nude highway driving

This day last week I had just finished a three-day cruise to the Bahamas to see one of my closer friends from high school get married on the beach. This day last week I was shocked to land in D.C. and learn it was 80 degrees outside. Today I am shocked that the morning temperature dropped 50 frickin’ degrees in one week.

The boat left Halloween evening under a cloudy Miami sunset. We were amazed at the number of Europeans on board, thinking maybe Royal Caribbean catered to a more international set … only later learning it was a group of about 500 top Austrian Tupperware employees and their spouses, all there for a little meeting to celebrate the power of Tupperware.

Hey, do you remember that episode of “The Love Boat” where cruise director Julie McCoy went down to the dance club, ripped off her shirt and started shaking her rack for the passengers? No? I thought for sure it was standard cruise director protocol, seeing as how our cruise director, Rico, did that for us Halloween night in the dance club. He and some of his staff were dressed as the Village People, sort of, teaching hot disco moves to the drunken crowd. Rico was the topless sailor. (Remember that one? No?) OK, he did have some nice pectoral muscles, but surely Jeraldine never would approve. Disco Halloween was fun, but we had to run - 50 Cent started infiltrating the speakers.

Saturday morning began with a trip to Blackbeard’s Cay, a private island in the Bahamas that offers the “Stingray Adventure.” The chicky mama had gotten us both some dope snorkeling gear since we had such a blast watching fish during the last cruise. Swimming with and feeding stingrays seemed like the ultimate trip.

Unfortunately, the stingrays are penned in with no open-ocean access. A good thing, too - they’d be killed in a heartbeat. The operators of the island rip out their stingers and teeth so fat-ass tourists can go touch them and not sue. The stingrays were very sweet and often would come bump legs to check us out or vacuum fish from our hands, but the overall experience was pretty sad. Stingrays are not aggressive by nature, and you can swim with them and even feed them without getting hurt. There is no reason to disfigure them. I strongly urge anyone going to the Bahamas to avoid this “excursion” - you can’t even see them underwater that well because the pen is very murky. Go to the other side of the Caribbean and enjoy a healthy stingray environment.

All was not lost on Blackbeard’s Cay, however. We did get to test our toys in the open swimming beach, and felt pretty badass with our kickin’ gear. Now if I can just find a cheap ticket to Tahiti …

Saturday afternoon was wedding time, right on the beach behind the British Colonial Hilton in Nassau. It was a casual, beautiful affair - the altar right in the sand, a steel-drum dude jammin’ away next to the seats and two big-ass cruise ships in the background. I was overdressed - further proof that D.C. is sucking my life essence and making me a robot - but kicked back and enjoyed the moment. The couple is all hip and shit, and everyone get CDs with their programs - you could pick a CD of modern “special love songs” or old-time special love songs.

The bride is one of those friends that you know you always will hold very dear and can go years without seeing, then get together and everything just flows as if you still lived on the same side of town. She, too, is from the rough streets of Southcentral JoMo, and is one of those friends for whom I would do probably anything. Her parents are two of my favorite friend-parents in the world, and it blew me away to see them so joyous and overcome. The whole moment was perfect and the small crowd of loved ones gathered for the day was beaming. Even the Austrian tourists watching from the beach were happy.

That night we did the formal dinner on the ship then took over the “Viking Lounge” and got a pretty good dance groove going once we convinced the cruise DJ that we were way more interested in having an 80s fest than bumpin’ our junk to more 50 Cent. At midnight was the poolside midnight buffet and pool party, so I ran to the room, threw off the suit, put on swim trunks, grabbed a towel and ran onto the pool deck - a deck flooded with people still in their formal wear! Ack. There was dancing, There was eating. There was no pool party. The hot tubs were closed. Good thing I didn’t come down naked.

Sunday morning I felt us set anchor just off Cococay, the private island Royal Caribbean owns. More snorkeling!!! Then, before I could get moving, I felt us start leaving Cococay. But … but … The waters were too rough for the tenders to take people from the ship to the island, so it was going to be a casual day at sea, soaking up the sun as we floated aimlessly. Except for this big-ass storm that hit and followed us the entire day, blessing us with a downpour. No poolside antics. No sunburn. No climbing wall action. Just eating, drinking, casino action and eating. Oh, and a kick-ass at-sea massage from some English chick that knows how to tear apart muscles and kick the crap out of lactic acid.

Even a rain-drenched, gray day at sea was better than the very best day at work. The trip overall was a collection of great fun. I was honored to be invited to share my friend’s beautiful wedding, and loved being able to again enjoy conch fritters at the Pirates Pub in Nassau.

Note to all my friends: All future weddings must be held somewhere in the Caribbean.