Sail away, sail away, sail away

This weekend I left the bay. I doped myself with drugs, climbed aboard Gypsy, told my boat mates "I'm on drugs so I'm not responsible from here on out," and sailed with Mack and Scott to Catalina.

It was awesome.

I was so unsick that I actually went in the cabin to go pee and didn't surface the color of a lime. In fact, I felt great. Sure, I had to take a 5 minute nap every hour, but then I'd be conscious and chatty the rest of the time. I even managed to snap some shots of these showoffs.

The only time things got wishy washy was just as we were coming into Two Harbors, but  Capt. Mack went below and grabbed me another half of Phenergan and the horizon settled down. I think it might have been more related to too much sun that too much sea.

A rare shot of Capt. Mack without his life vest on. That man is WILD AND CRAZY!

Scott radioed in to get us a mooring, saying "This is Gypsy" and "Foxtrot Bravo Something" and it was so cool. I had my first experience coming up on a mooring ball and pulling it up to tie off. While I went below to change into my bathing suit, Scott and Mack threw up some shade and inflated the dinghy, which has a leak. It was all very hard work. For them. I was still on drugs and on activity restriction.

I was so hot that I had no choice but to dive into the turquoise blue water. Scott ended up dropping a pole into the water, which gave me the chance to remember all those days at Plantation Pool going to the bottom of the 20' section. I also got reacquainted with equalizing ear pressure... still works like a charm... and found Scott some Captain Morgan sunglasses at the bottom of the sea.

That night, when we went to bed, I looked out the companion way and saw the boat swaying about 45 degrees. One boat to our right would come into view and then we'd swing and look at one to our left. I laid there, looking at the stars, whipping between these boats, floored that I wasn't barfing my brains out.

The next day was a lazy day of swimming and drinking beer and eating food. I did some snorkeling and found these guys.

Since my sick had been avoided, my crew mates developed some expectations. I threw up some Halloween decorations to create a party atmosphere and won the favor of our neighbors with my festive battery-power lights. Then I found myself being Galley Wench.  An evil Galley Wench who made Mack eat those sardines he'd bought and then abandoned in the pantry but refused to throw out.

Party's here!!

Even Scott is grossed out by those sardines. Look, he's almost barfing. That is a total barf face.

Actually pretty good rum, and not just because it's all ocean inspired and totally designed for sailing.

We enjoyed many Red Stripes and decided to head to town to grab a drink. We inflated the dinghy and rowed about 50 feet to the dock, walked about 100 yards to the bar, and drank about 5 Golfers each. It was all Scott's fault, which is why when we rowed our drunk asses back to the boat, he dangled off the side between the dinghy and Gypsy like a broken puppet while Mack and I pointed and laughed. We treated our neighbors to some ukulele karaoke, devoured some guacamole, and then hit the hay.

The thing about our boat is that the head is really only for pee, and you're really not supposed to pee in it but we're lazy and break the law. When you're 37 and you've been drinking all night and you wake up, your guts go "NOW, GODDAMIT!" And when they are screaming like that, you cannot climb down into a half deflated dinghy, pump it up, and row yourself to the bathroom or you are going to poop your pants. I don't have too many goals in life, but not pooping my pants is one of them. I knew I couldn't ask Mack for help because we cannot talk to him before he says "coffee" so I had to turn to Scott. While I sat in the cockpit giving my quivering sphincter some positive self talk, Scott handled the logistics. Then he rowed me to the dock. He basically saved my life.

We actually had a conversation about what color shirt Scott should wear as part of our daily activities.

The sail home was more painful for the people who don't get to take anti-emetics and speed, but I was fine. I curled up on the top of the cabin, wrapped myself around a tin of Pringles, and watched the waves. We motor-sailed back, because we had the gas and we were too hungover to only go 3 knots, and made it home in about four hours. Next time, I want to go forever.