I accidentally punched her in the face: Tacoma Tales, Part 2

I’m a big fan of water.

And not just for drinking. I love to be near, on, and in it. Each year, a group of friends and I make a sojourn to the beach and do little else than sit on the sand until we crisp. All for the sake of that liquid salvation.

Sometimes, it’s enough to just hear those waves, you know.

I wait all year for this one week (usually in May, because no one is on this particular beach in May) constantly envisioning the glare of the sun from the sugar sand, salivating for the long evenings, lounging in linen pjs, with the windows raised listening to the surf.

I even like rain and thunderstorms. (Actually, I LOVE a thunderstorm) I mean, that’s water, too. (But, it’s the element of danger that comes with every storm we have in Mississippi that heightens my love of inclement weather, and of the word “inclement”).

Now, for me, the grandaddy lovefest of All Things Water Related would be a genuine, bona fide cruise to somewhere off the coastline of these contiguous Forty-Eight.

I don’t really care where I go, I just want to know what a cruise is like, the full, overeating, aggravating cruise experience. I want to know every single thing about it: from the insularity of being stuck on a ship for a full day at sea (this is of course if you take a 4-day cruise to Costa del Playa or Cozumel, or wherever, from Mobile), to the endless buffet (one of the Seven Deadly Sins and also, fun), all the way to the random 24/7 “night clubs” and Broadway-style shows that I see in the promos at carnival.com (these are less fun, and more funny, I would think)…but still, I want to know this for myself: every inch of indigestion, dancer’s charlie horses, and Senor Frog’s.

And so, next on my agenda is answering the (according to some of my friends who get tired of hearing me talk about taking a cruise) “dreadful” High Seas call and booking a small Gulf excursion.  There seem to be several acceptable trips with an originating port in Mobile…an easy drive down.

I’ll even go by myself, if I have to.  I’ll just have to make sure I don’t disappear.  I read that a lot of that seems to be happening lately on these cruises, though most seem to occur during a honeymoon.

I can assure you, I will not be on a honeymoon. So, I should be safe.

Sadly, the closest I’ve ever come to a dinner cruise, to date, was last month, while in Tacoma. Apparently, part of the package we purchased to attend the national festival (aact.org) included an evening out on Puget Sound.

And what an evening it was.  Although, exactly how much of an “evening it was” I wouldn’t fully grasp until the following afternoon.

I don’t remember much about being on the boat, itself, per se. What little I do recall, I’m not able to repeat here…but there were far more entertaining things I forgot – until the next afternoon, that is.

For instance, I completely forgot about the fact that it was a dinner cruise. I ate not one solitary thing while at sea. I don’t know if I passed by the buffet, or ridiculed it, and thus, was snubbed by it, but the fact is I went without anything on my stomach, aside from, ahem, wine.

The boat, and let’s get this right out there on the table, was not large enough for the number of people who spent the $75-100/ticket. I feel fairly safe in saying that the boat, by virtue of its design, could barely support a family of six in relative comfort…we numbered, I feel sure, just at the tip of over one hundred total.

So, whereas I ate no actual food, I did manage to suck an elbow or two – and, according to the reports given me by several nameless individuals the day after, I also ate a crow or…three.

I remember spotting a seal, somewhere near the tip of Alaska – I really have no idea how far we traveled; it felt like we were out there for days – and I saw a tanker.

I also punched a young woman in the face.

Not hard, and not on purpose. But, she was one of the nameless strangers who ran into me the following day and recalled (with glee, I should add!) the funny story about how she’d asked me to air-draw a map of Mississippi for her and show her where Starkville was on said map.

She was just tall enough, I guess, to receive, with decisiveness, where I chose to put Starkville – her upper lip…I used three fingers, for emphasis.

She was quite sure, she said, that she’d never forget how close to Alabama we sat. Thank god she didn’t want directions to Tuscaloosa.

That, most assuredly, would have led to a lawsuit.

The whole of the following day ran along these lines: “Hey, there you are…I remember you from last night.” OR “You, you, you…certainly seemed to enjoy the dinner cruise, didn’t you”…OR, on more regular occasion, I just got pointed at and grinned at and well, what do you do but smile back as if it had all been a part of your master plan.

I also, it seems, was asked out by the bartender. And a lady and her husband. 

I may never be ok with this.

All these years I thought the Pacific Northwest was populated by an abundance of timber and the lovable, slow Clydesdales of mankind.

I guess anything goes on the open seas, huh. Out on the water, there aren’t any rules: you can gamble, encounter seismic sea waves, befriend a volleyball, hook giant squid, or be a pirate.

I think being a pirate would be fun. Besides, I never really cared that much for volleyball (or the movie Castaway).

Oh well, the point is I finally got a little taste of a cruise. The trouble is, I just can’t really remember it.

So, back to the drawing board.

I wonder what Nassau is like during Christmas.  Anyone?

Related Posts:

• It takes a Village and Xanax: Tacoma Tales, Part 1
• She was, in fact, too next to me.
• You can’t kill a Honda, unless you’re an 18-Wheeler.
• I can't die here, not this close to the Mennonite bakery.
• I was able to order my fish sandwich without incident.

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