I woke up with my face pressed against a bag of sheets on the floor of a small room that contained only two single beds, a bathroom no bigger than that which you’d see on an airplane, and two of my female coworkers in their beds above me. My last memories from the night before being in a theatre on our cruise ship with electronic dance music blasting from the stage, internet sensation Lil Dicky hanging out two people down from us, and me frantically searching for my key while my coworkers and some random Indian girl in a plush alligator costume dance in front of me.
I had no other choice but to pick myself up, knock on the door of my room where Dillon was fast asleep, and go into our bathroom to wash the fluorescent paint off my arms that only existed there due to my time dancing in a psychedelic igloo before the main concert began.
“Where’d you come from?” Dillon asked as I took off my shirt and fell face first into my bed.
Barely able to speak, I told him, “You passed out and couldn’t hear me knocking on the door last night,” before we both slept until 11:30 a.m. — something neither of us have done since college.
The Inception At Sea Cruise started innocently. After we made our way on the boat and ate at the all-you-can-eat burger bar buffet on the top floor of the ship, we took Miami Vices in both hands to a porch to do some people watching. To my left was Brody Jenner with two of his friends, and to my right were men with blonde hair wearing “GAY AS FUCK” tank tops.
As we set sail from Miami and the sun went down, we decided to scrounge around the boat for the best place to eat. We had yet to get fresh and were still wearing our pool clothes from earlier that day. As we approached what appeared to be a five-star restaurant, they told us, “Don’t worry about what you’re wearing, you can eat here.” The place was empty which prompted us to think it was either too expensive, or flat-out terrible.
On both accounts, we were completely wrong. The restaurant soon became our meeting spot and stomping grounds for the next three nights of dinners where we enjoyed all-you-can-eat steaks, appetizers, desserts, and bottles of wine. It was included in our trip, which meant they most definitely lost money on us when it was all said and done.
After dinner, our contact at Student City suggested we go to the balcony for the Tyga show which was to start at 12:30. As many rappers do, Tyga went on two hours late. Normally, this would be infuriating. But when you’re on an 11-story boat packed with bars, a casino, and live music under the stars, it’s pretty damn hard to complain about when the fuck Tyga goes on. When he finally hit the stage, I was in awe. The only reason I looked away was to check out TFM’s Dan Regester grinding on a girl next to me, and to make sure TFM’s Boosh was still alive in the crowd.
Unfortunately, Dan’s girl had a boyfriend. But at least Boosh didn’t die.
“Should we hit the hay?” Dillon asked.
I confirmed that it would be a good idea for us to go to bed as we had a long day ahead of us.
An iMessage came through on my phone through the ship’s wifi.
“Meet on the upper deck at 11 for drinks and brunch.”
As we made our way up, we spotted TSM’s Rachel Page wearing a captain’s hat while sitting at an long table that would fit every employee we took on the trip. Hungover bodies filed in and began shampooing in cocktails before catching the ferry to head to the private island owned by Norwegian Cruise Line where the day’s concerts would take place.
When we arrived on the island after a brief ferry ride, we kicked the shoes off and immediately dipped our toes in the water before Lil Dicky went on. Standing knee deep in the water next to a tanned and toned Dillon wasn’t exactly the best look for me, so I suggested we put our shirts on and hit the bar.
Somewhere in between Lil Dicky’s set where he fed the crowd a steady mix of jokes and bangers, things started to get a bit hazy while I put my media badge on to go backstage. In a move that probably saved me from giving one of the most bumbly interviews of all-time, Lil Dicky preferred to relax backstage as opposed to talk to media. This was literally his only time on the trip not being the chillest dude on the ship, as he was often seen among the people pounding drinks and taking photos with every girl (and guy) in sight.
After two drunk run-ins with The Chainsmokers after their set, I set to the high seas back to the ship with all the writers. In a ferry ride that saw Rachel Page asleep on Dillon’s shoulder and me almost losing my sunglasses off the side, we reached our favorite destination — the upscale restaurant from the night before.
While the pinot poured like wine, I heard Dillon ask the waiter, “Can I get two entrees?” After she confirmed that he could indeed get two entrees, he looked at me with smile on his face that could make the darkest of seas look like smooth sailing. This smile was soon covered by the dab of all dabs which became the trademark of the trip in addition ordering two entrees, something that Dillon and Dan did from that point on.
Glass by glass, our waitress asked if I’d like a refill on my wine. And glass by glass, I gestured, “Yes, bring it on,” before my eyes became the glazed over version of themselves. I could tell you I remember leaving dinner, but that would be a lie. I could tell you how I found myself in a psychedelic blow-up bar igloo with Dillon covered fluorescent paint, but that would be a lie.
I could tell you I remember how I got to the theatre and hung out with Lil Dicky, but that would be a lie. I could tell you I remember who performed, but that would be a lie. I could tell you how I lost my key and was forced to sleep on a bag of sheets, but that would be a lie.
When Dillon and I finally woke up from our hungover slumber, we were faced with two of the most daunting tasks we had all weekend — get brunch, and find a way to get a replacement key so I could get back on the island for a second day of relaxation. Fortunately, the omelette station had no line and the front desk took all of thirty seconds to replace my key with a smile.
We arrived on the island only to be welcomed by the girls who had staked out a prime spot on the beach right next to a secluded bar where you could find Lil Dicky drinking all the daiquiris they’d serve. This was when Chill deBreeze could finally spread his wings, chill the most, and do what he does best — take sick Instagram photos and take down mass quantities of Miami Vices.
Was it the best idea to hop back on the bandwagon with wine that had treated me so poorly the night before? Honestly, probably not. But vacations don’t have two things — time or hangovers. I’m not just going to sit on a beach sipping water and not drinking out of a straw with an umbrella attached to it. That’s not the life I’m trying to live.
I couldn’t tell you what acts performed on the beach that day, and I couldn’t tell you what time we left. All I knew was that when we left that island with the past two days lingering in my head, one thought ran through my mind — we came, we saw, we chilled.
Much as the last night of vacations go, I encountered everything with a familiar Sunday Scaries sadness. Our 6:30 dinner where we still somehow managed to drink all the pinot and order double entrees. Our post-dinner drinks in a now-empty psychedelic igloo. And our “Go to bed! Go to bed! Go to bed!” chant that echoed through the halls as we entered our rooms for our final night of slumber.
When I woke up on Monday morning in Miami with full cell phone service for the first time in days, Dillon shamed me into showering for only the second time that trip. I probably still had paint on me, sand in my hair, and smelled like sunburned skin. And honestly, I’d be fine with that because it puts out the airport vibe that your boy was chillin’. But the collective hangover from the past three days took away my willpower to put up a fight.
And as we sat at the airport waiting for our nachos and rounds of waters, I turned to our table and mumbled, “I can’t believe I just put myself through a fucking EDM cruise.”
But I can’t wait to do it again next year. .