Sure, I say, why not, thinking all the while: If any other 27-year-old lesbians could use a self-esteem boost, all they need to do, clearly, is get themselves on an Olivia cruise. I’m loose and light and a little sleepy from my second Corona and a blossoming sunburn. One of them tells me her friend thinks I’m really cute, and could she buy me a drink? I settle for some Kelly Clarkson, and after my screechy but enthusiastic rendition of “Since U Been Gone,” five (!) different women approach me, complimenting my performance. So far, she’s more than delivered, but the weak karaoke selection - not Dana’s fault! - is a rare low point on a trip that, four days in, has already slowly but surely begun to change my life. She’s technically my press handler, tasked with making sure I see the best that the tour operator, Olivia Travel, has to offer. “These choices are homophobic,” I tell my new friend Dana. I’m determined to do something showstopping, but our offerings are comically limited. Kitts they’re cheering for their new friends they’re here to have a good time. They’re mostly middle-aged or older they’re wearing brightly colored tourist T-shirts purchased on our excursion earlier today to St. The second dinner session has just let out, and the Rendezvous Lounge (which is as tacky as it sounds) is overflowing with lesbians. So I decide to wake the place up a little. It’s night four of the cruise - karaoke night - and everybody’s been picking slow, sad songs.
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