Cruise Chronicles: Imagination Day 1 – Strange Encounters

The day began at the unholy hour of 4 a.m., awoken not to an alarm clock, but to the sweet heart wrenching cry of Kendal. Our 6 day journey on the high seas was about to begin, but without our pride and joy. For a brief moment, I saw the infinite depth of Ana’s love as she kissed Kendal and placed him in Mamaw’s bed. I knew at that instance this would be our last vacation without our children for the next 20 or so years, and as a family man, that is just fine with me. As Ana later told me, “It is great to spend time as a couple, but we are not complete unless we are whole.” I could not agree more.

Having checked our bags onto our free American flight to Miami (Thank you Citi Rewards Points!), we groggily made our way to our gate. Needing a rest stop, I entered the restroom and was cheerily greeted with a belch to the face that had a strong hint of Eau de Old Milwaukee. What a way to start a vacation!

After washing this dude’s booze ooze off my face, we were ready to begin boarding. We just settled into our cozy seats at the back of the plane, when low and behold, The Belcher came stumbling down the aisle with his Belcheress. They sat cattycorner behind us, and then came the cell phone calls. Ring, ring. “Dude, I’m going on vacation. Call Steve if you need help…” Ring, ring. “Dude, I’m …” Ring, ring. Dude, have you heard of voice mail? No, no, never. Methinks The Belcher liked the sound of his own blathering voice, however, blissfully the attendants made him turn off his cell phone after 4 or 5 calls. Upon which time, The Belcher began suction cleaning and tongue polishing his girlfriend’s wisdom teeth for the remainder of the flight. Slurp and burp. Certain people just have a way of getting under my skin, yet, this couldn’t go on forever, right? Right?

Bon Voyage, Miami!

Soon enough, we were beginning our final approach into Miami International, and the search for the transfer bus to the port was on. By the way, when I say International, I mean international. Perhaps I have lived in Franklin County too long, but I could not understand any of the Miami "locals." One exchange between Ana and a Carnival Attendant sounded like an Abbott and Costello “Who’s on First” routine. After several rounds of ¿Que?, Who?, ¿Cuando?, What?, ¿Como?, we managed to decipher the word venti-eight (28 for those who don’t speak Spanglish) and made off for Baggage Claim 28.

Securing our place in line for the Imagination bus, I found a Rey de la Hamburguesa, or a Burger-o King-o for the Spanish disinclined. Returning to our seats in line, Ana headed off for Round Two of ¿Que?, Who?, ¿Cuando?, What?, ¿Como?, and I was heartily greeted by a seemingly lovely older couple from Chattanooga, TN. As I sat down, she said “My goodness I bet you thought we’d never get here. Did you think we were lost?” I immediately thought, does Ana know these people from somewhere (which she did not), then said “No, Ma’am.” She next said, “Ma’am? Oh, I can tell you are from the South.” More like South California. I nodded in agreement, and she continued to drone on and on about Tennessee and black people going on our cruise. Sweet Mary, I do attract the loons, eh? Coincidentally, there was a large contingent of black people who appeared to be having a family reunion on the cruise. To which the Crazy Lady commented, “My goodness, do all black people know each other?” I nodded, and resisted the urge to comment that they are all “brothers and sisters” but I doubt she would have got the silliness of my bad black/reunion joke.

Luckily, the awkwardness on my part was broken when Ana reappeared with our transfer tickets and we began boarding the bus. Once on the bus, Ana told me that she and the Crazy Lady had an even WEIRDER conversation while I was gone about sunscreen and sunburns. To which Crazy Lady said, and I am not making this up, “I have to keep my face out of the sun, otherwise it looks like a cow pooted in my face.” Say what? The best we could deduce was that she gets freckles on her face from sunburns, but thankfully we will never know the answer. No sooner had Ana told me this, Crazy Lady and her husband sat down in front of us in the handicap seats. Why, Lord, why? My prayers were answered, and they moved to the rear of bus realizing the seats were reserved for handicapped. I breathed a sigh of relief, then felt the cruel hand of fate smack me upside the head, as The Belcher and his bloated babe plopped down in front of us. Shit. They were going on our cruise. I wondered if this had something to do with us missing church the day before…

Sailing Away!

I endured The Belcher during our brief ride to the port, while our Haitian driver gave us a “spoken tour” of the Miami area. I could not understand one word. Oh, my Franklin County ears. However, the only audible English he spoke was at the end of the ride when he clearly pronounced and annunciated “I am not an employee of the cruise line, therefore please remember to tip.” We tipped, retrieved our bags, carried them 10 feet to another Haitian who took our bags and then held out his hand. Ah, money, the international language.

Next we made our way into the Port of Miami. I will say this is a spectacular facility. It made the Norfolk and Jacksonville ports look like the minor leagues. There were at least 30 check-in terminals with flat screen TVs everywhere trumpeting the amenities of the Carnival Imagination. We quickly were in front of a Carnival representative who began our embarkation procedures. Midway through the process, the rep paused, looked at us with concern and said that there was a restriction on our boarding passes. Great. I’ve heard of the “do not fly” list, but the “do not sail” list? She took our passports and headed off to the main office. Ah, shit. We wracked our brains thinking of what it could be…

We were then waived over to the corporate office, where we were asked to sit and wait. An “official” looking man came sheepishly over and looked at me with trepidation. He turned to Ana and asked VERY delicately, “Your boarding papers indicate you are…expecting.” I toyed with the idea of looking at Ana and saying, “YOU’RE PREGNANT?!”, but I could tell that this reaction was what the employee was trying to avoid. We clearly stated, “No, we are not pregnant. We had a false positive and are definitely not pregnant.” Which is true, from a certain point of view.

That crisis passed, we were onto the boat where we entered the Grand Atrium on the 7^th deck. This room was 7 stories tall and so awesomely gaudy, it was amazing. The room had two glass elevators, casino carpet, black-light paintings, enough neon for Times Square and was ringed on all seven levels with hundreds of Egyptian Sphinx busts with big ole’ boobies. Nipples and neon everywhere!

The Grand Atrium - Empress Deck

We got our frequent cruiser Sail and Sign™ cards (our key to some future free beverages) and headed to the Lido Deck for a bite to eat while our bags were being scanned and taken to our room (Riviera 211). Once on Deck 10, we settled in at the Horizon Bar and Grill, where according to Ana, I began to pout. The last cruise we took, Ana and I wracked up a ghastly three page $1,400 cruise bill on booze and excursions. It was awesome, yet not to be this trip because…

Back in March at a hockey game, I drunkenly agreed to a bet with Ana that the next time she was pregnant I would go the entire nine months without a drop of alcohol. Well, no less than 3 HOURS after we booked the cruise, we found out that Ana was indeed pregnant. No false positive as happened the month prior, all four tests came back gleaming blue! For your information, when we had begun the ticket ordering process, Ana did have a false positive, so in essence we did not lie to the concerned employee mentioned above. The reason we fudged admitting the next month’s pregnancy test was because if they knew she was pregnant, she was supposed to have written doctor’s approval to cruise (our ob appointment wasn’t until a few days after we got back from the cruise) and they wouldn’t allow her on any excursions. Now, no alcohol (which is a given) and no excursions for Ana would make for a not so fun cruise…which leads to my “apparent” pouting.

Mmm, Toxic Concoction at the Horizon Grill - Lido Deck

To this day, I will stand by my guns and say that I wasn’t pouting, but Ana disagrees. She looked at me, shook her head, got up and came back with a virgin Pina Colada and rip roaringly toxic concoction for me. All it took was one drink and I was smooth sailing. Must have been all the Bacardi 151 with a splash of fruit juice. For those who are interested, the cruise was a reprieve and I am back supporting mama, and don’t let her fool you, she had a few sips here and there ;-)

After sailing out of the harbor, we retired to our room where Ana took her customary 2 hour nap. I took this time to scout the ship, learn the decks and figure out the confusing elevator system. Trust me, if I hadn’t of done this, we’d still be stuck on the Verandah deck trying to figure out how to get to our room. Unaware that I had even left the room, Ana finally woke up (I did tell her where I was going, but she “sleep talked” the conversation). We headed up to dinner in the Spirit Dining Room, where we met our tablemates (I will discuss them later, as this post is already way too long).

I dined on:

• Cherrywood-Smoked Breast of Long Island Duckling
• Caesar Salad with Anchovies
• Grilled, Aged New York Sirloin Steak with Three Peppercorn Sauce
  
• Cheesecake with Strawberry Dipping Sauce

Dynasty Lounge - Atlantic & Promenade Decks

After dinner, we headed to the Dynasty Lounge, another spectacular room dedicated to bad taste and horrid décor, but that is what makes Carnival special. It’s like a floating Vegas Hotel. Anyways, we took our seats in the second level “balcony” of the lounge and sat back to watch Game Show Trivia. The first three contestants headed to the stage, and wouldn’t you know it, The Belcher was contestant number two (fitting). We watched him get completely annihilated, most likely due to his blood alcohol level being higher than his IQ. During this trivia debacle, Crazy Lady Cow Poot Face walked right in front of our seats, grabbed the brass pole next to our table, tried to swing on it (like a stripper, I guess), and tripped. Not wanting to extend our record setting run-ins with these two yahoos and having had such a long day, we cut the evening short and watched the waves splash beneath our starboard side window as the boat gently rocked us to sleep.

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