city of angels

I had to pull an all-nighter to get packed and on my way. On the plane, crying babies on both flights. But I made it to the City of Angels and one of my oldest friends scooped me up from the airport and delivered me to a little garden oasis where I relaxed, took care of last minute bills, emails, and such, and chatted with King Leo, her sweet and majestic semi-wild Santa Monica jungle cat. She insisted that I sleep in her bed and let her take the couch, so I got a great night's sleep sinking into the mattress and pillows up in the loft. She could certainly live on a boat, for her house is diminutive but everything in its place and beautifully decorated. Far more organized and downsized that I have managed so far.

I also met up with an old college friend and even if only for an hour and change, it was so great to catch up. We always make new friends throughout life, but those ones who were with us in our formative years, our wild and crazy years, when up was down and such, they are something truly precious.

I had hoped to post here nicely formatted rows of photographs but it seems impossible to select text that I want to select on the iPad. Indescribably frustrating. I just want technology to work, to do as I tell it. It does not know best. Sigh. At least I was able to select my sigh and make it italic. Sigh.

I got to the airport early and had time to stop for a bite to eat and a couple of pricey ($11 a pint, ouch!) beers. I chatted with Omar, a Mexican living and working in New Zealand, and Dan, an Aussie returning home after a month-long tour of the major American cities. Very cool to meet interesting, smart, and adventuresome fellow travelers. Hopefully we'll all find what we're looking for, though it secretly is always already within us. Sometimes we just have to have an adventure to see that.

two years in the blogosphere

It feels like just yesterday that I started this crazy adventure. But at the same time, it feels like I've been at it--blogging and living aboard--for as long as I can remember. It's funny the tricks time and memory play on us. A big thank you to my readers who have followed along from the beginning, the middle, or just happened upon our tale. 

I don't really think I'm doing anything particularly brave living on a boat at a fancy marina in a sophisticated metropolitan area of the "civilized" world. Living aboard feels so natural to me that I couldn't really imagine life any other way now. But it is a "different" and "challenging" lifestyle, so I guess that's why when out walking my dog a couple of ladies thought this single girl living aboard with a dog and two cats, staying aboard through last winter, is so brave. But living aboard doesn't seem brave in and of itself to me, even a girl doing it on her own. Brave is being willing and able to do anything on your own, walking away from the "safe" and "predictable" with no idea what lies ahead. 

I'm on the plane and miss my pets already. But I told them I love them and I know they will be alright and it's just a month without me. So it's a few minutes to wheels up and the adventure will begin.

the world is my oyster

I'm not really sure what that means: the world is my oyster. I mean, oysters are kind of ugly and slimy. They are pretty stuck where they are, not big world travelers. But they do take an annoyance, e.g., sand, and turn in into a beautiful pearl. I can crack open the oyster and who knows what I may find. But I feel like the saying is more akin to being on top of the world, and I haven't noodled out the analogy yet. I guess I could just check wikipedia. Or not. But I think, perhaps, the world is my oyster. I'm still broke. No car. No "real" or "steady" job. No fancy digs. No savings or back-up plan. But the world has thrown all kinds of shit at me and still hasn't taken me down. I'm gonna carpe the hell out of the diem and enjoy all the adventures that lie ahead.

My friend dropped back by Saturday morning and we managed to get the steering and engine controls reassembled. I think the tachometer is on the fritz. It was stuck on 700 rpm and now on 1600. But we got her started up and let her idle in the slip a bit. Unfortunately, there is some piece attached to the engine that is badly corroded and should be replaced before I take her out. C'est la vie; that's boat life. Always another project or repair around the bend. We had initially set the housing with the controls on the binnacle upside down and I kept sort of looking at it askance. I knew the shifter was on the left and the throttle on the right, but the range of motion and where the levers were placed seemed off. My friend didn't believe me at first but I convinced him to give it a try and indeed we had them upside down! Everything about reassembling parts at the binnacle was a puzzle, which can be both fun and frustrating, like any game I guess.

A few weeks ago I finally admitted that after almost two years I was in fact never going to make little marlinspike-sailor-y mats for the steps. I looked at getting the Treadmaster nonskid pieces for steps but ended up with a much more economical (about $1.00 per foot) nonskid adhesive tape from 3M. I cleaned off the steps, then wiped them down with alcohol. I cut the tape into three pieces per step and then took something round and drew rounded corners. I honestly don't remember if it was a cup or what now. I trimmed the corners and then carefully tried to get all the pieces lined up nicely. I actually think it came out well. It feels secure but not abrasive on my bare feet and the pup dog seems to like it. She can definitely go up the stairs by herself but doesn't yet realize it. She still makes me boost her up the first step but I am letting go of her earlier and earlier to try to convince her she can do it on her own. She is still jumping down from the top step which I think is really bad for her shoulders. I need to get someone really good with dogs to help me teach her how to walk down the stairs. I've seen other dogs go up and down them with no problem, so it is all in her head. But that doesn't make it any easier.

I am in the weeds on getting ready to leave. The boat is still a disaster zone but has to be spic and span before my friend staying aboard arrives. I still have gear I need but am nervous about buying anything and being short on funds. I'm hoping I'll have three solid days of work in DC this week, but it does seem like the end is near on the project. I need to upload documents to the cloud, print tickets, just get all the loose ends wrapped up. Still need to nail down my pet back-up people and write a good tome on the care and feeding of my beloved furry crew. But everything is coming together. There is still some work to be completed on my friend's boat when I arrive, but I don't mind the hard work and enjoy the hands-on chance to learn whatever I can on repairs and installations.

My hair has gotten insanely long and the ends are rather dry and frazzled, so with making a little money and working in DC I've been really excited to go get a cut from my fav guy in Georgetown. I haven't had my hair cut since last November in Miami and before that it had been a little over a year. That was the last time I went to my usual guy, Thomas, in DC. I first went to Thomas six or more years ago when I still lived in Miami and came up for a job interview. I wanted a good blow-out and landed in his chair. He's the only hair stylist I've had whom I trusted completely. He knew that I came less and less frequently because I simply didn't have the money to keep my hair up anymore. The last time I saw him he asked if I needed some help with the cut or color but I insisted he needs to make his money, too. But when I got to the counter he'd already comped my whole session (north of $150). I'd bring him butterscotch brownies since he couldn't have anything with nuts or chocolate. He was there with me through a divorce, several silly boys, and a few heartbreaks, including the death of my father. I remember sitting in that chair and joking that the one good thing about being so depressed over losing my father was that I'd lost a ton of weight! Even though I hadn't made it out for a cut, we had messaged on Facebook now and then. I thought about briefly popping back on Facebook to shoot him a note but just went ahead and called the salon to book an appointment for next week so my hair would be refreshed before my big trip. The usual guy at the reception desk answered and I told him I'd like to make an appointment for a cut with Thomas. He paused a second and then "I'm sorry, but..." Oh, great, he moved to some other salon, I thought. Or back to St. Louis. "I'm sorry, but Thomas passed away three months ago. He had advanced pancreatic and liver cancer. He only had a month." Why do the poisonous people have to live so long and the really wonderful people go too soon? The world shined a little brighter because Thomas was in it, and I just hope he knows he's truly missed.

So, I'm still here, they haven't gotten me down yet, and one of these days I'm going to figure out what it means, but the world is my oyster.

the best laid plans

It really doesn't get cuter than ducklings. Well, unless it's baby bunnies. I never see bunnies here... I think all the foxes get them. Growing up, I had pet ducks and a rabbit. Plus mice, a rat, a chameleon, and many fish. I think I've always preferred non-human animals to people. I suspect I'll be better suited to an anchorage full of wildlife than a marina full of people, noise, rickita-rackita, gossip, and uninvited advice. Four months into an annual contract at this marina and I regret it. If only I had followed my own advice to never, ever sign an annual slip lease again.

The plan was to fix the engine controls last weekend but things didn't fall in place. I crawled down into the engine room a few weeks ago to water the batteries and luckily the stamp on the transmission cable was somewhere I could get to to read it. I ordered new control cables, 9 and 12 feet, and upgraded from "red jacket" to Teleflex "extreme." The big difference: the extreme can tolerate a 4 inch bend radius rather than 8 inches for the red jacket. I don't want to put any tight turns in the cables but knowing they can handle a little tighter curves is nice. Yesterday the diesel mechanic I've befriended came by to help me install the cables.

The thing that is both incredibly frustrating and interesting is that these sort of projects are puzzles about how to put all the pieces back together. I had a cup full of screws that had come out of the binnacle and steering mechanism, but couldn't tell you which one went where. I was trying various screws on the housing that holds the cables tight inside the binnacle, and we discussed why each one would or would not make sense. Then I was digging around inside the cup and "eureka!" a big, short screw and washer with remnants of white paint. Clearly, this was the one that had been on the binnacle when it was painted. One section of the puzzle solved. Off to a good start! The mechanic was not expecting me to be much help so I think he was surprised when I had grease up to my elbows and shoved my (conveniently smaller) hands down the binnacle to wiggle pieces in place while he pushed the steering column back in.

It became even more of a two-person job when my greasy, slippery little hands managed to lose ahold of the string tied to one of the chains that runs to the steering cable. It was one of those slow-motion moments when all you can do is stutter... no... no... no... and down, down, down it went into the dark recess of the binnacle. We spent what seemed like an eternity trying to hook the chain with a wire but ultimately had to disconnect the steering cable and use the slack to push the chain far enough up the binnacle that I could see it to catch. I held onto it with both hands and didn't want to let go! We had to call it a day, but next Saturday we should be able to get it finished up and get this poor boat out of her slip! And whereas I learned nothing about the steering system and engine controls when they were disassembled, now I know exactly what is going on inside the binnacle and will be better prepared when I need to troubleshoot or repair these parts down the line.

A friend of mine dropped by for a couple beers and made the mistake of getting drawn into conversation with an overly loquacious kid from a boat passing through. The kid never stops talking and takes your presence in the cockpit as an open invitation to chat. He also likes to keep one foot on the dock and put the other on the boat. I realize he's just a kid, but one would think a liveaboard kid would have decent boat etiquette not to touch others' boats without permission. The dad doesn't do anything, but gratefully the floppy-haired guy who appears to be crew rescued me and cut the kid off this morning and took him to their boat. But this evening, no rescue in sight and the kid just kept yammering. I guess it's hard being a liveaboard kid without regular school friends and such. As he kept chattering on I was saddened to see how early the stereotypes develop. He asked where my friend was. I said he's back at his house where he and his girlfriend live. He asked where the guy who owns the boat is. I looked at him quizzically. "What boat?" I asked. "This boat," he said, "where's the guy who owns this boat?" Sigh. "This is my boat. I own the boat. It's me, the dog, and the cats." He looked sort of confused. We mermaids sure are a rare breed; and dumb guys all too common.

I was planning on working right up to my departure. The project I'm working on might last this next week, but fingers crossed it will continue as close to my departure date as possible. I've got to cover bills while gone and would like to be able to enjoy myself a little. If I can scrape enough together I may get the GoPro I've been wanting so I can get some action shots and video to keep you all posted on my journey. I'll be out of contact during passages but should have access to Internet here and there to upload posts.

A friend is going to boat and cat-sit while I'm gone and I think pup dog will go to another friend's house for "sleep away camp." I know they aren't human, but they are still my "kids" and they are closer to me than any people in my life. I just hope the "sitters" can show them compassion and attention, because they hate being separated from me and from each other. Look at how adorable they are holding paws while napping. I think my friends are worried I won't come back, but even if I were in paradise I couldn't leave my loyal pack behind. But to give everyone a little peace of mind that I'll return, at least for a bit, I've got my return ticket in hand. So, two weeks from now I'll be on a plane heading for sailing, snorkeling, fishing, and most importantly, adventure. 

we definitely haven't come a long way, baby

The daily grind, on the commuter bus stuck in DC traffic. The days are long with a four-hour round-trip commute. The work is mind-numbingly dull and soul-sapping. I try to just keep my eye on the prize: fixing up the boat, sailing away somewhere, escape, freedom.

Once upon a time I had a job. On my second day my boss said my tank top was making it hard for him to keep his hands to himself. I was shocked and creeped out at the comment, both because it was so patently inappropriate and because he was easily old enough to be my grandfather. Being caught off-guard by the comment and in dire need of the work, I basically ignored the comment and never wore that top to work again. But looking good is a major factor in good tips--if anyone thinks good service alone cuts it they are kidding themselves. Beauty is rewarded in our society and I have to use my assets as best I can. But that means look, don't touch, and if you have to be told that then you need to be smacked upside the head, or worse.

There are respectful ways to appreciate beauty and there are creepy, inappropriate, and illegal ways. There is a great New Man Podcast episode on how to appreciate women without being a creeper. Really, a must-listen for men and women. Looking someone over approvingly with a smile is very different than leering or catcalls. So, yes, I do think it is OK to look, to compliment respectfully, but not to leer and definitely not to touch. Us girls check guys out all the time (uh, you think girls watch football for the game...sorry to disappoint you, but the tight uniforms don't hurt...) but we sure don't smack waiters' asses or catcall guys walking down the street. I confess I expressed my disappointment to a scuba diver who was out of his wetsuit but putting on his t-shirt too quickly... it was a nice show; and I confess I'll probably hire him to clean the boat bottom because he was a hottie. But I didn't get "handsy" with him. It wouldn't even occur to me to invade someone's personal space that way.

Despite banning that tank top from my work wardrobe, things just got creepier. He gave me this pathetic nonsense about his girlfriend having died and being alone and really needing a hug. So I was cajoled into hugging him every day at work. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. Figured he's just a grandfatherly old man. But it was very creepy. And when you really need the job, you can't say "No, I think I'll pass on the hugging nonsense." (And, gee, that's why there are lots of seminars and lawsuits and such related to this topic.) Then I got guilt-tripped into having dinner at his house on the (likely bullshit) pretense of teaching me how to make the fishing lures. When I was sitting in a chair and couldn't get away he leaned over and tried to kiss me. Thankfully, I'm pretty skilled at turning quickly enough to make sure it just hits my cheek. But seriously?! What insanity has to be going through a guy's head to do that to a woman half his age who works for him. I mean, it's not like I'm flirting him up or something. Jesus. I feel like it's rude to just tell every guy I meet "Dude, you know you're in the Friend Zone, right? You know I will never, ever sleep with you, right? Because if you didn't know that, you know it now." That just seems rude to me. Guys should just assume that is the case unless I explicitly tell them, "Hey, wanna fuck?" Ugh. But being ever-too-forgiving I tried to just brush it all off and keep at the work of fishing. Then one day when I was forced into another hug his hand was firmly planted on my ass. I was, truly, just stunned that someone would do that. It's so beyond the limits of what is acceptable in our society that I honestly didn't know how to react. It's like I was outside my body looking down, saying, wow, is his hand actually on my ass? No. Fucking. Way. My skin crawls just thinking about it. I think I worked three more times. I would show up as late as I possibly could to avoid spending any time around him alone and similarly race off as soon as I could. Just so incredibly creepy, disgusting, disappointing. As if I needed my lack of faith in humanity renewed.

But, wait, it gets worse...

I happened to mention the "handsiness" to my mother. Well, apparently I'm really out of touch with reality because I "learned" that she had weeks ago seen this coming because...and I quote...I send out all kinds of sex pheromones so of course this would happen. And I shouldn't be burning any bridges. I should just politely say "I'm sorry, but this can't happen" and not hurt his feelings. As if it was some forbidden mutual attraction. Wow. Yes, I'm actually choking back vomit. Pray you never get her on your jury if you're a rape or sexual harassment victim because, ladies, it's your fault. And this from a woman who wants to dump all her unwelcome emotional baggage on me instead of her children she is actually close with or, more appropriately, a professional therapist. The scariest thing: that is not the most horrible thing she's said to me. Just, wow.

Here's a mother who will protect her babies. Does it get any cuter than ducklings? Make way! (Unfortunately, just about every day there is one fewer duckling in the parade... it's a dangerous life for those little ones.)

I'm trying to be a better mom to pup dog. I just finished reading Inside of a Dog and really appreciated her insights from both a scientific and dog-owner perspective. I need to focus less on "training" and "obedience" and more on the richness of our relationship, how I can afford her more opportunities to smell the world around her, bond with me, play, and enjoy the all-too-brief time we have together. I tell her I'm going to work harder to be a good mom and to understand her perspective on the world, to try to understand her umwelt. All these years we've been out walking with her dilly-dallying behind sniffing things and eating goddamn berries, and I've been yelling at her and tugging the leash: "We're on a WALK, dammit! We're not on a SNIFF!"

Well, it turns out that all this time we were on a sniff.

She was too kind to tell me how silly all this rushing around walking is when all we have to do is shove our noses in the grass and smell the world around us. Well, and swim; that dog just isn't any happier than when she's swimming back to shore with a nice, big stick. Because I've been getting up at 4:30am or earlier, last week we snuck in a couple of walks off leash, since few others are out walking at 5:00am.

I'm really itching to go have some adventures. I want my freedom so very badly. That's the only reason to have money, the freedom it buys. You just have to make sure you don't need the money; otherwise you're just a slave to the stuff it buys and the constant bills. I only wish I didn't have so much hanging over my head. And, of course, the biggest snag to my adventuring is the pets. I could easily circumnavigate as crew on others' boats, just hop-scotching my way around the globe, if I didn't have the pets. But I made a commitment to them for their lifetimes and I can't reneg on that. They have stuck with me through all kinds of craziness, moving all over Miami, moving all over the country, moving aboard. They kept me going when my father died and I just lost it completely. In so many ways I owe my life to them, so although it holds me back, I have to keep my commitment to them. And I don't resent them, they're my pack--that's for whom you make sacrifices.

But right now I'm so grateful it's just me and the beasts. We are our pack, all for one and one for all. Conversations with others can be such a drain, a drag. Everyone has some judgment to pass on my life or unwelcome suggestions to "fix" it, usually involving getting a cushy government lawyer job--the odds of which are longer than winning the lottery. It just gets so tiring, having people try their damnest to make me fit into their ticky-tacky-house world. But I can't do it. Won't do it. I refuse to live some sheltered, prepackaged life, all safe and risk-averse. Instead, I go to crappy neighborhoods (I recall some friends thinking I was seriously nuts looking at an apartment in Dru Hill in Baltimore--and they were right on that one!). I go to travel-warning countries. I ride the local bus. I eat street food. And, yes, I got dengue fever. But I'll take that any day over a white picket fence in suburbia or a [insert whatever brand] cruise ship vacation. So I'm going to keep tempting fate and taking risks. Sailing barefoot. Eating street food. Living.

I don't have all my ducks in a row yet. I still have to make various arrangements for the pets. Still need to work my ass off and make some moolah. But last night I bought a plane ticket to the edge of the world and a month from now I'm going sailing well beyond the Bay.

love thy self

For the past six months I've been running faithfully and tracking every morsel of food I consume via My Fitness Pal. I stopped drinking diet soda, which I think has been a huge improvement both for losing weight and reducing health risks. I haven't been one to drink sugared soda for years. I had hoped to be down 25 pounds at this point but 19 is a great accomplishment and my goal is within sight. While I wish I had the cash to buy a couple new bikinis I covet from Carve Designs for my birthday, the best gift I can give myself is to keep taking better care of myself, not settle, and be the lioness, not the gazelle. But those bikinis will be a belated birthday gift to myself once I have the spare cash. Even lionesses have to stay cool in the heat.

Not long ago a reader commented on my post april showers: "Wow. Your 2nd to last paragraph got me. It sounds so simple, but to me, is so complicated. But how does one change to loving themselves if they haven't been? How do I fix this problem? You don't know me well...but I have learned recently that I don't know me well either. How does one (me) build up self value and self confidence? That's what you need to blog about or write about or something." 

I confess I make it sound easier than it is. I spent far too much of my life with guys who were addicts. It took a long time for me to realize that they could never truly love me because they didn't even love themselves, only the object of their addiction. But then I had to face the harder truth that if I truly loved myself I wouldn't have been with men like that. I wanted to feel needed and birds with broken wings need someone to nurse them. So while I am (I think rightly) critical of those addicts taking advantage of my giving nature, I was co-dependent; on some level I wanted to be with guys who needed me to "fix" them. That's been the case even if they weren't addicts...I somehow always pick the sad-puppy-at-the-pound guy, the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree of guys, ones I feel sorry for or think no one else will repair. That is a tendency I still have to consciously battle, but at least now I can see it and realize that I deserve so much better than what I settled for in the past. No more fixer-uppers! That doesn't mean they'll be perfect, none of us are. I'm just not fixing any more broken wings.

How did I learn to love myself? Honestly, I'm not sure. I starting running and somewhere along the trail I realized that I was strong, and beautiful, and smart, and deserved so much more in life and love than I had ever demanded. I decided to stop carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders and just take care of me. (Well, and my pets). Distance running is, as the joke goes, a mental sport (and we are all insane). Once your legs are trained to do it, getting to the finish is all about being right with it in your head. And that means believing in yourself even when you are more tired, thirsty, hungry, and in pain than you could've imagined. It's that deep belief in yourself that gets you there. So, maybe I learned to love myself through running, but, obviously, not everyone is a runner. I think it takes finding something that you do just for yourself. Many days I head out on a run and I'm tired, it's hot and humid, I just don't "feel" it. I say to myself, "maybe I'll just run four instead of six today." Then I stop myself, and either way I do tell myself this every time I run, usually several times during my run: "This is the single most important thing you will do today." And it is the single most important thing I do any day I run because it is putting myself first, taking care of myself, body, mind, and spirit. Only by truly valuing myself and that investment in myself can I be my best self for me and anyone else (e.g., my beloved pets or some floppy-haired sailor down the line).

There was a point, perhaps even before I began running, when I realized that I had given up everything that was me for my ex. I didn't get to listen to the music I liked anymore. I didn't get to sing anymore. I didn't get stay up all night on art projects. I had to get rid of my books and my art and my records and my oddball stuff. Every day was a challenge to find an outfit to hide my tattoos because I worked horrible jobs in boring offices full of self-impressed corporate robots. Somehow this scared but willful little hippy chick had been sanitized and dulled down and just became a zombie going through the motions of what purported to be life. I became an addict, too. Like many, many women these days I had a shopping problem. The magazines and television and movies really make it seem like that perfect pair of shoes, that perfect handbag, or that perfect eyeshadow will suddenly transform your miserable existence and make you fabulous. Now, I still like nice things. I kept a few nice things. But a sparkly doesn't make me sparkle. That comes from within. From realizing that, flaws and all, (and I have plenty), I'm actually pretty awesome.

I think we've all heard the old adage that someone who cuts others down is just insecure and small himself. Along the same lines, a long time ago someone told me that you can only give honest compliments when you are confident in yourself. I'm sure everyone knows someone who is always fishing for compliments, but never gives them out. I feel sorry for those people. The compliments they strong arm others into probably aren't genuine and will never salve the insecurity inside. Here's a little test: when you see someone wearing a great outfit do you think to yourself how you'd look better in it, or how much you want it? Or do you just blurt out "I dig your shoes." or "You look great in those shoes."? Acknowledging someone else's beauty or success doesn't make you less and doesn't make them more. It's honest and generous and that actually does make you a bigger person. It puts more happy in the world instead of more negativity. Someone told me my natural hair color looked great, but quickly went on about how much better it was than the dye job I had had. So the compliment was entirely undermined and then some by the passive-aggressive dig, which was the real point, to cut me down. Every day when we walk out the door we have the choice to put more happy in the world, or more bitterness. Despite the folks who don't say hello back or scowl at my cheerful dog, I choose to keep putting more happy in the world than anger or rudeness. When I see a girl with purple Birkenstocks I covet I don't sigh and wish they were mine. I tell her, "wow, those are awesome shoes!" Just give it a try. It doesn't hurt, I promise. And when someone gives you a compliment, don't feel awkward or obligated to compliment them back. Just graciously say thank you and smile.

So, yes, I think that loving oneself is absolutely necessary to being able to truly love another and be loved by another. If you don't see the value in yourself, why would or should anyone else? And why would you want to be with someone who doesn't treasure you? Although I twice did it for quite some time, I cannot understand staying with someone just because you know (or fear) they will be heartbroken without you. If you don't love them, you aren't doing them a favor by staying. You're actually robbing them of the chance to find their true love; and they are doing the same to you. We all deserve to be googly-eyed in love with the person we're with. Yes, love goes through its ups and downs, it changes and has challenges, but we shouldn't settle for less than googly-eyed love. Staying with someone out of obligation is especially damaging when there are children involved. Is that the lesson you want to teach your son or daughter? To pass up on their life and love out of some misguided sense of obligation fueled by guilt? That was the world fifty years ago; don't wish that on your child.

The heart wants what it wants. That I'm not attracted to someone or don't love him doesn't mean he's not a good person or that he's unworthy of love. But chemistry and passionate love are there or they aren't. I'm not responsible for anyone else's happiness. You can guilt someone into marrying you or staying with you, but you can't guilt them into actually loving you. If someone leaves you, don't take it quite so personally. They may deeply care about you, but you just aren't their true love. And that's OK. It's much better to be alone than with the wrong person. Scary, perhaps, but in the long run, much better.

I guess learning to love yourself is about embracing your identity and not trying to change it for anyone else. Your hobbies, passions, beliefs, and values are what they are. Trying to be a chameleon, changing politics, religion, hobbies, attire for another will ultimately leave you empty. You may not be "alone" but whoever you are with isn't really with you, because there isn't any real "you" to love at all. You can only find yourself inside yourself, not in another person, not in a religion. It's about having faith in yourself. When you have that, you won't need anyone else, and that is the most attractive quality you could have.

good riddance

This Tuesday I was once again running my errands (i.e. picking up groceries at The Fresh Market to take advantage of the $2.99 per pound sale on boneless, skinless chicken breasts). But if I'm out running errands with that car, then the car is on the fritz. The dealership had said the battery, alternator, and charging system are fine and that they could not replicate the problem I had had when the windshield wipers just stopped mid-swipe in a downpour after the "battery not charging" light had kept coming on. The day I picked up the car the battery indicator light didn't come on. But the next time I drove her, running my Tuesday errands, the light was back on, which means the battery isn't charging. I went ahead and grabbed a few groceries and figured I'd swing by the dealership on my way back to show them the light was back on and see if they could look at it right then. But about four blocks before the dealership, stuck in gridlock, sweltering in the car with no A/C, I heard awful loud growling and metal scraping noises. At first I thought it was someone else's car, but whenever I took my foot off the gas the ruckus stopped. My heart sank. I managed to pull into a strip mall and called AAA yet again. I sat in the car with windows down, driver door open, sunroof open, and got sunburned waiting. Basically the whole exhaust system had just fallen off under the car. It took almost two hours for the tow and as I waited I tried to line up a ride home. It'd be a long walk in the sun with my groceries. Luckily the tow truck driver offered to drop me home and I got to ride in his truck with frosty A/C.

If it weren't for this car I'd have been sailing my boat for the past three months, but since the car cost me all my boat repair fund on top of the money from the Buick I sold, I can't even move my boat from the slip. I made a mistake, did something that really hurt my karma, and this car has been the punishment dragging me down. But I'm done with it. I didn't deserve to be financially destroyed for my sins. Rather than throw good money after bad, I'll take the meager amount I can and live without wheels, as I did for many years. So now instead of moving everything out of my storage unit and just having the car/dockbox, stuff from the car had to be cleaned out and brought to the boat, other than the space heaters and a huge printer/scanner/fax machine I'm just holding onto so I can scan photos before I get rid of it. Hopefully a small storage locker at my marina will open up and I can just stash a few things there and get rid of the storage unit all together. The goal is to be completely self-contained to the boat, get the boat fixed up and in shape to live on the hook. It's just not an easy process getting there.

At least now I won't have a car tying me to this place; one less thing to get rid of when I sail away. Trying to see the bright side. Less than four months, $2,700 in the hole, five trips to the shop, four tows, and I'm getting a whopping $350 for the car. Frankly, that's probably a gift. Hopefully the piece of shit guys who sold me the car and talked me into it will enjoy some radically bad karma for awhile. And hopefully the one who talked me into it will lose my number. I have to keep reminding myself that guys who say they know a lot about something, usually don't know shit about anything. Just like guys who say they are great in bed; always duds. So good riddance to false friends, self-impressed guys, and that total lemon of a car.

On a lighter, brighter note, here are some pix from taking pup dog swimming at our little neighborhood beach. Lots of seaweed everywhere! And yes, the prehistoric horseshoe crabs are one of the reasons you don't find me wading into the waves with the pup. Here's to loyal companions, sand between one's toes, and better days to come.