Anyone Want to Go to the Disco?

I am on a cruise ship.

For work.

It’s a conference.

The upside is that I will likely sleep like a dead person in a cold moseleum as the movement of any kind of boat puts me to sleep. 

The downside is I really want to go to the “disco” but don’t know that anyone would go.  I retract that.  Yes, there are people who would go if I asked.  But the catch is this… of my favorite songs would come on and then….guess what…..I’m not going out there to dance by myself.   It’s one thing to go and hang out it’s another to hit the dance floor if your favorite song comes on.  This is a problem.    Anyone want to go dancing?  (The question is currently echoing up and down the vast hallways of the oceanliner.  Pinging back and forth between the Martini bar and the photo gallery…..)  I’d actually have a better chance at meeting Davey Jones and getting my hands on his locker than getting someone to go dancing with me. 


News Flash:  I’m not Billy Idol and I’m not Dancing with Myself at the disco….thank you.

What is even more patetic is at sail away this afternoon there were two couples out on the deck snapping pictures.  Mid-30’s.  At one point the girls commented, “This is the best picture yet of you guys….your butts.”  The one guy the proceeded to go and impersonate the Incredible Hulk or his power lifting skills or how the Pillsbury Dough Boy giggles at the airport x-ray – all I know is he was leaping around like a 250 pound ballerina that should have called it quits in second grade. 

Yep, we’re on a cruise.

They were well on their way to bliss.  Which, was later confirmed at the conclusion of second seating dinner when the same two couples was stumbling out of the dining room.  Apparently after too many Long Islands and Coronas already six hours into the cruise and the one husband was counseling his wife on how to be a nicer individual.  Wow.

Two minutes behind them was a gaggle of women in their 70’s wearing flashing LED sunglasses and necklaces.  They looked like they were dangerously on the prowl for some young 60 year old’s as they swaggered from side to side out to the hallway.   Edwin, hit the alarm, here come the Nannas!

Neither gang of guests looked like anything I’d want to encounter in a disco, let alone on an elevator going to the 4th floor.  Thank you, but I’ll take the stairs.  Good grief.

So ponder me this.  What do you think it means when your cabin has….





count them….THREE

full length ….floor to ceiling mirrors in front of the bed?  I checked the outside of the cabin and it CLEARLY doesn’t say I have the honeymoon suite.  I looked in the closets and didn’t find any weird ass bondage shit.  I thought there was a strange hook in the ceiling over the bed – like you’d hang a trapeze  or maybe a swing from it – M E O W – but it turns out it’s only  a sprinkler.  That was a little disappointing.

Seeing myself out of the edges of my eyesight as I write this is pretty fucking creepy.

Somoeone typing on a computer.

                               Just like me.

Someone wearing pajamas.

                             Just like me.

Someone with the same crazy ass hair style – aka  “a rat’s nest”

                             Just like me.

Someone wearing the same glasses.

                            Just like me.


If you’re going to put these mirrors in here maybe put some frosting over them or provide a video camera to record activity, provide the kinky shit or give us something to take the edge of the creepiness.  I’m not hip on seeing myself all the time. 

Sup?  How you doin’?

Don’t fret.  I’ve solved the problem. 

1 sheet + 1 strip of duct tape = bye bye weird ass mirrors.





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