Perpetual Motion: Day 1

This is a six-part series about my time aboard CrimeWave at Sea 2025. If you want to join us on CrimeWave at Sea 2027, book your cabin now at crimewaveatsea.com/sinister or use SINISTER at checkout.

ALL ABOARD

Monday, November 3, 2025 – 10:15 AM – Hotel, Fort Lauderdale, Florida

It feels sort of weird and insane to be going on a cruise when the government is kinda shutting down. It feels crazy to get on a ship and sail away from land at all, regardless of the circumstance. Used to, you’d take a ship to get to a place. We are going to a place, I suppose, Nassau, but mostly we are there for the cruising. The feeling is all very 1970s to me and I can’t even explain what I mean.

My parents went on a cruise in June 1979. At that time, the headlines read CONSERVE GAS FOR THE SHORTAGE; JOHN WAYNE GACY CONVICTED; SADDAM HUSSEIN TAKES POWER IN IRAQ. The Cold War was raging. An oil well in the Gulf of Mexico blew out and became one of the largest oil spills in history, lasting ten months.

Bad shit abounded. It feels like we have more news now; or worse news. I guess it’s just different news. It does get shot at us more nowadays. Rather than three channels and a handful of anchors, we now have screaming voices from every corner of every device, each louder than the next in an ever-heightening competition for our eyeballs and ear holes. It certainly feels worse and different now to us, chiefly because it is happening now to us. That was then happening to them.

Maggie Smith’s poem “Good Bones” comes to mind.

The world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative

estimate, though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake.

For every sunrise on a cruise, there is a sunrise on the worst day of someone’s life. Having had a couple of worst days of my own life, I can say with confidence that, during that sunrise on the worst day of someone’s life, comes with it an automatic prayer for another, different sunrise, one in more pleasant circumstances. Like on a cruise.

This morning on the toilet, I had the first “oh god I want to go home” feeling. I am in Florida, admittedly, so maybe that’s why I felt that way. Maybe my feelings will change once I am aboard the ship. It wasn’t a feeling of dread so much as the call of missing my daily routine. I do the same things daily and weekly, in a certain way, place, and at a certain time. Deviating is not catastrophic, though it can be distressing. But working with my therapist (shout out to Nikki, I would be in therapy right now if I were in Texas), I have learned that my routine can go on in part, even if I am not at home.

I can still have my writing time outside. Rather than my backyard, it is the quiet second-floor pool at this lovely hotel in Ft. Lauderdale. Pages done, I headed inside. On my way, I saw little brown lizards with curly-q tails, as abundant as squirrels in Dallas.

Sitting in the lobby with coffee and my notebook, I was greeted by Ed Larson from Last Podcast Side Stories and his lovely wife, Julie. They set up shop at the table beside me as he recounted the standup shows he’d done the night before. Ed’s co-host, Henry Zebrowski and his lovely wife, Natalie, appeared in short order, as we all gathered in the lobby with the other creators and staff.

We moved over to the hotel restaurant for an intro lunch. At our table, the Sinisterhood quartet was bookended with the Last Podcast crew to one side, and Richard MacClean of Unexplained on the other. Beside him was Dan and Lynze Cummins of Scared to Death, with the rest of the creators filling in the table down the way.

Richard is incredibly fascinating. He’s from the U.K. and knows about all the same weirdo stuff we do – conspiracy cases, American politics, etc. Talking with him made lunch fly by. It was like we’d always been friends.

After ordering, we were not prepared for the older gentleman in a referee shirt who delivered our plates. He learned that we were there for a true crime event and proceeded to share his JonBenét Ramsey theories with us as we dug into our grilled fish and Caesar salads. We sat in stunned silence as he laid out his theory. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be the one to solve it.

After lunch, we gathered with our bags and waited to load into our bus. We got to talking with Dan and Lynze from Scared to Death. Again, instant friends. You can just talk with them right away, no pretenses. Lynze complimented my Margaritaville Crocs, and we got to talking about subcultures – Parrotheads, Juggalos, etc. I only briefly got to say hi to everyone else as we loaded into the bus.

In the parking lot, I discovered the shot glass jibbit from my Crocs was gone. Paris ran back inside and rescued it from beneath a table. He had been in line before me, but this side quest made him the last one on the bust. Jibbit rescued, the doors shut as we set off for Port Everglades. I felt my stomach tighten.

The cruise ships were visible far in the distance as we approached the port entrance, leading to the terminal where we’d board. The smokestacks were already belching smoke, or like, engine air? Idk? It’s not a steam ship like in Mark Twain’s days.

Speaking of, I about couldn’t think of anything else besides a quote attributed variously to him or Samuel Johnson, one of whom said, “No man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself into jail, for being in a ship is being in jail with the chance of being drowned.” Let’s put that to the test this week.

The twisting curve of faded waterslides topped one ship. A golden Mickey Mouse figurehead peered down from another’s bow. Yes, they are traditional nautical colors, but also that Disney ship was decidedly Titanician in its color scheme and overall design. It’s longer than Titanic, much wider, with multiple times the internal volume, and it carries 2,000+ more people, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t look like a replica. If only the critics back then who thought the “modern” liners were too big could see these monsters, complete with a golden anthropomorphic captain mouse figurehead.

“These boats are too big,” I said out loud to no one in particular.

I spotted our ship and counted the lifeboats. Most cruises go well, sure, but also my mother-in-law was on the literal poop cruise, the one of Netflix documentary fame, so I know for a fact shit happens.

The Royal Caribbean app demanded that, before boarding, we submit to a safety briefing via video and promise to go scan in at our “muster stations” once we board. Christie and I keep saying, “Musterrrrrrr” in the same tone that the producer DJ Mustard announces himself at the beginning of the hit song “Not Like Us.” The app encouraged us that, in case of an emergency, we grab glasses, medication, and IDs before leaving our rooms to muster (MUSTERRRR!).

“So we basically have to have a go bag?” Christie asked.

We boarded in the late afternoon. The terminal was nearly empty when the coach bus full of creators arrived. We de-bussed and went through a dressed down version of TSA security before getting our SeaPass from the desk. The SeaPass is a small plastic card that operates as a digital credit card + room key + ID.

Everyone behind the counter was friendly, so the physical check-in wasn’t too bad, but it caused an extra step. I def recommend the phone check-in and will do that next time.

Once aboard, we had to find our muster stations. When I asked the young British girl who scanned my SeaPass™️ whether I was at my MUSTERRRRR station she did not react in a way that indicated she knew why I was saying the word that way. Probably because I said it too quiet and she was British, not because it wasn’t funny.

We headed to our rooms on deck nine. Christie and Tommy were just down the hall, right under the hot tub that juts out over the water. We are further down ship right by the “library” I was so excited about. It was more than a walkway, but just barely. They had a selection of books on the shelves, mostly thrillers and some crime and detective novels. There was popular commercial fiction with a sprinkling of memoir and nonfiction.

It wasn’t hard to find our room. The door was covered in birthday magnets, which was a nice surprise. I didn’t tell them we were celebrating my birthday. I think they just saw it was six days before we boarded and decided to hang banners over the bed and leave a chocolate cake out for us.

Like I said, I’d seen our room online via one of those CruiseRoom sites. It linked me to a video of a guy and two girls who were staying in the room. The video was not in English, and I was not sure of their relationship. It’s helpful to see the cabin in advance but also eerie to watch videos of people in the very space you’re occupying, imagining what they did and to whom and on which surface.

Upon entry, the bathroom was to the left, much bigger than I envisioned. The closet was to the right, nearly the size of another small room. It fit all my bags and allowed me to keep the living area clear of my stuff. After that was the main part of the room. A large bed to the left and a large mirror and vanity/desk across on the right. Past the bed was a small sofa and chair, and beyond that, the glass door to the balcony.

After dropping our bags, Paris and I met Christie and Tommy up on Deck 11 to watch the launch. At a bar called Squeeze, eager bartenders asked if we needed our medication. This, I gathered, was not the type of medication we were supposed to stash in our go-bags, but instead referred to the mixed drinks they were slinging. We ordered a piña colada for me and a strawberry daiquiri for Christie, made by a guy in a skin-tight white crew shirt whose buttons were working as hard as all four bartenders back there combined.

One deck up on 12, we stood and watched the ship push off from the dock. It pitched hard to starboard and sailed out of the port into the Atlantic. Down below on the water’s surface, the high winds were yanking a wind surfer up into the sky and dropping him back down again.

My hair stood up in fingers, stretching straight up from my scalp like Medusa.

“I look like a Who,” Christie said, her vertical hair looking Seussian.

There were far too many people already walking with no shoes on the decks for us to be so near solid land.

“For $1000, you could not convince me to walk around barefoot,” Christie said.

I saw a woman with a right-side-up pineapple tattooed on her leg. Multiple people had warned that the upside-down pineapple meant you’re a swinger. I wonder if anyone warned her? Only way she’d find out would be if her leg was in the air, and by then I think whoever’s close by already knows who the swinger is.

Soon, the shore was little more than a thin line on the horizon, so we decided to explore.

We wandered through the arcade where we ran into a listener from Allentown, PA named Danielle and her mom, Stephanie. Danielle gave us some stickers featuring her art. I stuck one on my water bottle. I love it. The best part of CrimeWave may just be the random meetings like these.

Back outside at the Solarium bar, as I ordered another drink, a woman recognized my voice. She was Emily, a listener there for Last Podcast. She kindly complimented the show and told me she had been listening to us in advance of the cruise.

Standing there waiting for my drink, I said hello an older guy sitting right beside me at the bar. Probably in his late 60s, he told me he had won this trip in the casino on a prior cruise. His wife didn’t want to go, so this guy brought his buddy along, gesturing to another older guy seated beside him drinking a Budweiser, my dad’s favorite beer. I explained how we were there for a true crime festival.

“I heard about that,” he said. Since it was my first cruise and he was a veteran, I asked what I should be doing.

“Just relax,” he said. “And have a good time.”

Before I left, I introduced myself and asked his name.

“Phil,” he said. My heart jumped.

Drinks in hand, I rejoined Christie, Tommy, and Paris, as I tried catching myself. There are times when I miss my dad, whose name is Phil and who died in 2017, so bad that it is blinding. Other times, most of the time, I feel like a part of him is buzzing around me, smiling at my jokes, sending ridiculous things for me to laugh at, or moving events ever so gently in my favor. In the rarest of times, his presence feels undeniable, like a big cosmic hug.

One of the things I love the most about my best friend Christie Wallace is I don’t have to explain something like that to her. She and the husbands had been a few feet away when I was chatting with the man. When I rejoined them, I described our encounter and his advice then gulped.

“He said his name was Phil,” I finished.

Both our eyes welled up, and she reached out to hug me.

TRANSMISSIONS TO LAND

Monday, 8:49 PM, Balcony

Here are excerpts of real text messages I sent to my group chat of high school buddies back in the States with no context:

Hey so the ocean’s too big.

What in the James Cameron is this?

Scale-wise, we upon land are nothing

No motion sickness; just existential dread.

The waves crash against the side, ready to swallow us whole.

WE’RE NOT CRUSING WITH THEM…

Tonight was the inaugural CrimeWave at Sea opening ceremony with all the creators on the pool deck. All 500+ Crime Wave attendees filled in around the small bridge that arched over the eleventh deck pool.

Waiting for it to begin, we met two listeners from Reno named Alana and Anna. Alana is an incredible silversmith. Any kind of smithing is bad ass, but silver makes me believe she has some Van Helsing-ish abilities. If we ever need bullets to defeat a werewolf, we’re calling Wolfsbane Silver, Alana’s company. She handed us small black mesh bags each with a little box inside. Later, back in our cabins, we were delighted to open them, finding inside small sterling silver ghost charms with our zodiac signs – Capricorn for Christie and Scorpio for me – engraved beautifully on the back.

Waiting for the shindig to begin, we also chatted with our listener, Jenna, one of many who came with their moms. Jenna is the engineer who was kind enough to use her know-how to settle the on/off door conundrum that we’ve previously discussed on the show. If a door is open, is it on or off? Listen to Freaky Friday 146 to hear Jenna’s take and find out.

Austin, a photographer and Scared to Death fan, came over and introduced himself. He found us through the cruise and had such lovely things to say about his journey through the show. He’d put up a rave baby in his cabin window, he told us. His room overlooked the Promenade, a stretch of restaurants and retail that span the length of the fifth deck. I promised to keep an eye out for the rave baby just as we were getting called to the DJ booth to be introduced.

The emcee was Robert, and he ran the show with high energy in his red sequin sport coat. He called the creators up, show by show, to answer some questions and say hi to the crowd. When it was our turn, questions about Sinisterhood included, “In an emergency, which of you is likely to freak out and who is staying calm?” Christie said Tommy would stay calm before realizing Robert meant cover-of-the-podcast definition of Sinisterhood (just Christie and me); she was thinking holistically (us + husbands).

When asked which case I would like all the answers on, I said I would like to be proven right about the CIA killing JFK, to cheers from the crowd. My kind of cruise.

Dan and Lynze from Scared to Death greeted their adoring masses from the platform, then finally, Henry and Ed from Last Podcast mounted the bridge. They answered questions, then, before the DJ began, Henry began the first half of a refrain he’d been repeating since agreeing to do the cruise.

He began: “We’re not cruising with them…” as hundreds of boisterous true crime fans screamed in response, “…they’re cruising with us!” We ended the intros with the boys leading all 500+ of us in a triple chant of HAIL SATAN.

Incredible.

BOTTOMS UP

Afterward, the Sinisterhood quartet adjourned to the fifth deck Promenade to refill our Royal Caribbean RFID cups™️. We were graciously provided with a soft drink package courtesy of IRL (thank you, we love you). Neither Tommy nor Paris drink alcohol, and Christie and I barely made a dent in anything other than a few strawberry daiquiris and piña coladas. Plus, my human stomach can really only take 1-2 of those slushy bad boys per day, max. With a RC alcohol package, so long as you’re not visibly intoxicated, you can drink unlimited drinks. I am a get-your-money’s-worth kind of gal, so I take the word “unlimited” as a personal challenge. I didn’t need that kind of personal challenge for myself on a work trip.

We may not drink alcohol, but we do, however, guzzle diet soda. Christie and Tommy are Diet Coke heads. I’ll suck those back with the best of them, but my one true love, the one who, along with the Goose got me through law school, is Diet Dr Pepper. I also like Dr Pepper Zero Sugar. I’m a Texan. I can’t get enough DP. DP me until I die.

I said what I said.

You receive an RC-brand reusable plastic soda cup upon first asking for a soda and presenting your Soda Package-bearing SeaPass™️. Hidden within the bottom of each cup are RFID chips. RFID stands for Radio Frequency IDentification. ValidFill, the company that makes these cups, explains on their site: “RFID tags are built into each refillable mug to store information that allows the drink dispenser to read the value of each mug prior to dispensing a beverage.”

In order for the Coca-Cola Freestyle machines aboard LOTS to function, I had to align my cup’s chip perfectly upon the reader antenna located in a circle aligned beneath the soda dispenser. I tell you all this not to bitch, but merely to inform. My dear friend, Gypsy, recently reminded me of that Mary Oliver quotation: “Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

I may have taken this as a command, for these cups left me astonished.

If you don’t place your cup correctly or if you put a glass cocktail glass or an emptied-out planter or mop bucket underneath, you would not be able to navigate to the eight different types of Minute Maid they have on tap. No chip, no menu options, no drink.

I was very pleased that it was a Freestyle machine because I could dispense my very favorite fountain drink – and one of the rarest – Diet Dr Pepper with Cherry. I can usually only get it at Sonic America’s Drive-In and movie theaters with machines like this.

Coca-Cola has an exclusive deal with ValidFill, a third-party company that developed the RFID-enabled cups. It bills itself as making it possible “to bring a control to your dispensed beverage business and customize a viable prepaid refill program that will generate greater levels of profits, speed of service, guest convenience and profitable sustainability.”

The omission of an Oxford comma makes it sound like guest convenience and profitable sustainability go hand-in-hand. I believe that is a punctuational coincidence and not a statement of value, but anybody from ValidFill is free to correct me.

No shade to the chips, without which I fear we’d be left using those machines with a good old-fashioned push-back lever. Fine for you or me, but dangerous if your average American Homer Simpson-type decides to arch his back, unhinge his jaw, and allow the juices to flow. Thanks to ValidFill^TM, he’d need to detach the bottom of his cup, strap the chip to his head, and get it in there juuuuuust right. Plus, after 20 ounces, he’d be cut off for five minutes.

RC, being a publicly traded company under a fiduciary duty to maximize profitability for its shareholders, of course wants to ensure there is no waste. You’ve gotta have a way to keep kids (or me) from, say, filling an empty planter or popcorn bucket full of soda and either dumping it over the side into the ocean or into the NASA-style suction toilets and wasting one of nine flavors of Vitamin Water.

ValidFill explains in its FAQs, “Each location specifies the wait time required between fills. This wait time is set by each company and can vary, but typically the wait time is 5 minutes.” The five-minute cutoff counts down on a screen until refills are allowed.

RC contracted with Coca-Cola and, through its exclusive license, ValidFill for this whole setup. The partnership was announced back in 2011, so maybe I’m telling you all about something you already knew. This was new to me as a first timer and blew my mind.

Again, I’ll remind you the most recent cruise research I’d ingested was via David Foster Wallace circa 1995.

Cups filled, we turned to meet a trio of listeners – two besties from Minnesota, Erika and Nicole, and a new friend they made, Eva, who had traveled from California. The three had met on the pool deck earlier after one of them made a joke about that week’s impending Beaver Full Moon. We had joked similarly on our own balcony earlier, so you can see why this cruise was such a thrill and delight. We bid them adieu and wandered through the casino one floor down.

…AND IT’S GONE

Hey, quick favor – if you ever see me in a casino, please drag me out of there, unconscious if necessary. Thanks in advance!!

They have chips on the Cokes keeping me from turning my blood to syrup, but no holds on the slot machines. The gals from Housewives of True Crime mentioned in the creator meeting earlier in the night that a family member previously had great luck on a specific slot machine. It was the Huff & Puff, themed like the Big Bad Wolf from the Three Little Pigs. Under the glean of the wolf’s teeth, I slid $20 in the machine. Ten button mashes later, it was gone.

We walked over a few more rows.

You couldn’t get up from one machine without bumping another. We discussed how they were computer-programmed to do exactly what they did – eat up my money and make me desperate to feed it more.

But here’s the thing: like a rat getting zapped for cheese in a lab, yeah, it hurts, but I like the taste! It lights up my brain! My family even owns a functioning slot machine. I could play for free anytime I wanted, but I wanted those machines. Your brain gets trapped and it’s kind of panicky but you like it? I don’t know; I can’t explain it. It’s mesmerizing, and especially dangerous for yours truly whose ADHD makes me real susceptible to dopamine machines. Ask me how often I buy lotto scratchers for fun. Hint: It’s not never.

It was, indeed, wild to peep over folks’ shoulders and see numbers like $4,213 or $16,425 in credits. I don’t know if they put in $5k and $20k respectively and were down, or they put in $2k and $10k and were up. Numbers like those make me more nervous than they thrill my brain, so I’m only ever out $50 or less, which when written, feels just as decadent and wasteful.

Not but three rows later, I slipped a $20 into a machine with the grinning and unassuming face of Casper the Friendly Ghost. Same deal as the wolves. Money in. Ten button mashes. Down to zero.

“I would have had more fun throwing that $20 over the railings outside,” I said.

Speaking of… what is with the urge I keep having to chuck stuff overboard? Some people have described a call to jump in the water. I never had that. I had the call to throw stuff in!!!!!

Why?

I want to see it splash. I understand the consequences, both personal and environmental. I don’t want to throw garbage into the ocean; I want to throw things overboard for the fun of it. It’s like, I don’t want to smash a beautiful vase because I want to destroy the art. It’s just that smashing things is fun and satisfying.

I say these things as if they are universal. Maybe the urge to chuck things overboard reveals something about my personality. Take it as you will, but I maintain we all have some urge when staring at the sea. Yours may vary. Rather than an INFJ or an enneagram number, I want to know your sea urge. Is it to throw? To jump? To push? To explore? To dive?

That first night, more than the sea, I was pulled in by the sirens call of the slots. I confessed as much to the group. We concurred that, like many things – social media, certain food, etc. – the machines are made to be maximally addictive. We know, I know, and yet I find myself called to return.

We passed back through the Promenade where the Decades Show was going on. Eight or so RC employees dressed in brightly colored coordinating shirts and shorts were dancing to Paula Abdul and the Backstreet Boys from a retractable bridge/stage hoisted about two decks in the air above the Promenade.

What happened next is pretty emblematic of our beloved Tommy Brown.

A crowd formed underneath, mostly clapping to the beat. We were trying to get to the other side, but the crowd had split into two, one on either side of the bridge. In the void between them, there jerked a single woman busting a move.

We had headed down for refills. Full cups in hand, Tommy asked whether this promenade area was our final destination. We said no, so he Tommy’ed the crowd, which is to say he navigated the maze of bodies at once quickly, decisively, and with precision.

We call him unflappable, and I’d add to that he’s also unstoppable. He can cut a crowd like a hot knife through butter. And he’s a hot knife when we get to this curve of people cheering the lone dancer. Another component to Tommying a crowd is, while not being overtly rude, disregarding any non-mandatory social rules. In this case, the unspoken guideline being – back up and let her boogie.

Some pause. A few join the circle, clapping out of obligation. Not Tommy. He steps forth with a confidence that spreads out behind him and carries us along like a river surge. A man had been standing, arms crossed along the perimeter, stuck in his own over-politeness. Seeing Tommy’s bravery, he felt emboldened to move along through the crowd with us and make his way out. As is often the case, when we liberate ourselves, we liberate those around us. The woman remained entranced with herself and dancing, barely noticing our crew slithering past.

On the other side of the bridge, we met our listener Victoria, and her mom Belinda. We received their very kind words as the bridge/stage retracted into the ceiling above, swallowing the dancers in mechanical darkness.

Before bed, we wandered down to a bar on deck three where a band played Caribbean music. We ran into Ed and Julie as the band was wrapping. Walking out, we saw a couple at the bar. The woman had the coolest earrings on, shaped like hammerhead sharks. It was our listeners, Tessa and Jeff, who came in from Wyoming.

Back in the room, Paris turned on the TV and flipped to the Royal Caribbean channel, which advertised the week’s coming activities on a loop. A balloon ride at RC’s proprietary island, Perfect Day at Coco Cay, offers the highest vantage point in the Bahamas. A swim in the pool at Coco Cay is the largest freshwater pool in the Caribbean. In the highly competitive cruise industry, one way to attract riders is by being the most of everything. As someone who is frequently the most myself, hard relate.

FROM WITHIN THE MECHANICAL WOMB

Tuesday, November 4, 2025 – 1:26 AM – Bed

I should very much like to be sleeping right now, but I cannot as I am in perpetual motion. DFW talked about this feeling – like you’re riding inside a big mechanical womb.

The rooms are so nice, much larger and wider than I imagined. A huge amenity is the balcony. It’s beautiful to just stand there and watch the water go by, but, man, there is something sinister about the sea. Looking out there, it’s like, what the fuck? Just goes and goes.

Everyone should, at some point in your life (and more often if possible), stand upon a precipice and ponder your own smallness. It does something to the ego – in a good way. It’s nature subtly saying, “You ain’t shit” in the same manner a hard-living uncle might say to you as a kid on his knee: with love but in a way that also strikes a healthy fear.

Existential dread aside, we have met a lot of nice folks so far. We knew Ed and Henry were, of course, delightful from our prior crossover. The other creators have all been just as great.

The only electrical outlets in the cabin are by the mirror/desk, opposite the bed. I bet because when this ship was commissioned in 2007, life was not as cell phone focused. You took photos on a camera and filmed on a video camera.

You can’t bring extension cords or plug-hubs aboard. Clothes steamers and irons are out, too. RC doesn’t want you to set the ship ablaze. The internet now sells “cruise ship friendly outlets” just like they also sell “cruise ship luggage tag protectors” and “cruise ship ID badge holders.” If there’s a hippo of an industry, there’s always a few birds perched on its back.

Time to sleep. Rock me like a baby, LOTS.

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Stay tuned for Day 2

Learn more and join us at CrimeWave 2.0

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