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11:41 a.m. - 2005-11-14
Assholery on the high seas.
Just as I was in the pits of post-cruise depression and missing my new friend so badly, he called yesterday. From Jamaica, the first port on his new itinerary. You've never seen a Zen jump so high off the couch.

Max? Max??? Max! Oh my God!!! ...

That's about how it went.

He missed me. He missed Six. He missed our connection and our faces and our laughter.

It was six minutes of comfort. I know now that he's a keeper. Whether friend, boyfriend, whatever, he's mine for good. There have been few people with whom I've gotten this close. People who I know will be family of some sort forever. It happens in a moment. A flash. A recognition of kindred spirits.

I'm happy now.

He's calling again tomorrow from somewhere in the Caribbean. Then again on Friday. Then we'll see him Sunday when the ship docks and hopefully we'll get a few hours to reconnect before he sets sail again, this time to relocate to Ft. Lauderdale for the winter.

Yay! Fort Lauderdale is a cheap ticket in winter.

For those who are worrying, I'm OK. I'm taking this at face value for what it is, with no expectations other than a growing friendship. We both have a hell of a lot of baggage, and the life he must lead in order to make a life for himself and his kids will help keep everything in check. I'm just enjoying the attachment and the recognition of another kindred spirit in my ever expanding world.

Now, I'll bet you all are thinking that the trip was all mushy, and deep, and spiritual. But, you have to remember. It was Assholia on the high seas. There were faux pas, some food espionage, penises, boobies, Jaiger Bombs in force, and unguarded speech at all times.

It all started with Kris. Who got so bombed at The Bar during out pre-cruising festivities that she roared into customs saying that she wasn't drunk, she had epilepsy, and her friend Jay (Six's sister) had a load of drugs at the bottom of her purse.

She proceeded to go to her cabin and barf up a lung before passing out. Made it to dinner though. Still ripping drunk. Which was funny. But then she spoted the nameplate of our waiter, Anil. You can probably guess, but our girl blasted out, "ANAL? Our waiter's name is ANAL? What the hell kind of name is that? A N A L?" And it went on and on and on. The entire time, Anil himself was standing right behind her laughing up a storm.

Thank God.

Jay had the first penis. It was ice cream served with two scoops, side by side, and a large lady finger cookie propped up between them. The other girls got the same dessert, but their cookies were draped to the side circumspectly. You've probably never heard an Assholian comment upon a penis sculpture of a dessert before. Or maybe you have if you've been fortunate enough to visit us. But it wasn't quiet, and nothing was held back.

Anil was so pleased that he made us a penis out of a napkin.

He did a lot of that napkin stuff.

I gotta go now, but I'll be back with more tales from:



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