Adventures on the high seas

What follows is a reportage of spring break activities undertaken in the week of March 21, duly recorded for the official record.

Sunday, March 21-

We board the “Grand Princess” in Ft. Lauderdale, one of the newest and, uh, grandest ships in the Princess fleet. Over 900 feet long, the Grand Princess is equipped with 4 pools, 8 hot tubs, 14 bars, a rad nightclub on the top deck at the back of the boat, a gym, 3 theaters, and 16 hot sorority girls from Ohio State.

As the boat pulls away from the dock, I enjoy a couple of buckets of Dos Equis poolside with my 3 roommates, Wasyl, Nathan, and Justin. Justin and I strike up a conversation with two girls next to us — a tall, hot blonde and her short, pale friend who has a figure like Grimace. After a few minutes it’s revealed that they go to Towson State in Maryland. After they get up to get another round of foofy frozen drinks, I regale my roommates with the tale of my college buddy J and the tongue-studded, Towson State Queen of Ecstasy. The story is as fresh and resonant today as it was 4 years ago.

After the pool gets a bit crowded for our taste, we adjourn to an empty hot tub towards the bow of the ship. Five minutes after we climb in, we’re joined by four girls. Two of them are attractive. The other two look like they may very well be on the boat solely for ballast. It turns out that they’re from Kansas State and (yes, that’s right) one of them is an Apparel and Textile Studies major. Are all spring breaks like this? Do Towson and Kansas State exist solely to ship women off to exotic locations to provide comic relief to other spring breakers? Does anyone know?

Monday, March 22-

We awake to find ourselves anchored a mile off of “Princess Cay”, Princess Cruises’ exclusive resort in the Bahamas. We go ashore and commence the time-honored spring break tradition of getting bombed in the sun. Wasyl and I go up to the beach bar and find that their drink special of the day is a Pina Colada served in a coconut carved to look like a monkey. I don’t think that I need to tell you which drink we decided on.

Everything tastes better when it’s served in a monkey

As Wasyl and I are enjoying our third Monkey Colada on the beach, an Australian waiter comes up to us and chats up some of the OSU girls that we’re sitting with. Conversation turns to our coconut monkeys and he tells us that up until last week, the drink special was Pirate Coladas — Pina Coladas served in coconuts carved to look like *pirates*. Though I would never have thought it possible, I instantly experience buyer’s remorse for my Monkey Colada. Four drinks later, I dedicate my life’s work to carving lifelike pirates out of any medium I encounter.

Later that night, after returning to the ship and casting off, we head to dinner. As part of our cruise package, we get to eat in the main dining room every night at 8:30. Our table has two waiters, Alberto and Luis, who serve a different themed meal every evening. This evening is Italian night, meaning that we all eat the shit out of some Caesar salads and veal. After savoring my succulent cheesecake dessert, I chat with Alberto. Hailing from Mexico, Alberto asks me if I speak any Spanish. I tell him that I know a little and promptly recite my favorite line from the Brendan Fraser classic “Encino Man”. “El queso es viejo y pedrido” (the cheese is old and moldy) I confidently tell Alberto, immediately and unwittingly souring relations with or waitstaff.

Dessert is served!

Amidst a flurry of awkward Spanglish apologies, we excuse ourselves from dinner. It just goes to show you — the Germans may love David Hasselhof, but the Mexicans have never heard of Pauly Shore.

After dinner, we head over to the Wheelhouse Lounge for the evening’s karaoke event. Wasyl, Nathan, and I sign up to sing Poison’s immortal “Every Rose Has Its Thorn”. While we wait for our turn to come up, we soon realize that this isn’t the drunken, tongue-in-cheek karaoke scene that we’re accustomed to, as one talented passenger after another performs hits from Celine Dion, Whitney Houston, and the like. By the time we’re up, the crowd is decidedly unprepared for a drunken, hair metal anthem. Still, the crowd is soon on our side after Wasyl drops to the ground and begins doing push-ups in the middle of the stage during my extended air guitar solo.

Tuesday, March 23-

Now would be a good time for some background information about our cruisemates and my general good fortune. My roommate Nathan has a younger brother who is a senior at Ohio State who is dating a girl in the Kappa Delta house there. Every spring, the girls of KD take a trip together for spring break. This year, they decided on a Caribbean cruise, meaning that the lineup for our cruise consists of me, my three roommates, Nathan’s younger brother Joey, Joey’s girlfriend Emily, 15 of Emily’s sorority sisters, and 3 other OSU chuckleheads thrown in for some comic relief. The girls are pretty much, without exception, all very attractive and very fun. Awesome.

Anyway, today is a day at sea, as the Grand Princess steams around Cuba towards Grand Cayman. For the third day in a row, the weather is perfect — calm seas and nary a cloud in the sky. I find a nice spot on the top deck with some of the girls and read my book, setting the stage for this exchange:

Becky: (Looking up from her Cosmo) What are you reading?
Me: “Neither Here Nor There” by Bill Bryson.
Becky: Really? What’s it about?
Me: It’s the story of a hotshot young naval aviator who goes to an elite flight school and falls in love with one of his instructors.
Becky: Oh. Cool. Wait… isn’t that a movie?
Me: No. No, I don’t think so.

3 hours later, after passing much of the time listening to our Cosmo, Mademoiselle, and Elle horoscopes and gaining insights into our sex lives thanks to their helpful quizzes, Nathan and I decide to get out of the sun. At this point, I’ve long since resigned myself to the fact that I’ll have to sleep standing up tonight, as the bottoms of my feet are the only surface of my body that doesn’t look like it’s just come out of a blast furnace.

Our curiosity takes us down to the Vista Lounge on deck 7, where they’re about to stage the daily “Wooden Horse Derby”. In this event, six small plywood horses race across the stage. Their strides are dictated by three dice rolled by the cruise director, Neil, who also calls the race. Every time a horse’s number comes up on one of the dice, he moves that horse ahead one square. The first horse to advance 20 squares wins, with payouts based on how many people bet on each horse. Being betting men, Nathan and I each get two bucks of the action. By the third race, with several buckets of Dos Equis coursing through our veins, Nathan and I are on our feet, shaking our fists in the air and screaming our horse’s name. “Run ‘Bet Your Bippy’ you bastard or I’ll put you to sleep!” Nathan shouts. “Pick up the pace you four-legged bucket of glue!” I add. Two dozen elderly passengers look at us with disdain.

The races end, leaving each of us $6 poorer. The cruise director personally thanks us for our lively attendance and hands each of us an invitation to Thursday’s “Kentucky Derby Horse Auction” — apparently one of the highlights of the cruise. In the auction, each of the six horses are sold to the highest bidder. Horse owners are then allowed to name their horse, keep it for the remainder of the cruise, decorate it, and race it in the big Kentucky Derby on the final day of the cruise (with complimentary champagne). After a few minutes of discussion, it’s decided that we will do everything in our power to have a horse by the end of the day on Thursday.

Wednesday, March 24-

Today finds the Grand Princess anchored off of Grand Cayman, a small island south of Cuba. Nathan, 4 of the girls, and I have signed up for a snorkeling trip to “Stingray City”, meaning that we find ourselves meeting at 7:15 am in one of the ship’s theaters with about 150 other hungover, bleary-eyed passengers. “I don’t know about you guys, but I hope that Stingray City is awesome!” I loudly announce to no one in particular.

A kindred spirit, cast in plaster

Unfortunately, minutes later a cruise director informed us that the snorkeling excursion was cancelled due to high winds. The good news is that the sightseeing portion of our trip is still on.

We board the next boat to shore and soon find ourselves in a tour bus driven by our guide Ronny. Ronny takes us through the streets of Grand Cayman pointing out its many wonders in a flat, monotone voice — sort of a bizarre cross between Bob Marley and Steven Wright. His commentary consists of such gems as “On your left, you will see one of our gas stations. Gasoline is currently priced at two dollars and eighty-three cents a gallon, up a nickel from last week” or “On your right you will see the Comfort Inn, newly renamed after being purchased from Sheraton last month” or, our favorite, “On your left is the Treasure Island hotel and nightclub, formerly owned by country music legend Conway Twitty”.

After 20 minutes of Ronny’s gripping narration, we arrive at the Grand Cayman sea turtle farm — a collection of about 20 large tanks filled with hundreds of huge sea turtles, raised for their meat and shells. Nathan attempts to hoist one of the larger turtles out of the juvenile tank and nearly falls in, soaking himself up to the shoulders in turtle poo and pee.
We return to the boat in time to enjoy another beautiful afternoon above deck, sipping on the drink of the day — the colorfully named “Oreo Speedwagon”. I order several on principle alone.

By the time dinner rolls around, all of us are deep under the spell of the Speedwagon. Nathan and I, in an effort to get a jump on the evening’s festivities, conspire to send a couple bottles of wine to one of the girls’ tables across the dining room. Our waiter, Luis, returns minutes later with the bottles and informs us that he cannot, due to the fact that all twelve of them are underage. Nathan and I have no choice but to fall on our swords and drink the bottles ourselves.

After dinner, all of us adjourn to the ship’s nightclub “Skywalker”, for the fourth night in a row. Tonight’s festivities include the spring break staple *Wet T-Shirt Contest*! The only difference is that the entrants are guys, not girls, and there’s no water involved. In fact, it consists of 9 guys taking their shirts off and dancing around like ear-biting retards. Naturally, Nathan, Justin, Wasyl, and I enter. When our turns arrive, we each pull out our best moves — Wasyl breakdances and nips up like Johnny in Karate Kid, Justin stands still and flexes, Nathan C-walks around like Right Said Fred, and I opt for the “Shopping Cart” and “Lawnmower”. In spite of an especially spirited “Sprinkler”, I find myself among the runners-up, as a beer-bellied 50-something dude walks away with the grand prize.

Thursday, March 25-

We spend the day lounging on the beaches of Costa Maya, Mexico — a small, poor settlement of 400 inhabitants that, as far as I can tell, exists solely to sell jewelry, Coronas, and waverunner rides to cruise-goers. A single dirt road runs adjacent to the beach, lined with jewelry stands and overrun with wild chickens and dogs. In spite of our warnings, one of the girls, Stacy, insists on petting every one of the mangy, fleabag dogs that comes up to us. Most of them had these huge, milk-laden udders on them like cows that all wild Caribbean dogs seem to have (see Jamaica, 2000). Really bizarre. Anyway, by the time we’re getting ready to return to the boat, she has all of the stray mutts on the street flocking to her like some sort of bikini’d pied piper.

I’m going to take him home and name him “Cool”

We recommend that she get a rabies booster. Instead she spends her time giving each of them a name.

While returning to the ship, we get caught in the only bit of inclement weather of the whole trip — a 15-minute torrential downpour with raindrops the size of Titleists. Fortunately, not even an especially vengeful act of God can keep us from showering and being seated in the front row of the Vista Lounge in time for the start of the Kentucky Derby horse auction. We sit back as the first horse is auctioned off, carefully monitoring the bids and demeanor of our competitors. When horse number 2 comes to the block, we’re ready. As the bidding rises past $75, I coolly respond, calmly raising my improvised bidding paddle (a swizzle stick with a cork on the end of it). I make a point of waiting until the caller says “Going twice” each time, for no reason other than to amuse myself (a notably easy task). After a few minutes of spirited bidding, the horse is ours for $125. Nathan, Justin, Wasyl, and I bound up to the stage and claim our plywood stallion, promptly and proudly bestowing the name “Captain Really Awesome” upon him.

Dressed to kill, Captain Really Awesome joins us for dinner where we proudly display him in the middle of the table and introduce him to an obviously impressed Alberto and Luis. After the meal we adjourn to one of the ship’s bars, where I spy another horse and his owner, a large man in his 50’s, at a table near us. Taking a page out of the college handbook, I summon a waitress and instruct her to send a shot of Southern Comfort to the man, along with a note reading “The owners of Captain Really Awesome think that your horse is a bitch.” She complies and soon we see the man and his wife reading our cleverly penned note before downing the shot. He then comes over to our table and says something decidedly non-competitive or confrontational like “thanks for the shot guys – may good sportsmanship prevail!” prompting a wave of shame and guilt to wash over our table.

We cope by quickly departing with Captain Really Awesome for the Skywalker Nightclub where our wooden, four-hooved friend literally becomes the center of attention, perched proudly in the middle of the dance floor. Soon, Captain Really Awesome is getting more action than any of us as numerous girls clamor to drunkenly grind against his haunches. One of the girls, a cute brunette in a turquoise sweater, approaches me:

The Captain was here. Bitches.

Her: Is that your horse?
Me: Hell yeah.
Her: What’s his name?
Me: Captain Really Awesome. He’s the most promising young stud this ship has seen in some time.
Her: That’s great.
Me: Where are you from?
Her: I’m here with three of my friends from college.
Me: Where do you go to school?
Her: I go to school out in New Hampshire.
(A sly grin spreads across my face as I recognize her evasively modest reply.)
Me: Dartmouth?
Her: Yeah! How’d you know?
Me: I’m a ‘00.
Her: No you aren’t. Prove it.
Me: Okay. There’s a fat woman who works at Stinson’s who gives blowjob clinics.

Fifteen minutes later, we leave the nightclub along with Captain Really Awesome – the best wingman a guy could ask for.

Friday, March 26-

The next morning Wasyl returns to our room after being banished the night before and spending the night in a deck chair. We grab some food and head to shore, eager to explore the spring break haven of Cozumel. By noon, we’re with the OSU girls sucking down hurricanes in Carlos and Charlies. It’s a pretty typical spring break scene, highlighted by one of the Mexican busboys making out with a wasted 40-year-old woman in the middle of the dance floor to raucous applause. We have our fun and stumble back to the ship before it pulls out at 5:30, bound for Ft. Lauderdale.

We enjoy another delicious dinner with Alberto and Luis before taking Captain Really Awesome back up to the Skywalker nightclub to strut his stuff. Again, he’s a hit, posing for photos with partygoers and envious passengers alike. I spot my Dartmouth friend and join her at the bar, leaving Captain Really Awesome with some of the OSU girls. I return five minutes later to the unthinkable:

Captain Really Awesome has been horsenapped.

He’s gone, nowhere to be seen and none of the girls know what happened. He was there one second, vanished the next. I spend five frantic minutes searching the club before giving up and heading back home to banish Wasyl to the deck chairs again.

Saturday, March 27-

There are 3 hours until race time and Captain Really Awesome is nowhere to be seen. Justin and Wasyl head out to find the cruise director and tell him what happened and run into a couple of the OSU girls along the way. It turns out that Captain Really Awesome wasn’t horsenapped at all, but was taken home by one of the aforementioned chuckleheads, Juan, as a practical joke. Wasyl and Justin track down Juan and retrieve the horse before throwing a fully clothed Juan into the pool. The day is saved.

We spend the next two hours frantically searching the ship for any sort of adornment for the Captain. In no time, he’s decked out in streamers, balloons, a pair of pink boxers, and a cigar for a penis. With a half-hour to go, I write out a biography for our prized steed in order to give him a proper introduction.

We dress up and head down to the track in time to parade the Captain around and psych out some of our opponents before taking our seats in the owner’s box. The event begins and the owners of the first horse, “E.T.” introduce him, saying something eloquent like “E.T. stands for extra testicle. He’s going to win because he’s been partying all week and is ready to kick some ass” before sitting down to modest applause.
Next up is Captain Really Awesome’s introduction:

“Late in the Clinton Administration, out of the turmoil and despair of Lincoln Park, Illinois, arose one of the most inspirational sports stories of our generation — a magnificent stallion by the name of Captain Really Awesome. The mystical love child of Secretariat and Seattle Slew’s mom, Captain Really Awesome quickly rose to prominence in the unforgiving street circuits of the sub-continent. Today he inspires fear in his competitors, awe in his contemporaries, and lust in women everywhere.

All dressed up and ready to go

Blessed with a 33-inch member, it’s no wonder that Captain Really Awesome is a hit with the ladies. He’s been linked romantically to Catharine the Great, Stephanie Seymour, and the ladies of Caribe 225. Ever the cultured equine, Captain Really Awesome enjoys the writings of F. Scott Fitzgerald, the music of REO Speedwagon, and the films of Jenna Jameson. He thinks that Seabiscuit is an overhyped, no-talent hack.

Captain Really Awesome’s training regimen remains shrouded in more mystery than the origin of his charismatic moniker. But is he fast? Hell yes. In fact, in a training run earlier this week, Captain Really Awesome reached such a tremendous speed that he travelled back in time, preventing the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, the birth of Muammar Qaddafi, and the cancellation of Miami Vice before comfortably trotting home in time for a late afternoon cigar and glass of scotch.

Cruise ships return to port, the seasons change, and time marches onward inexorably, but as long as children dream and cocktails are served, Captain Really Awesome will live on in all of us.”

With that, the room erupts (especially the OSU contingent). The remaining 4 horse owners get up in turn and proceed to talk shit about Captain Really Awesome, although one is gracious enough to say “I don’t know where you went to school, but you got your money’s worth. You even got a Catherine the Great reference in there. Jeezus.”

Finally the introductions are over and the race is on. Horse #6 (Turbo Stud) takes an early lead and doesn’t look back, winning outright.

Wasyl and the Captain celebrate a strong showing

Captain Really Awesome makes a late charge and comes across the line in third behind a hard-charging E.T. The final payout is $136 for us, making for a profit of $11 split 4 ways. Gold!

We take some final pictures of our prized stallion before returning to the room emotionally drained, sad to leave the Captain behind. By now, the Grand Princess is steaming hard towards Ft. Lauderdale, set to arrive early the next morning, but there’s still time to celebrate the Captain’s strong showing. Alberto and Luis treat us to one final spectacular meal of prime rib and baked Alaska before we head out to our seventh, and final night at the Skywalker nightclub. Swerves are gotten on, hearts are broken, and Wasyl is once again banished to the deck chairs before the night concludes.

Sunday, March 28-

The new day sees back stateside, tied up in Ft. Lauderdale where we started from. We pack up and all say goodbye to our respective spring break girlfriends before sadly disembarking. Spring break ‘04 has been an undisputed success, with an ultra-modern cruise ship proving to be a most agreeable mode of travel. We return home exhausted, dirty, and hungover, but none of us can wipe the smiles from our faces.