the conga line blocked the door. When I did get out there, I couldn’t find anyone I knew. I grabbed my more-than-fair share of the free champaign while milling about, but that was the highlight of the entire hour before the ball dropped.

Well, I can’t say I didn’t find anyone. I did find those quiet foreign girls from my dinner table sipping their booze quietly with Jen’s mother. Jen, thankfully, was nowhere to be found. Not that I didn’t want to see her – I did – but the stroke of midnight was approaching and I wasn’t prepared to try. My arrival managed to spark some life into those middle-aged corpses, and the Brazilian woman demanded I take her dancing.

My dancing the night before in the club was comparatively smooth and sexy.

11:59, and the seconds started spiraling downward. Jen appeared, and I beat a hasty cowardly retreat, heading up the closest flight of stairs to counterbalance history. I nearly ran over Dale in my haste, Chip in tow. 20 seconds. I surveyed the crowd from my elevated height mid-staircase, and decided this was my spot. I made my New Years resolution just in time. Chip and Dale toasted the midnight with a kiss as I resolved to give relationships, especially with girls, a genuine try.

I also resolved to not die this year. I make that resolution every year.

So that’s midnight. Then the rest of the stuff from this entry happens. An hour later, I leave the Lido deck and pass Joey in the casino on my way to the ship’s equivalent of the Holy of Holies (where my hebs at?), the nightclub.

New Years is a magical night. People are just drawn to each other. Chip to Dale. Rick to Rebecca. Fat Sisters to younger black guys. Me to the entire onboard dance crew. Jen to me. Then Rick. Then to the boyfriend she slurringly admits she has back on land Then to some hoosier schmuck in a John Deer cap. The Cruise Director to me...

Felipe had been nursing a cigarette by himself in a corner of the bar. New Years must be lonely for him; he spends months on end at sea, away from all his family and friends, and losing any new friends he makes every five days. I watched him, sympathetic and fascinated at once. He met my gaze and misinterpreted.

I wish I could remember the conversation to quote it for you, let you be the jury if he was really hitting on me. Yes he bought me a drink. Yes he was touching me, on the arm and rather low on the waist. Yes seemed quite keen to know about my personal life, and I believe I recall him asking me about my dating life too. But does that mean he was hitting on me? My gaydar was going off, but I can never trust it around foreigners. So I can never be sure. I must not have been showing enough interest, because he got discouraged and left, fraternizing his way around the bar crowd in that boisterous and hyperfriendly way I knew to be a sham. No better way to hide your lonely than to surround yourself with people. Then again, maybe I was projecting myself. I’d been drinking.

Slowly people left. Rick with Rebecca. Jen with Hoosier. Brian with his fantasies. The Fat Sisters with two young black guys. I remained, continuing to drink with the crew, feeling the tipsy creep up on me, inspiring me to drink more. Cue the unexpected arrival of Chip and Dale.

This was their first glimpse of the nightclub (I think), and I doubt it was a good first impression. The flagging stragglers were, as a friend of mine would put it, a ‘hot mess’. Undaunted, they made their way to the dance floor. My guess was that coming here was Chip’s idea, as Dale just didn’t have his heart in it. Neither did I for that matter, so I joined him for a mid-dancefloor conversation, punctuated by intermittent dancing (or a shitty facsimile of dancing) with his wife. I felt oddly comfortable around them, the first time I’d felt comfortable on the dancefloor this entire cruise.

Atleast, I’d like to think it was them. That thought makes me happy. The more rational explanation was that my BAC was cresting. After all, alcohol is not like a switch it builds up over time. But that wasn’t how it felt to me. For me, it went off like a gun. Someone pulled the trigger in my head. Specifically, Cascada. The fast-beat song resonated through me, reminding me of good memories. Usually pretty gay ones. I turned to Chip and said, “I don’t usually go to straight bars.” Bang.

I don’t have memories from this point, just flashes. The dam broke. A wave of booze and sweet release washed over my brain. I certainly hadn’t been playing straight on this cruise; hell, my brand-new New Years resolution was to get a girlfriend! Yet for some reason, outing myself to the closest approximation to a 31 year old female version of me was the doctor’s panache. My ‘dancing’ turned into simple, wild, exuberant jumping. I was in a gay bar, among friends.

Everything after blurs. Chip and Dale went to bed at some point. I tried, unsuccessfully, to hit on one of the dancers, though I couldn’t tell you which gender. And I’m pretty sure I debated the merits of rugby vs. football with a South African crew member. I somehow even managed to find my bed. Goodbye 2008, you rat bastard.