Whole Foods = Weird Freaks?

I live around the corner from Whole Foods and I love it. It's such a great store and I go there way to much. Seriously, way to much. The Whole Foods (WF) on P Street has often been cited as one of the catalysts for the rejuvenation of the east Dupont-Logan area. Five years ago, this neighborhood was a mess. But you plop a Whole Foods in and all of a sudden the gays are there, the Embassy staff, the yuppies, etc. It really was responsible for turning the neighborhood around. And that's not to say that there still isn't a little bit of "transition" going on. There are still a bunch of old time shops and stores that look pretty ratty. And the day workers hang out in front of the old Duron store that's going to be replaced by new condos. So the folk who go into Whole Foods really run the whole gamut of society and that's one of the things I love about it. Usually. This weekend? Not so much.


Saturday AM. I'm pumped from my session with the person trainer. It's a bit rainy and I've got a rain slicker on and I've got my MP3 player going and just good with the world. I stop into WF to get a post workout protein fix. I grab some food and as I'm heading back out to the street, I hear very clearly over the music in my headphone. "FAGGOT." Again, my music is not that loud and I know what I heard. So I turn around to the scraggly, kind of scarey black man behind me, "Excuse me, what did you say?" Probably a little bit loud since my headphones are still in. "I didn't say nothin'" he says. "Yes you did. I heard you say Faggot." "I wasn't TALKIN to you," he snarls. "Well then who were you talking to?" I snarl back. The endorphins from the gym are finally kicking in and I'm just a little bit pissed off here. "None of your God Damn business" he yells at me. "Then I suggest you keep your comments to yourself," I say loudly back to him. "Oh, and have a nice day." And with that I turn and walk away. Okay, first of all do not even try to pull that crap on me. I can kick your ass even after being punished and abused by my trainer. Second of all, it's f&%king 1030 Saturday AM. Who do you think is going to be at Whole Foods at that hour? Local crackheards? Keep you bigotted comments to yourself or nextime if will be some muscle head who may pound you into the concrete.

Sunday PM. Went to JRs with a friend. After a couple of drinks (okay 4), I decide to go to WF to get some bread so I can make a sandwich with some left over veal from lunch on Saturday. As I'm looking around the bakery, this guy starts talking to me. I've seen him before. We went out once but not so much. Tonight he's looking ragged. First of all, who wears sunglasses in WF at 8PM at night? That should have been my first clue. And he's just a chatty Cathy. Telling me all sorts of stuff I don't want to know (the number of hair transplants he's had). He asks me if I'm going to Cherry next week. Cherry is the big DC circuit party. I tell him yes, but not exactly sure to what parts. Then he asks if I party. I tell him no. I've got a security clearance and drugs really aren't a good idea. Then he tells me that I need to take G. That's GHB. That all it does is make you horny and sweat when you dance and then it's out of your system. And that's how he's lost all of this weight. Okay, so I finally catch a clue. He's flying. Really high. All of the "weight he's lost." Yeah, newflash buddy, but you haven't lost a lot of weight. You're still pretty big. Plus, he's juggling this plastic container that has enough tuna pasta salad to feed Ethiopa, plus a big coffee pound cake thing, and then some other things. I'm thinking this is the post drug binge eating. Yeah, that's why the G isn't working for the weight loss. I finally escape, but it was just a weird night.

Lesson learned? Need to shop at the Soviet Safeway more.

The Birth and Death of a Blog

We know how a blog is born.

Some one decides that they have something to say about something or anything really. They sign up with one of the blog sites, and they are off an running. Their daily, weekly, or random musings are available for anyone to find, stumble upon, etc. Their are personal blogs (like mine or Joe's who's blog birthday is today), political blogs (my favs: www.andrewsullivan.com and www.americablog.blogspot.com), blogs about fashion, or sex, or almost anything uder the sun.

But what about when a blog dies?

I've seen blogs die. Geekslut died earlier this year. He got tired of writing, said he was going to convert it into an audio blog, but we haven't heard from him since. After reading his blog for awhile, you get the sense that you know this person somehow and when he stops blogging, there's a silence in your head. There's something missing. I guess that he's gotten sucked into work or maybe something personal that takes alot of his time and so he doesn't blog anymore. I wish him the best. He was a great blogger and one of the bloggers I saw at blogjam that lead to the creation of this blog.

I'm more concerned about Soul Of a Sailor and Day Dreamer. I found them via Andrew Sullivan and they are two gay, partnered, active duty military guys. Both had served in Iraq and despite some of their conservative ideas, I really liked, and respect them. A couple of days after they were mentioned in Andrew Sullivan's post, their blogs died. Or more appropriately, their blogs ceased to exist. There was a simple post saying that their blogs had been put on hiatus. But not only are they not blogging, their archives are gone also. Except for the fact that their blog front page is still there, it's almost like they don't exist. Since I've never the trusted the Don't Harrass part of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, I wonder if the silencing of their blogs is due to the fact that they are in the military and gay. I miss their bloggings. I hope they come back one day, rising like the phoenix from the flames.

Blow Off and "Being Invisible"

So a short recap of the weekend. After several failed attempts to get a decent disco nap in, I gave up, watched some DVDs, and then got dressed and headed for Blow Off. This time is was in the 930 club's main room and it was *packed*. Lots of hot men, some shirtless, standing around, dancing, etc. It was very nice and I saw quite a few people I recognized. It's odd that I recognize people from blogs, other bars, etc, but I really don't know them. That's the introvert in me. I just suck at going up to people and saying hello. And a couple of the people I know from their blogs I find attractive/interesting/etc, but again, I'm not going to go up to them like some potential stalker and tell them I know them from their blog. I ran into a friend of a friend and ended up dancing with him and his group of friends. All bears. And I got sort of friendly with one, and I'm not sure why since I had no intention of it going anywhere. It was just some friendly hooching. He told me he wanted to contact me and now I feel guilty for leading him on. Damn that conscience of mine!

"Being Invisible." One of the many things I just LOVE about being gay in DC is that it is a small community, so you'll run into people you've dated over, and over, and over again. Most of the time, I try to be decent about it. Look them in the eye, do the friendly nod/smile thing, and then keep going. Kind of regardless of how the dating thing ended. So, I'm at my gym and one of the guys I went out with only once, but we talked on the phone a lot, is there. His training is like 6-7PM, and mine is 630-730 PM. So I see him, and try to do the friendly nod thing, and I'm completely ignored. Like I'm not even there. Like I'm invisible. Okay, I got the message loud and clear that you didn't want to date, but I'm thinking it takes what a couple dozen of muscles to nod/smile back. I know, I know. I'm talking about gay men here. What am I expecting? I'm not sure. But maybe a little bit more.

How I Learned to Stop Sleeping and Love Insomnia

So I go through periods of insomnia. They eventually end and I rejoice in the sweet embrace of a deep sleep. But this has been an awfully long spell and I was starting to lose it. Only getting 2 or 3 hours at a time. If I lay in bed longer I get sore, and mad, and frustrated. Why can't I sleep? What's wrong with me? Don't I know this is going to make me MORE tired in the morning?

So since this spell has been going on a bit long, I've tried some different things. I've cut out my Crystal Light Ice Tea fix at night (which has very little caffeine to start with, but you never know). I've tried Tylenol PM. I've tried hot showers. You name it, I've tried it. So I started thinking, what if it's not me? What if my matress has finally died. I mean, I got it in Dec of 89. Yes, 1989. That's like 15 years ago. So maybe it's time for a new matress. So I made the trek to Landmark Mall where Hechts was having a sale and I got a new matress. It gets delivered on Friday. So that's only 5 more nights of no sleep. So my plan now is to get up when ever I wake up in the middle of the night and try to do something productive. Let's put this insomnia to some good use!!

Chase the Burn

That's what my personal trainer said tonight. "Chase the burn." As he handed me a medicine ball to use as I did my sit ups. Are you f*&king kidding me. I don't need to chase the burn. I found it. Or I should say it found me about 30 minutes ago somewhere between the jump squats, bent rows, mountain climbers, tricep extensions, squats, leg curls, lat pulldowns, up downs, and some "quality" time on the elliptical. The burn is f&*king chasing me. You know you've over the edge when you want to hurl all of the water you've been drinking, but you've got big time dry mouth.

So the personal trainer thing is going well. All bitching aside. The diet? Not so much. Last week was bad. Like Krispy Kreme donuts and Papa Johns Pizza bad. Bad Trey, bad. I've been afraid to weigh myself, but will definitely do it tomorrow.

Okay so the plan was to try to lose like 15 pounds by Memorial Day. Still do-able, but I need to focus. And to help with that focus, I just found out that my 20th High School Reunion is the weekend after Memorial Day. How's that for pressure. And dear Lord, how did I get to be so old? Wait, don't answer that.

Hands Free DC

So like last October DC went hands free. For cell phones. So no more yacking on the phone with the cell phone in one hand, a drink in the other and the steering wheel gripped firmly with your thighs. Or something like that.

Of course the crappy cell phone I get from work doesn't have bluetooth so I end up using the headset with a cord. So not cool. But I deal. I mean, they are giving out tickets now. So I promise I'll be good. Really I will.

So this AM, I'm driving to work, cruising down M St. in Georgetown and I have to stop at a light. So this police cruiser turns left in front of me and as the cop passes me I notice he's yacking away with a cell phone pressed to his ear.

Should I have tried to do a citizen's arrest?

Take Me Out . . . . .

a) to the ball game.
b) and just shoot me.
c) get me drunk and just have your way with me.

I'd like (c), but in reality it's (b), and as far as (a) goes: stop the madness. Yes baseball is back in Washington DC. I got the memo. The flier. The umpteen million articles in the papers. The never ending babble on the radio. The forever coverage on the TV. I'm surprised I haven't seen the f&*king Good Year blimp over the District. So it's been 34 years since baseball was in DC. You'd think it was 34 years since they'd gotten laid or something.

Okay, maybe I'm over-reacting a bit. I am sort of excited and have some tickets to some of the games. Now if I only had a date. . . .

Another "Take Me Out" is a play about a baseball player who comes out of the closet. Saw it in NYC and it was awesome. It's coming here this summer and I'm trying to organize a group to go during Pride week. We'll see.

So I wrote a huge fricken check to DC for taxes. $3500 I owed for the privilege of living in the District. Hell, even Jeff Gannon doesn't charge that much.

"Fat is the New Black"

Atleast according to Joe.My.God (http://joemygod.blogspot.com/).

So it figures that I actually lost 3 pounds this past week. So yes the obsessive compulsive exercising and dieting is working. Though I will admit that in a moment of weakness today I had two, yes two, sugary sweet full strength Cokes. It was like the elixier of life. Sugar and caffeine, who needs drugs when you've got friends like that to help you through the day.

Joe (and some of the other bloggers from NYC) seem to be bears. And I wonder why I'm attracted to them. I do go to Blow Off this weekend. It's this little basement bar underneath the 930 Club where the former leader of the Husker Du spins really cool indie music to a collection of bears. And while bears have a reputation for being friendly, I was pretty much ignored. I think I'm too thin to be a bear. Plus I have no facial hair. I'm too cute to be a bear. To old to be a twink. To fat to be a gym bunny. I am an island in the gay community. Oh well.

Best blog surfing today was to: http://www.atwoodkansas.com/ Such a great open letter to his community letting them know how their ignorance and bigotry is impacting him. Plus, hello hottie!!

Define "Normal"

From dictionary.com: "Conforming with, adhering to, or constituting a norm, standard, pattern, level, or type; typical".

Yeah, that's not me. In any way.

I've been reading a lot of blogs recently, and it's interesting to glimpse into the lives of these various people around the US. And at times I like to think of them as parallal lives that might have happened to me.

Say I didn't go to the Naval Academy. Say I went to Johns Hopkins instead. Would I have come out earlier? Without the discipline and structure of the Naval Academy, would I have gotten into the drug scene, would I have been safe, would I be like one of the people who's blog I read about?

It's all kind of interesting. And I don't know. I'm not sure what normal means anymore, and I'm not sure I care.

Aren't I just supposed to be the person I'm meant to be? And shouldn't I have found out who that person is by now?

My Life As A Diet Coke Addict

That's going to be the title for my autobiography. Kind of catchy isn't it?

Day 3 of the diet and so far, okay. I miss my sugary sweet and oh so refreshing full strength Coke and am slowly coming to terms with the little bitter after taste of Diet Coke. What's sad is that now I think of my Diet Cokes as little snacks during the day. And I try to space them out. One in the AM, and one in the PM. In between it's water.

Everyone loves my water bottle. On the cruise they had these cool blue, funky shaped water bottles. And since I knew I was going to be deydrated on the plane home, I took one with me. So now I carry it around everywhere I go. Everyone jokes saying, "Okay Trey, what's really in the bottle."

"Vodka's not just a morning drink anymore." - Karen from Will and Grace.

Trip to Boston tomorrow. So no morning gym. Will need to be careful with the diet tomorrow.

Oh The Places You'll Go

Found this cool site while blog surfing that lets you create a map of where you've been in the world. So here is mine:



create your own visited country map

Is there a 12 step program for travel addicts?

Maximum Density

Yep, I got on the scale this AM and it's official. I'm huge. And not in a good way. So it's time to work the diet again. Working out isn't a problem. My other personality (okay one of them) is Captain Cardio. I have yet to meet a peice of cardio equipment I haven't like. Well, maybe that crappy mountain climber thing. And it's not just cardio equipment, I like to run some also. But my diet is for crap. So I'm going to keep a food journal and try to be good. See if I can find some way to deal with the stress at work that doesn't involve chocolate.

In addition, I now have my own peronal body nazi, I mean trainer. I started that last week and let me tell you it's kicking my ass. And in a good way. I do 30 minutes of cardio before we meet and then we do this vicious circuit training that is just insane. When I leave the gym, I have to walk slowly and concentrate on not throwing up. It's that harsh.

Anyways, so I'm committed and I'm going to lose weight and I'll sort of document my progress here. But I'm not going to mention my real weight in case anyone is actually reading this blog. Just how much I've lost (or gained).

Another trip to Charleston

Yesterday the flight to Charleston was late due to the weather. Driving, pounding rain, with some lightening thrown in for good measure, meant we were two hours late leaving. So we're too late to check in for the conference, so we go to our Quality Suites Inn. It wasn't quality, and it wasn't sweet. This is what I get when I let my architect chose the hotel. He has two requirements, near the airport and high speed internet. I agree with high speed internet, but the hotels in downtown Charleston are SO much nicer. They are definitely worth the drive. Dinner at Coast (my favorite restaurant) and then back to the hotel to crash. Get up early, go to the conference. More of the same sh&t. No internet access and I'm wigging about all of the stuff I'm missing. Then since we're trying to reduce our "footprint", I get to go back home after the first day. My architect drops me off at the airport where there is never a line so I've got some time to kill. I didn't bring anything to read, so I check out the Newstand/store thing. Now all of the adult magazines have these little black cardboard covers so you can't see the cover page. That's fair, this is the South, the bible belt and they need to cover up the 8 or 9 straight porn magazines. But then I also notice they care using these covers to block Maxim, Blender, and GQ. GQ??? Are they afraid of good taste?

Some googlisms for today:

trey is single and loves beeeerrrrrr
trey is caring and fiercely loyal
trey is a dick
trey is an evil man
trey is beautiful
trey is sex on legs
trey is thinking of quitting to return to school because the stress from the job is getting to him

As for the last one, not so much school, but maybe something else.

Why We Dance

“Maybe you go out because you’re sick of your life
Or you want to get drunk or you want to get laid;
Or maybe you want to be something that you’re not at the moment
But that you could be if you’d just meet the right person and they’d give you a chance.

Or maybe you can get to that rare place where you’re invited in,
You’re made to feel comfortable
Where you see people you don’t have to be sorry for or intimidated by
And where you are allowed to dance-
Alone,
With a partner of the same sex,
With a partner of the opposite sex,
With a group,
With a stranger,
With a group of strangers,
Until it doesn’t matter anymore where you are on the ladder of success,
Or why you have to get up so early in the morning, or not get up at all.

The music’s beating loud and hard
And your heart’s beating loud and hard
And you feel anxious for a minute, but then you relax and you’re someplace else,
Where the sound of the music is soaking your clothes
And the heat is assaulting your eardrums
And pounding a sharp stake through the top of your head to your feet
Through your shoulders, your arms, your hands, your chest, your stomach,
Your hips, your butt, your thighs, your knees

None of these people look familiar
And you can’t remember their faces from one minute to the next
But they’re all doing it,
Whatever it is that’s turning this room into a pulsing, headless, machine
A frenzied muscle of Tantric libido that goes on and on and keeps going on.

There is no rhythm nation here, no love shack, no funky music white boy,
No burning down the house, no all she wants to do is dance

There’s just a groove in the dance floor
and it’s getting deeper,
and it’s smoking,
and it feels like soon it’ll burn. "

-from an 1980's GQ article. This is why we dance.

At Sea and then back to Reality (or atleast my twisted version of it)

The last real day of the cruise passed to quickly. I got up, had breakfast, and then promptly claimed my lounge chair on the pool deck. It was another hard day of sun bathing by the pool, sipping the frozen margaritas, and watching the hot men wander by. As I lay there, contemplating life and trying not to drool over the hottie next to me (married, natch!), I realize that a gay cruise is kind of like going to Ptown. So the town/ship is full of gay men. Okay there are some straights/lesbians, but it’s mainly men. You spend the day at the beach/pool deck and watch all of the hotties. If you want to sun bath au naturale, you walk to the far end of the beach/up to the 12^th deck. There are tea dances (not every day on the ship though). And dancing at night. In between you go to eat and then maybe catch a show. So the cruise is just like a floating Ptown. And to drive home the point, one of the guest performers they brought on board was Miss Richfield, 1981. http://www.missrichfield.com/ Miss Richfield is a pretty famous drag queen who does shows in Ptown over the summer. I’ve never had a chance to catch her show in Ptown, but I did see it on the ship and it was very cool. The theme for her show was Holy Matrimony and one of the things she did was ask all of the couple to stand up in the crowd and then told them to sit down if they had only been together 5 years, 10 years, 15 years, and then 20 years. At this point, there were easily a dozen couples still standing. One of the couples had been together for 26 years, and they had finally gotten married last year. It was really touching. After her show, they had a lesbian comedienne do her show, Shann Carr. OMG, so funny. And only a lesbian can slam gay men like she did. It was hilarioius. After her show it was time for the last dance. I went but the music wasn’t that good and the whole thing was kind of strange. There were lots of guys in desperation mode. They hadn’t managed to hook up all week and they were just crazy. In the solarium area, there were several guys who had shed their bathing suits and were frolicking in the pool. Or maybe another word that starts with f. I ended up going to say goodbye to Joe and Tom and then I called it an early evening.

Leaving the ship wasn’t the haze I thought it was going to be. My bags had been picked up the night before, so I only had my backpack. I ate a very light breakfast and then it was time for me to leave the ship. I had arranged a transfer, so that gives you priority to leave the ship earlier than most. Going through customs and immigration was a breeze. After that I walked into a huge cavern where I finally found my luggage. Then it was off to the airport only to arrive a mere 5 hours early. Someone just shoot me. Again, that airport is just a mess. There’s no food once you go through security. So I actually had to go back out to get some lunch. The flight left on time and I was already out of vacation mode. Thinking about getting back to DC, laundry, checking work email, oh the madness of it all.

Am I going to do another cruise? Are you kidding me? Hell yes. I signed up for the cruise next January, but may see if I can swing the cruise to Mexico out of San Diego in October. We’ll have to see how that pesky job things pans out.

Okay, last pic from the cruise. These two brazilian boys were out every night in different costumes that somehow exposed the maximum amount of skin. HOT! HOT! HOT! Oh, and they are huge. Like RedBull huge. ; )

Hot Brazilian Boys

More boys dancing.

Day at Sea and Aruba

Do you ever associate a smell with a thought, or a feeling? Close your eyes and think of that sun tan oil smell. What do you think of? Is it firm, tan skin, hot muscled bodies, lying in the sun, the rays turning their already brown bodies into that beautiful gold color? Keep your eyes closed. Now think of that smell and of those beautiful muscled men all around you. Nice isn’t it.

So I get up relatively early (damn that internal body clock) and go to the gym. It’s only half packed, and I get some good cardio in and little bit of lifting. Then I’m up on the pool deck by 10 AM. I manage to snag a good chair and I rub the SPF 15 oil into my body. I’m definitely into the oil these days. It’s just so much sexier than regular lotion. The worst part of the oil? Asking the big hunk next to me: “Would you mind putting some of this on my back?” And then feeling his big strong hands work the oil into my skin. It doesn’t suck.

My day is spent reading my book, checking out the hotties, jumping into the pool to cool off, checking out the hotties, hydrating myself with frozen margaritas, checking out the hotties, talking with some folks, and pretty much just checking out the hotties. Okay, so that’s not really true. I didn’t really read my book that much. Malcom, the cruise director, leads the pool games. They are fun to watch and very funny. Tom and Joe stop by and help me put some oil on my back. They invite me to watch sunset from their cabin after the T-dance. After 5 hours of some hard sun bathing, I’m starting to get tired. You know it is really stressful to lay out that long. So I go back to my cabin for my disco nap. Thankfully my cabin is on the 2^nd deck, so I don’t hear the Classic Disco T-dance. Classic disco just really isn’t my thing. I know, bad gay man, bad. But it’s the truth. But apparently it was a huge success and lots of people had brought costumes to include multi-colored afros, etc. Hello, how many suitcases did you bring? I hook up with Tom and Joe after the dance had ended, but unfortunately the sunset is on the other side of the ship. But we manage to find something else to do. Then it’s time for dinner and then a show. The special mystery guest that came onboard in Grenada is Deborah Gibson. Yes, she goes by Deborah now that she’s a serious singer. Yeah, whatever. She looks good and she certainly knows how to work the crowd. The first half of her show is all Broadway stuff. She’s been in a couple of Broadway play and has an album out of Broadway songs. Yawn. Then she goes into her old pop stuff and you know what? I just wasn’t feeling it. It’s like it had gone stale. Which is what most pop stuff does eventually, but half the crowd was up and singing along to “Only in my Dreams.” Yeah, not so much. After the show, I wandered around a bit until it was time for the next dance at 11PM. DJ Tony Moran again and he was awesome. I think I made it till 230AM, not bad for someone running only on Redbull.

By the time I wake up, we are pier side in Aruba. I’ve got another excursion planned, so I quickly grab breakfast and then head down to the pier. I’m on a catamaran & snorkeling trip today. The catamaran is docked close to the pier so it’s a short walk to the boat, we set sail, and then the rum drinks are flowing. The shoreline is pretty as we head out to our first snorkeling stop. I love snorkeling, but I hate the aweful inflatable vests you *have* to wear. The florescent yellow is clashing with my blond highlights!! We anchor off the first spot where the water is no more than 20 feet deep. We enter the water, which is fairly warm, and explore the coral reef there. We get some bread as we enter the water and the fish just swarm around us. It really is fascinating. I swim into a huge school of minnows that just clear a space for me and then keep going. Kind of cool. I’m almost the last one back on the boat and then we move about another 200 yards off shore where the sea floor has dropped to probably 50 or 60 feet but where an old WWII German freighter is lying. Apparently it was forced to leave Aruba without sufficient fuel and ended up running aground and sinking just off the coast. A small part of the wreck is actually above the water, but the rest is just under it. The current is very strong and only strong swimmers are encouraged to go swim. The wreck is amazing and the ship has actually broken into two pieces. There are several holes in the wreck and I stupidly try to swim into one. Not a good idea and I end up scraping the hell out of my leg. It’s bleeding and the sea water stings. Well that’s what I get for being stupid. But still the wreck was amazing. After we get onboard, and have some more rum drinks, we head to one of the beach area to eat lunch and hang out. Lunch is okay, and then (again stupidly) I decided to go parasailing. I’ve done it before, it’s fun, no big deal. They take me out to the boat and I get hooked up in the sling (and no, not that type of sling). Then the one guy sort of tosses the parachute into the air and *whew* it gets caught by the wind and fully opens. They basically just let the line out and up I go. The view is amazing and the wind is so strong the boat just sits there and lets out the line. As I bounce up into the air, I get higher and higher, and the wind is strong. I can see a sea turtle below me and all of the different colors of water below me. It’s pretty even as I get tossed around up there. I can see the ship in the distance as the wind gusts and I move higher. And then it dawns on me. You know, the wind is REALLY strong here. And I’m up really high. And I shouldn’t have had the greasy ribs for lunch on top of about 3 rum drinks. So know I’m thinking, you know, if the ride ends early, I won’t be overly upset. I do manage to enjoy the ride and make it down safely without hurling. But it was kind of close a couple of times. Once the catamaran docked, I headed into town to do some shopping. I bought some cologne and then a pair of white shorts for the White Party. Then its time for the disco nap and then dinner.

At 10PM, there is a special show. At the forward end of the ship, there is a really cool bar called “The Bar at the Edge of the Earth”. It has windows all around it and at night it’s really cool. It’s also kind of special since Cirque Du Soleil does a lounge show there. Tonight, they are doing a special show called, “The Edge of White.” So I go there and it really is a phenomenal show. It’s not like their circus stuff, it’s more personal and interactive. Lots of music and light interaction and holograms and projected imagery. They have performers in costumes who do different things. Towards the end of the performance, the performers shed their costumes and you get to see their bodies. Umm, hello twinkville. There was only one who was a hottie. Oh well. Then it was time for the real White Party. The White Party was fun, and crowded, and lots of people had costumes (apparently it’s a serious fashion mistake to *just* wear white underwear to the white party, okay good to know). So I was looking okay in my white shorts I had bought. The problem with the White Party is that it really is techno driven to appeal to those who might have used some “manufactured joy” for the evening. So after awhile I head up to the 12^th deck to “look at the stars.” The 12^th deck is above the bar at the edge of the earth and is where the “topless” sun bathing happens on a straight cruise. Apparently on a gay cruise it’s where the nude sun bathing happens. And at night, there are any hardly lights up there so you can see the stars better. And on a gay cruise, at night it’s called the Dick Deck. I did a quick tour of the scene and then headed back to my room. However, I did later hear that several of the Greek ships officers (Oh my gawd what hotties) wandered up to the 12^th deck and received some “special attention.” So apparently some of the crew *really* love the gay cruises.

On the catamaran just off Aruba.

The Tropical Heat Party