welcome to the circus

The other day I was doing dishes and pup dog was in the cockpit relaxing in the sun. I saw her tail begin wagging wildly and thought my friends might be arriving for our little cookout. When I peeked out there was a girl crouched down on my dock as close to the boat as she could get with her mother in the background trying to frame a good photo of the girl with pup dog behind her. Sigh. I wanted to say, "Hey, we're not a circus! This is my house! I don't come take photos of you sitting on your porch or in your backyard." I know, I'm a curmudgeon. It's just that there are times when you're in the mood to be friendly and satisfy the tourists' desire to see some "local color," and there are times you just want to be able to enjoy a glass of wine on deck without being bothered. I'm considering making signs for the boat that say "The Circus is Closed" and "The Circus is Open; Pet Photos $5 each." (It's tempting to at least monetize the annoyance, but then I'd be a commercial enterprise in violation of marina rules.) I had hoped to move to a slip on one of the docks that has a gate and a sign noting the pier is private. Unfortunately, it doesn't sound like any slips over there will be available until the fall.

You can see that the pets are very stressed out living aboard. Clearly, they handle the pressures a little better than their mom does.

I'm not sure if it was the serious rocking and rolling from high winds or that the litter box was due to be cleaned, but one of the cats mutinied and at 5:00AM Friday morning I was unceremoniously awoken by a giant puddle of cat pee on me and my blankets. It was a surprise since it had been well over a year since we'd had any out-of-box peeing. But oh, yay; laundry time! (A four-part attack of detergent, Oxy Clean, Borax, and Nature's Miracle due to the particular noxiousness of cat pee.) Washing the boat bedding is a serious pain because the mattress protectors, sheets, and heated mattress pad are all made for traditional rectangular beds but mine is a huge triangle that is also very difficult to access, so making the bed is sort of a project in itself. Naturally, one washer and one dryer stole coins from me and wouldn't run. The other dryer has been out of commission for several weeks. I ended up having to schlep my wet laundry to the icky laundromat nearby to use the dryers. Why can't marina laundry just work and be simple? If college dorms can figure it out why can't marinas?

I knew that the condensation from the winter would be bad so I had to brace myself for whatever ick and mold might be along the sides and beneath the mattress. The mattress itself did not appear to have any mold and was completely dry underneath, to my great surprise. The condensation did lead to mold on the teak, which I wiped down with a solution of tea tree oil and water, and the laminate appears to be nearing its useful life but I don't have the budget for gutting the entire interior of the boat anytime soon. I took the opportunity to prop the mattress up on various items so that it had full air circulation around it, sprayed it down with the tea tree oil solution and with Febreeze, cracked the hatch, and aimed a couple of fans on it. I spent two nights on the settee, for which my back definitely did not thank me, and then put the v-berth back together, leaving off the heated mattress pad until next fall. There is still a ton of mold from the winter to battle, but I'm just going to keep working my way aft through the boat until I've got it all under control.

So many projects... so little time... I have this bottomless list of projects aboard, some of which I need mechanical assistance with, some of which I just need to buckle down and make happen, and some of which I won't be able to tackle anytime soon since all the funds saved up have been bled into the worthless car. Yet it's all I can do to stay on top of basic laundry and dishes. Honestly, I'm not doing a good job staying on top of those and feel overwhelmed by them most days. But I am running my ass off, which is important. I've worked up to a base of 30 miles per week, which will be my routine until late August when I begin increasing mileage in preparation for my 50K trail race right before Christmas. The running is keeping me sane and slimming me down, so even though I'm in hopeless debt and broke as can be, I'm feeling and looking good. Let the world keep throwing shit at me; they haven't brought me down yet.

I went out on another fishing charter but again no fish. I'm starting to feel like bad luck. But on three of the four times I was out with friends trying to catch something I did, and I reeled in four fish among those three trips. Although it's obviously less "work" on the charter when you don't catch anything, I need to learn to fillet the darn things and I need to impress the customers so they'll throw more cash my way. But at least I'm getting out on the water. 

Sadly, the more time I spend on the water, the less I like sailboats, or probably more accurately, sail boaters. It cracks me up how so many sailors say that it's the power boaters who don't know and don't follow the rules of the road. My experience has been the polar opposite. And I hear from so many sailors who when they do have the right of way feel the need to press it, won't alter their course a few degrees, when it could make a huge difference for the give way vessel. Just because you technically have right of way over a fishing charter boat with lines out trolling doesn't mean you should revel in the opportunity to cut across their lines and cost them hundreds or thousands of dollars in gear, ruin someone's charter trip, and increase the animosity between the power and sail camps. When fishing lines are out, and especially with planer boards, that power boat is going maybe two knots, has limited maneuverability, and needs to make turns very gradually. The fundamental concept behind the rules of the road is to have boats with greater maneuverability give way to those with less maneuverability. It would be so much nicer out on the water if folks would consider that and show each other some courtesy and patience, rather than acting like spoiled children stomping their feet that it was their turn. And of course all the sail boaters who hate powerboats pipe down when they need a tow or someone to throw them a wake to get off a shoal...  Sigh.  A little more application of the Golden Rule would definitely make being on the water more pleasant and safer.

I actually dread going out on the water on days there will be lots of sailboats. They commandeer large sections of the water for their races precisely where others need to transit. Because I can't read their minds I'm in a constant state of panic that they will tack or gibe nearby and force me to alter my course on short notice. I want to be out on the water with not another boat in sight. I love to be out on the water, but I can take or leave the sailing part. We all have different reasons for being on boats and would be well served to learn to respect those differences. A sailboat made sense for me because they are set up more logically to live on, I could buy more boat for the money, and it opened up the possibility of destinations I could not afford the fuel to reach. But the boat is a method of reaching destinations, its value to me is not in sailing for sailing's sake; its value is in where it can take me, what it lets me see and do, the adventures that become possible.

Dockbox update: I was two weeks without the car. The ECU, (i.e. the "computer"), needs replacing but is an elusive part. I can't trust one from eBay because it has to be exactly the year and model of my car or it won't work. I have a friend keeping an eye out if one comes available through the junkyard network. For now, I have to avoid using the car on rainy days and try to keep it parked where it will stay dry. I can't just hop in and start the car. It will just freak out and make horrific noises and not start. Instead I have to get in, put the key on the second ignition position, and... wait. Sometimes after about 30-60 seconds the check engine light will turn off and I will hear the fuel pump kick on. Then I can start the car. If after a minute that hasn't happened, I have to remove the key, wait a bit, and try the routine again. I've never had a totally unreliable car before, or one that was treated like a trash bin, or held together by duct tape. I feel like I'm trying to rehabilitate a dog that was chronically mistreated by its prior owner. My life has been a series of poor decisions but this is the first truly piece-of-shit car I've ever had dragging me down. I admit I have some bad karma but I didn't deserve this. The self-impressed guy who talked me into buying the car has been texting and emailing, but I'm going with the Thumper Rule: I don't have anything nice to say, so I won't say anything at all. What I want to say is unless you are contacting me to buy this junk heap for the $2,700 I'm into it, please lose my number. Ugh.

On the subject of idiot guys texting me, the former boytoy who fell overboard texted me twice on Saturday. Midafternoon I got a message asking if I was home and then again a little before 10:00PM. I figured maybe he wants to beg for a sympathetic witness at his trial or perhaps he's 12-stepping for a plea deal and has to make amends. But the second text asking "hey you home tonite?" makes me think he's actually so stupid that he thinks he can come by for a booty call after all his nonsense. I guess he could be that stupid. Again I went with the Thumper Rule and did not respond at all. But I was a little nervous he might drop by uninvited, so I made sure I had phone, flashlight, and hunting knife within arm's reach.

Being single in Annapolis can be a drag because it's such a small town and I've pretty much seen everything on the market. I also won't just sleep around because everyone here knows everyone else and it's a gossipy little town. I tend to think I have to wait for new guys to move to the area or just plan to be single until I move on to a new locale. I can count on one hand (or more like a couple fingers) the guys here I haven't already friend-zoned. I know what I really want but it'd be so one-in-a-million to find it that I figure it's an impossibility. But at the very least I have to be firm about not settling. If there isn't that immediate chemistry, if a guy doesn't have the chutzpa to seize the moment with me, then it's not worth my time. I'd rather be alone than with someone with no passion. And if someone isn't willing to get messy, get complicated, get their heart broken, forget it. Doing dangerous or adventurous things is easy; risking broken bones or even your life is easy. Risking your heart takes real guts.

april showers

A week ago Monday I had an opportunity to go out fishing. Although I'm allergic to seafood and don't really want to hurt or kill nature for entertainment, I hate to pass up an opportunity to get out on the water and I want to develop skills to serve as a mate on fishing charters. Those mates can make some good tips on a half- or full-day charter, and if I can do the job looking cuter than the usual old salts, well, I figure my tips would be even better. I've found that "soft skills" aren't much rewarded financially and are easily outsourced offshore, so I'm on a mission to stockpile some "real" skills like fishing, sewing, and fixing mechanical things. On my few trips out rockfishing I've learned how to put out the planer boards, clip in and send out the trolling lines, keep an eye out for knockdowns, bring in the lines, tidy up the reels for storage, and clean the lures. I've brought in a few fish, but I still need to learn how to safely net the fish, remove the hook, and filet it up. Although I learned a lot on this past trip (thanks Cap'n Chris and Mate Bob!) and we had 14 lines out, we didn't get so much as a nibble. It didn't look like other boats were having much more luck, though, so I don't feel too bad. The fishing gods must have sensed me typing this and in walked the captain of a local charter boat asking if I could work a charter this Friday. Fingers crossed I do well, make some good money, and get invited back for more work. I should be able to make as much in tips as if waiting tables, but with the potential for more. And it's time on the water, getting some exercise, and developing a skill I can take with me anywhere.

As you may recall, one Tuesday the car died and the following Tuesday I learned the A/C in the car doesn't work and I lost all my important keys (other than car keys). Perhaps the most important of the lost keys was the only key to the lock on my storage unit. So last Tuesday I started my errands with heading to the storage unit to pay the bill and see if they would cut the lock for me. The manager said of course they could cut the lock...for a fee. My heart sank; I'm painfully broke and whatever it cost was coming straight out of the small grocery budget. Then he smiled and said "Just kidding! Of course we'll cut it for free." I just had to sign a liability waiver saying I'm me and won't be upset they cut the lock, et cetera. Annapolis Self Storage rocks! Sparks flew, it smelled like melting metal, and voila! The 5'x5' unit is not even waist high with stuff, much of which just needs sorting, tossing, or donating.

Items I like to keep in the car were at the top in the storage unit, e.g. a trunk organizer, jumper cables, beach chair, hockey skates, emergency overnight bag, and my portable backgammon case. It was a rainy gloomy day so I hit up a fellow liveaboard and suggested I drop by after picking up my groceries and we could play some backgammon and hide out from the rain. He's very competitive, a racer. I'm not. I wanted him to have an edge since he was new to backgammon so I let him pick the black dice, which I suspect to roll doubles on a higher-than-average basis. Although he did roll doubles often, apparently I just have a gift for rolling more of them. Even when I didn't need them my double sixes kept coming up. After just three games he said he never wanted to hear me say "box cars!" again. I guess there's a hidden competitive streak in me, after all. So I promised to let him win at chess.

Having totally lost track of time hiding from the rain, it was about 1:00AM as I was finally heading home. But if it's Tuesday the universe has it in for me, and the car was dead again. I got a ride home only to find that the gasket in one of the port lights had come out of its track and what seemed like buckets of water had rained onto the settee and pillows. There's really no fixing it when wet, so I had to pile towels and a basin below the port to try to catch the rain. A couple days later I managed to get the gasket back in, though it still leaks a bit (I seriously hate the design of these port lights), but I'm still without a car. Every time it freaks out and fails it's been raining. The dealer is thinking it may need a new computer, but the part is elusive and I think they need to figure out how water is intruding and shorting it out so I'm not continually replacing an expensive and hard-to-get part. In the two months I've had the car it has run less often than it's been broken down. At this point whenever I'm about to cry I just start laughing kind of hysterically, like I'm on the verge of a psychotic break. At least I can look at the situation and laugh!

The rain, south winds, and high tides converged to flood the parking garage at the marina with a good 5 inches of water. Water didn't come over the docks but it was close and the boat was high above the pier. I wore my foulies all day Wednesday and had to sit on the deck to jump down.

After what seemed like endless rains, we got some sunny, warmish weather and the dock water was turned on. I borrowed a pressure washer from a dockmate and spent Sunday giving Ambrosia a bikini boat wash. I spent four hours going over the decks with the pressure washer. The boat went from gray to white. One guy said he always found it cathartic to clean the boat like that, and I have to agree. She was just caked with grime and it definitely gives a sense of accomplishment to blast it away. By the time I reached the cockpit I was feeling rushed because the temperature was dropping and winds were kicking up. I didn't want to be caught out in a thunderstorm. Gratefully it passed us by. I spent another hour working on spots by hand and still have more to do to clean up the topsides, but she looks so much cleaner and brighter now.

Come Sunday evening I had a bunch of chicken to cook up but no one was up for coming over for dinner and drinks so I was on my own. I've always left grilling to men. Everyone needs their own "turf," their own things they are good at, skills they get to "own." Since I'm a pretty decent cook and baker, I like to be in charge of my galley. So I've always left the "killing beast over fire" Neanderthal thing to guys. I let them own that primal manly task. But being a single gal and (perhaps overly, painfully, stridently) independent, I have to do for myself these days. For a while I've been using a little George Foreman grill, which I actually quite like. However, it only fits a couple chicken breasts or burgers and if I'm cooking in larger quantities (as is often the case), it takes a long time and there is a lot of clean up. So, this past Sunday I got a fellow dockmate to show me how to light the communal grill by the dinghy dock and lo-and-behold, I grilled up my first batch of chicken by myself. Folks walking by ooh-ed and aah-ed; one family said they wouldn't have gone to Boatyard for dinner if I'd been grilling when they walked by, another guy said it smelled delicious and could smell it a block away. I'd say the real skill in it was marinating the chicken for a few days in a Ziploc bag with olive oil, garlic, fresh ground pepper, and kosher salt, but I guess my grilling abilities aren't too shabby, either.

I had been planning on moving slips but don't like the slip open on the main pier. I'd be stuck between two power boats (which cuts off breezes and could make me feel boxed in) and the view would be of a shabby boat at the marina next door. I'm going to pass. I was mostly resigned to staying put, which pup dog would probably like and would avoid drama dealing with Comcast, but the parking garage noise and being right next to another liveaboard really do bother me. There is another slip possibly opening up on a pier with a gate (so less risk of strangers walking up to the boat) and the docking situation would likely be relatively simple, but that slip would cost almost $1,000 more per year than where I'm at...money I obviously don't have right now. So, we'll see. I think I would have more privacy and peace and quiet there. It's an adjustment being in a more urban/commercial marina with all the noise and foot traffic, but I think what is harder for me is all the liveaboards, gossip, and unsolicited advice. I've got to get the boat fixed up so I can take off on some mini-cruises and get away.

Although it'd be nice to fall in love or at least find a good guy and have a playmate this spring and summer, I'm so thankful that I am not trapped in a stale or bad relationship. I'm saddened when I see someone encoupled with the wrong person, staying by default because inaction is easier than action. There is an enormous opportunity cost to doing that because the love of your life might walk right past you but not see you because you were on another's arm. I keep telling myself (and want to yell at my friends): Don't settle! You deserve better. The person you're with deserves better. No one should ever be pressured to get married or have children, nor pressure anyone else to do so. Marriage is hard. Marriage is a partnership and a sacrifice. If you don't wake up every morning wanting to be there, you are shortchanging yourself and your "partner." If you wouldn't stay if there weren't a legal bond between you, you sure as hell shouldn't be together. Too many people marry for all the wrong reasons, under all the wrong pressures. Too many women marry because they want a wedding, because all their friends are doing it, or because they think they can't have a kid on their own. If a guy truly loves me he won't need legal papers, or a name change, or a joint checking account. He'll show he loves me by being there in my bed every morning and not fucking anyone else. By being his own person, independent, self-fulfilled, seizing and sharing his dreams.

One thing I think we often forget is that we are not responsible for anyone else's happiness. We are each responsible for our own happiness and only when we love ourselves, are independent and complete in ourselves, can we truly love someone  else, seek only to lift them up, not pull them down or revolve around them. I don't want to be the center of anyone's universe (well, other than pup dog's). It's too much pressure. And it isn't love, it's obsession or dependence; there's a very big difference between those things and love. Jealous people, like drunks and addicts, don't truly love. They lack the self-value and self-confidence to do so.

I consider having some fun here and there, but I know I won't be satisfied with that. Even if it's just a physical thing, and especially if it's just a physical thing, I don't want to be with anyone that there isn't just this immediate, gut, pheromonal desire to rip each others' clothes off. I deserve that kind of passion. Anything less than that is selling myself short. So I have to stick with my mantras: Don't settle. Just keep running. Be the lioness, not the gazelle.

solitude, freedom, and starry nights

I'm not anti-social. I simply choose to be social on my own terms, when, where, and how it suits me, rather than society forcing its social expectations upon me. The ringer on my phone is off 99.9% of the time, I respond to texts and emails if and when I feel like it, and I don't feel obligated to answer when someone knocks on my hull. While many people see running as a social activity, I prefer to run alone. Going out for a run is my meditative time, my time to both focus and let my mind wander, and sometimes my spiritual space.

My willingness to go out and be social definitely ebbs and flows. Although I enjoy new adventures, I am also inclined to be a homebody. Before I moved aboard, I could easily spend a week without ever leaving my house, just letting the dog out into the yard to exercise and throwing a ball all over the house for her. I am perfectly happy to putter around in my pajamas reading, writing, listening to music, watching television, cooking and baking, and napping whenever the moods strikes me. This past Fourth of July I stayed in all day and night happily watching the entire first season of Game of Thrones. I recently went on a three-day binge of the latest two seasons (i.e. 24 episodes) of Homeland. But I can easily do without television, and just entertain myself with writing, reading, or working on a variety of half-finished projects.

Some people simply cannot handle silence or being alone. The Most Annoying Dockmate Ever (well, so far) is this kid who simply has to be constantly talking. He lives alone on his teeny tiny boat and although he is now two slips over, one can hear him on the telephone around the clock. Aside from the fact that virtually everything that comes out of his mouth is misinformed or insulting, what is most annoying is the inability to just be quiet. A lot of people are plagued with this affliction. Just because you are in a car with someone does not mean you have to engage in conversation the entire time.

Other people cannot handle being alone. They don't necessarily have to chatter on the entire time, but they either don't want to be left to entertain themselves or don't like going places alone. I'm used to doing most things on my own, whether eating out, running errands, going to a movie or museum, or traveling. I don't mind my own company, and enjoy being able to change my plans without conferring with anyone. I can also enjoy doing those things with others, but it's not a deal-breaker for me the way it is for some people.

When I overhear people checking in with their spouses and significant others it makes me so grateful that is not part of my life anymore. I don't have to check in, be anywhere any particular time, or answer to anyone. Well, I do have to answer to the pets, who need to be fed and cared for. Sometimes even that responsibility somewhat overwhelms me, but they are my pack and I am so thankful to have them; they are worth sacrificing a bit of my freedom for.

This rant was partially inspired by someone making the mistake of dock-mothering me.  Twice dropping by uninvited, once with a snow shovel, though I already have two aboard. Calling me to say the pump-out boat was out, as they are every Saturday, which I obviously already knew since I hail them on the magical VHF radio when I need them. Emailing me to tell me what the tides would be. Seriously? That's pretty much where I snapped. I tried to be kind, said I know he just wants to be helpful, but: don't dock-mother me.

I had made the mistake of mentioning offhand that I had taken the boat out and the tide was too low when I returned for me to get the boat all the way back into the slip. In the winter there just isn't much water in my marina and I was threading a narrow needle to get out and back in at high tide, but there just wasn't enough water at the bulkhead end of my slip and the rudder stuck in the mud. As with many people who are poor listeners, the dockmother must have heard not a simple statement of fact, but a desperate plea for help that simply wasn't there. I waited 24 hours for a better high tide and easily pulled her in to where I wanted her; pup dog could once again happily use her ramp to board and disembark.

The rub was that this guy just presumed to plan to come over and pull the boat in (cringe), and to tell me the tides, as if I don't know what the tides are doing (guess what? there's an app for that... indeed, I have several!). I know I sound overly sensitive. Perhaps I am. If it was just one of these things, I'd concede that. But taken as a whole and in combination with other past behavior, I think he was out of bounds. I should have stopped him in his tracks the first time he dropped by my boat unannounced. He had a very bad habit the year before of just boarding the boat next to his. I know that because I was sometimes on that boat when he did so. Sometimes the owner of that boat and I were in a state of undress when the dockmother would step aboard and say "hey, what are you guys up to?" It really pissed off the guy that owned the boat, but I don't think he ever said anything. So, it's an issue of boundaries. The dockmother doesn't respect them enough and I'm very aggressive in defending mine. Not a good combination.

Also related to privacy and freedom from meddling, I've been more upset lately about the lack of Fourth Amendment rights aboard. I am constantly amazed at the number of boaters who do not realize they have no Fourth Amendment protections aboard when it comes to the Coast Guard boarding a vessel. It's been the law for over 200 years but that doesn't make it right and it should change. The anemic lobbying efforts out there to protect boaters are ineffective and are prone to roll over to state and federal wishes rather than take a stand and offend the powers-that-be. If you're living aboard or cruising in the US, we really need to start organizing and fighting in court, at the ballot box, and in the legislative process; being polite has not worked and never will. For more background on our lack of rights aboard and what it means as a practical matter check out this SAILfeed post and this thread on Cruisers' Forum.

Now that I may be heading to Florida, I'm particularly concerned about rights aboard. Florida is notoriously anti-liveaboard/cruiser. Florida pretty much views all people living on their boats as derelicts, homeless, pumping sewage overboard. Quite frankly, the people I know who do illegally pump overboard are the very wealthy. Most of us impoverished folks on our boats are sort of hippy green environmental types who don't pollute and have a low carbon footprint. But god forbid the facts ever get in the way of Florida and others trampling on us. *Sigh* They also like to say we don't pay taxes so we shouldn't get any services. That isn't actually how our system works in this country, but just because someone does not directly pay property taxes does not mean they are not paying them indirectly (just as a tenant does) or that they aren't paying plenty of other taxes, such as the exorbitant sales taxes in Florida. In Florida's attempt to rid their waters of boats with people living on them, a few areas of the state are in a pilot program to allow local government to "regulate" (read: eliminate) anchoring in their waters. One of the purported goals of the program is to increase access to the state's waters, but since the actions taken under the program involve replacing anchorages with paid mooring fields and instituting rules and regulations aplenty in the mooring fields and government docks, the regulations are actually an impediment to using Florida waters. In the Keys, the pilot program requires having proof that one's boat has been pumped out in the past seven days. Seriously? It takes 5 or 6 weeks to fill my holding tank. I understand that some boats may have smaller tanks and/or more people, but a weekly requirement is extreme and intrusive. I couldn't believe it when I saw that Miami's Dinner Key mooring field requires pump out every 72 hours. Wow. These people are just far more involved in my bodily processes than can possibly be reasonable. Most liveaboards don't pump overboard. But even if they did, it is a drop in the pollution bucket. Our waters are polluted by shore-based waste treatment overflow, agricultural and golf course fertilizer runoff, et cetera. I would at least have more respect for Florida if they would just state the truth: that they are trying to outlaw poverty. My stomach sort of turns at the thought of going back to Florida. I haven't had time to research the federal case law, but I hope the guy who is challenging the pilot program kicks some local government ass.

OK, rant over, for now.

So, how did I end up only partially docked in my slip the other week? I dragged a friend out for a quick one-hour anchoring lesson. I motored out into the cove before Back Creek proper. We discussed the various steps I should be taking in preparation for anchoring solo. I got the boat stopped and we went to the bow. I measured out about 60 feet of rode and cleated it off. My friend showed me how to figure eight all the rode on the foredeck so it is free to run once I lower the anchor. I dropped the hook and we backed down to set it. Then came the "fun" part. Rather than motoring up to the anchor, I pulled us there with the rode. I had a hard time pulling the anchor in, so in the spirit of learning and doing it myself, my friend showed me how to run the rode back to the jib winch and I slowed grinded it up. Definitely a workout for the arms and back. Once the anchor was pretty close I went up on the bow sprit and tried to lift it out. The problem was that this anchor was mounted on a bracket on the bow pulpit, so I needed to lift it around the bow sprit and up onto the bracket. Easier said than done, trust me. I had some tough moments with my broken finger not too pleased with the process, but finally managed to do it. My friend suggested using the larger Bruce anchor in the future; it is mounted beneath the bow sprit so it will be simpler to bring it up solo. He also suggested setting up a remote release with a snap shackle tied to a small line that I can pull from the cockpit to drop the anchor and then back down on it once the rode has run off the deck. We were going to do another practice round but I nervously looked at my watch and suggested that we were one hour off the highest tide and should get back before it dropped too far. Well, you know the rest of the story... But I did do a very nice job docking her; no fending needed and (knock on wood) never even bumped anything.

As were were going in and out of the channel I was nervous about clearing around a trimaran that has been anchored there for over a month. It is probably home-built, and certainly has a lot of DIY work, including a wild paint job. We snapped this photo as we went by. The next day I asked the pump out guys what the story was and wondered why he was still there when others had been ticketed in that spot. The harbormaster's guys, to their great credit, told me not to worry about him and that he's a really nice guy, not bothering anyone. (Talk about 180-degrees from the treatment he'd get in Florida). I had been worried about not being able to get past him when coming and going, and bitched about it a few times (shame on me), but admittedly I didn't end up having any problem and I think either way he swings in the wind I could squeak by on one side or the other.

The next day I was filling my new back-up propane tank at the hardware store and there was a guy just finishing up ahead of me. He was wearing foulies and had a bicycle with a cart attached. I noticed the bicycle had this crazy yellow/red/blue paint job and all of a sudden I realized "Hey, are you Lapisi?" His eyes lit up and he smiled and nodded. He's a very friendly French-Canadian with a thick accent. We chatted for a while. He mentioned plans to leave soon and even offered to buddy-boat south with me, which would actually be very cool. I could still be on my boat solo but have someone experienced (and experienced at doing it on the hook and on a shoestring budget) to provide some back-up and moral support. He confirmed he's got a little wood stove aboard for heat and said that despite the cold, he could never be in a marina. His boat doesn't like to be tied up like that, he said. She needs to be able to swing in the wind and he wants to be able to see all the stars. It was a beautiful little glimpse into the soul of a cruiser. One with his boat. Not wanting her to be tied down any more than he is.

"Living the dream" isn't about palm trees and fruity rum drinks; it's about not being tied up or tied down, swinging with the wind under the stars, and being free.

[Post script: I later learned the trimaran is named Lapis Lazuli.  I mistakenly thought the name was Lapisi because of a chainplate or other linear hardware painted blue and that appeared to be an "i" at the end of "Lapis." "Lazuli appears on the starboard side.]

why?

A friend recently asked me why I decided to start a blog. Why, he asked, would I want to share all my personal stuff all over the internet? He had brought that up before, as have others, so it is clearly something that makes some people uncomfortable. And despite spilling all my insides all over the internet here, I actually value my privacy greatly.

Although it seems as if every liveaboard/cruiser has a blog, I find many are dull and poorly written. Many are pictorial travelogues meant to keep family and friends "back home" up-to-date on the trip; there is nothing wrong with that, but without any personal story to it, it simply doesn't pull me in and make me wonder "What's going to happen next?" "Will they make it?" Then there are the "how-to" fix-it blogs. It may be interesting or helpful for a project to see how someone else did their solar panel installation or rebuilt their engine or organized their galley, but, again, if there isn't an interesting protagonist there, I'm unlikely to keep going back to follow progress and would instead think of it as an occasional reference material. I'd be far more likely to seek out YouTube videos of repairs if I'm looking for detailed technical assistance for a project. I guess what I want to know when I read the "how-to" project or the travelogue is "why was that important?" "how did it change you?" "how did it make you feel?" "why was it a challenge?" I can buy a textbook on engine repair or a travel guide to the islands; when I read a blog I want to know the personal side of the story that I can't get from that textbook or Fodor's.

So, there are countless bloggers out there living aboard, cruising, sailing, fixing up their boats, and having adventures. Do we really need yet another one? Maybe I should stop all this writing nonsense.

So, why did I do it? One reason is that I think my blog is not just like all the others out there precisely because I spill my insides all over. I'm smart and determined, but I'm also tackling things that are new and challenging to me. My blog isn't full of success stories. It's full of hopes, fears, half-starts, failed projects, laughs, tears, temper tantrums, and the occasional victory. It's full of reality. Not edited to just show the sunsets and good times. I think it's because I truly put myself out here, let myself be vulnerable, laugh at myself, and share my failures, that some readers out there connect with my story and follow along to see "Will she do it?"

I'm sharing a heartfelt diary and even if no one follows along I enjoy writing and will be able to look back some day and read it and wonder...why the hell did I start a blog? Is it arrogant to think I have something to say that anyone cares to hear? I guess so. But then I guess any musician who plays a song is arrogant to think anyone would want to hear it or any author who writes a story is arrogant to think it deserves to be read. I don't know that I accomplish it, but I try to express some feelings and challenges that many of us face in life but not all are willing or able to share. If I could point a reader to only one post on this blog it would still be love and the singlehander from last Valentine's Day.

This blog will not teach anyone how to sail, how to fix much of anything, or how to live aboard. But it will show people what it is like to live on a "project boat," to survive winter aboard, to learn to sail. Although the backdrop is a boat, it's really a story about a single girl re-building her life, dealing with love and loss, facing self-doubt and rising to challenges. I'm sharing my personal journey with whomever cares to come along for the ride with the outlook that orbis non sufficit: the world is not enough. 

Thanksgiving supper was...

yummy chocolate porter.

First ice on the water today, brrr.

P.S. Annapolis is not enough. s/v Ambrosia is preparing to cast off the lines and looking for crew. Who's brave enough to go down The Ditch in the winter with me? Tickity-tock... we're trying to head out before Christmas. And perhaps folks will be wondering... "Will she do it?" "Will she make it?"

a chill in the air (and some pet peeves redux)

We had a few mild, pleasant days over the holiday weekend, but the heat kicked right back in. The boat was back to 85 to 90 degrees inside the past few days and yesterday topped 95. I'm running an oscillating fan and I've had the forward hatch open plus port lights open along the sides of the boat to get some cross ventilation. Worried about rain coming through the port lights, I draped a tarp from the cabin top to the life lines, secured with bungee cords, to keep any rain from coming through the starboard port lights and put a towel down to catch any rain coming in on the port side. 

I was planning to head out first thing Thursday morning to buy a portable room air conditioner despite the painful $300 price tag. It would take up space in the cabin and need its vent hose run to a port light, but setting it up would be something simple enough for me to handle. My friends on S/V Octopussy urged me to let them take a look at my old air conditioning unit before spending money on a new one, so I held off. Yesterday evening, we disassembled and inspected, not finding any obvious failure right off. But it turned out the problem was an incredibly simple one: the unit was overheating because I had kept the cover on. The cover is made from the same blue fabric as my bimini and dodger, but has mesh panels in the sides and back to allow the unit to vent. I had put the cover on for the winter and had not had any problem running the heater with the cover on. But when I was running the heater it was below freezing, so the unit was not likely to overheat. We removed the cover and instead of tripping the breaker after ten or twenty minutes, the unit just kept happily humming along. Within a couple of hours the temperature inside the boat dropped from about 97 degrees to 70. I feel pretty silly that it was such a simple solution that I should have been able to figure out myself. But I'm grateful for good friends, cold beer, and the opportunity to look at the guts of the unit so I won't be as nervous troubleshooting it next time. 

Here are some photos of my lovely rooftop RV air conditioner. It may not be pretty, but it works.

Before getting the air conditioning back online, I did a few "loads" (read: buckets on the deck with a hose) of laundry and gave the boat her first wash of the season. I think it will take a couple more washes and a lot of elbow grease to get her really sparkly clean, but she definitely looks better. When I started washing the decks there were no bird droppings on her at all. Within a minute of finishing, a bird had shit on the deck. Seriously? But I cleaned up the cockpit and removed the various non-matching door mats scattered around for the dog to have traction because she hates walking on the non-skid. In their place I put down the cockpit cushions I inherited from my friends at Life Afloat Archives and pulled out my striped cushions that happen to match my robin's egg blue decks perfectly. Once I get the propane tank mounted off the rail (meeting with my handyman this weekend to get the job started), I can remove the blue tarp-monster and the cockpit will be back to seating several people comfortably for entertaining. 

A few minutes ago I headed topsides to take the photos included in this post. I had heard some people in the marina, which is uncommon at this hour on a weekday since I'm the only liveaboard. I saw a powerboat and dink in the slip recently vacated by my neighbors. The guy was getting out of the dink and when we said hello he asked if I live aboard. I said yes, and he mentioned he lives across the creek and what type of boat he's on. I'm sure it sounded really weird, but I blurted out "Are you [so-and-so]?" He looked at me askance and said, "Yes." "I'm RunningRabbit!" I proclaimed, "I replied to one of your posts asking for marina information in Annapolis." Yes, from the type of boat he lives on and the hat he was wearing, I was able to correctly identify this guy I've never met but have briefly encountered on the boating forums.  It's a very, very small world we live in indeed.

I just have to revisit my earlier "pet peeves" post here for a bit. I don't think I'm overly touchy (i.e., sensitive) but I do think others are overly touchy (i.e., hands-y). After my earlier post, another guy at the pub was touching the faded tattoo on my arm, even as I kept sort of stepping back to avoid it. Then a guy at another bar kept mussing my bangs and hair, which I had meticulously flat-ironed straight. If I'd have been alone I'd probably have dumped my beer on him, but my friend seemed mildly amused by him so I tried to tolerate it. Then at work a guy was poking my side in a tickling-like gesture and later grabbed my phone out of my pocket (as I was reaching for it to pause the podcast I was listening to). At that point I actually did melt down and yell for everyone to stop fucking touching me. Maybe I'm being overly sensitive. I mean it's obvious that in having a great ass I am inviting every brother at a reggae show to grind his junk on me, right? Uh, no! Guys, if a girl wants you to touch her, she will make it very, very clear. Otherwise, keep your hands to yourself. I don't even pet a stranger's dog without first asking for permission. It's called basic etiquette. I also don't just "drop by" my friends' houses (or boats) unannounced. Before 3PM the likelihood I'm still in my jammies is about 95%. I guess I just value my privacy a lot more than most. Fences really do make good neighbors for a reason. At least I've got this huge attack cat to protect me.

pet peeves

Despite spilling my insides all over the internet through this blog, I actually value both my privacy and my personal physical space highly. When I write I choose just what, when, and how much to share. Although I don't sugar-coat things here, I can leave out names and places to protect myself, the innocent, and the guilty.  Unfortunately, when confronted in person or by telephone, it is difficult to escape when others are on a mission to interrogate or lecture. I remember a guy cornering me at a bar and opening his interrogation with inquiring what I do for a living, where I grew up, and how many siblings I have. Wow. Things of no importance and that will not tell you one iota about me. This is why I consider dating to be a form of torture worse than waterboarding. A date is a surefire way to ruin a good meal. So, without further adieu, below are a few of my pet peeves about invasions of my personal life and personal space.

I don't write much, (actually not at all before this post), about work. Work is just not something I think of as particularly important. Work is not an end in itself. It is a necessary task to generate money to pay bills. A few lucky people get paid to do something they love. Most people work to make money, and their personal time and hobbies provide relaxation, fulfillment, and the like. What one does for a living is not who that person is and does not define their intelligence, talents, interests, or abilities. I don't care how other people pay their bills and I detest when people interrogate me about how I pay mine. For the most part no one really cares what anyone else does for a living. What people actually want to know is whether you are of the right social status, too rich or too poor for them, possibly how old you are. I guess I should resolve to just ask people why they want to know how I make money. If it's just to make polite conversation, then how about talking about the weather or sports? If it's to glean some other information, then how about just asking for it directly? Oh, right, because that would be rude.

Worse yet is the unsolicited career advice. Why so many people feel the need to encourage (often nag) me to spend my days locked away in an office doing something I hate, I really don't know. I think people go down the path society tells them to go down and when anyone else veers off, charts their own course, it frustrates the ones who have convinced themselves that working for the man is some wonderful thing in itself. There are so many actually interesting things to talk about, but people are so wrapped up in work and money and telling others they need to focus on work and money, that people don't know how to have a conversation about anything else. If someone is happy about their work/job/career they will probably chatter on about it without solicitation. If you're prying it out of me then you're reminding me of my least favorite things when I am trying to enjoy myself, socialize, and relax. Yeah, thanks for that.

Another longtime pet peeve... never, ever, ever touch someone's tattoos without an explicit invitation. It is shocking the number of people who do this. Complete strangers come up and touch my tattoos, sometimes moving my shirt out of the way so they have a better view. Jesus. I think at least in a museum people know they can't walk up and "pet" the Mona Lisa. Some creeper at the pub tried to strike up a conversation with "I really like tattoos," which is bad code for "I think girls with tattoos are sluts." The tat is extremely faded and obviously in the process of removal, but he asks if it has any special meaning. (Can you feel my eyes rolling?) The only spot where I can squeeze into the bar to get a pint and I have to be next to some old creeper.  Now I'm not going to fault anyone for looking at my tattoos, I put them there and I no longer suffer through trying to keep them constantly covered as I did when I lived in Miami. While it is rude to stare, at least stick with "look, don't touch." Would you walk up to someone with a bizarre birthmark or a prosthetic limb and touch it out of curiosity? I hear pregnant women encounter this same phenomenon with random strangers rubbing their bellies without permission. Where do these people come from? Until invited, a "keep your hands to yourself" policy was something I thought was assumed in polite society. Apparently not.

Well, I could go on and on. But the bitch fest of venting is done for now; time to get out for a run. I think I just have to stop being "polite" and say what I really think right when I encounter these situations. People will probably think I'm a bitch, and maybe that's just fine.

ablutions

During winter it was very convenient to have all my "lotions and potions" and such stored in the bathhouse so I didn't have to schlep everything from boat to bathhouse in the cold, rain, and snow. But now that spring has arrived and more people are frequenting the bathhouse, I decided to relocate. I had had a fancy lip balm stolen. Then someone hanging out taking sun decided to take a shower, rifle through my stuff, and left my towel hanging over the curtain rod (the only place it would dry), getting my towel all wet right before I needed it.

I value my privacy and take poorly to boundaries being violated. Rather than let it keep irritating me I decided to simply relocate myself and create a new routine. The bathhouse shower never had enough hot water for me to both wash my hair and shave my legs anyway, and it's still there for me to use when I need to.

So I joined the fancy gym a few blocks away on a one-month promotional deal. I know other liveaboards who swear by showering at the gym. For a little over a week I've been going to Annapolis Athletic Club, where they have towel service, provide the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, and I can take a steam or sauna. I haven't tried the sauna yet, but have been enjoying the eucalyptus-infused steam room. Although pup dog is missing running with me, she can't run as far as it gets warmer so I've been hitting the treadmill at the gym, which is easier on my knees and lets me get back to a consistently faster pace.

I organized all my make-up, first aid supplies, and miscellaneous beauty items in the lockers in the head. I put teacup hooks in several pre-drilled holes beside the mirror and hung necklaces and earrings on them. Although the navigation station and dinette areas remain an unmitigated disaster of jumbled items precariously stacked, the head is in order and everything is easily found. At least a couple of spaces on the boat are organized; little by little I'll get there.