Tag Archives: ocean

Sometimes everything just goes wrong

You know how things can be sometimes. No matter how hard you pray for something good to happen or no matter how hard you will things to be different, they are just plain crappy. It doesn’t matter how much time and effort you put into planning something, either: sometimes everything just goes wrong.

So this weekend, my boyfriend and I were supposed to go on a fishing trip with my mom and stepdad. We left after work on Friday and drove the 4 hours to the east coast of Florida, pulling in late and exhausted just around midnight. Fishing in the Gulf of Mexico is great, and it’s awesome how close we live to the water, but we wanted a change of scenery, and the chance to catch some different species of fish, so we planned an overnight trip to West Palm Beach for some dolphin fishing (the fish, not flipper, calm down). Getting up at 5:45 a.m. is only possible when you have the adrenaline and excitement of a big day ahead of you, so dragging our butts out of bed yesterday was no big deal. Driving the 20 minutes to the dock and dropping the boat in was also no big deal; we’ve done this before, right? Right. Bill had checked and double-checked the marine forecast the whole week, making sure our day wasn’t going to be too rough (and also making sure it was worth the 4-hour drive). The Sea People claimed it was going to be 10-15 knots, with 2-3 foot seas. Shouldn’t be a bad day, right? Wrong.

Those Sea People are down-right lying assholes. Once we got out past the inlet (which had about 12 foot seas from where I was standing), we thought things would calm down. Probably, y’know, because the marine forecast only called for 2-3 foot seas. Well those bastards were wrong. It did not calm down. It made being on the boat uncomfortable, and it made even the attempt at casting, let alone reeling anything in, basically impossible. I don’t think any of us wanted to give up (after all, we made that long drive and planned this whole trip and all), but it was clear it just wasn’t going to happen. So we turned around and headed back for the dock. But not, of course, before I puked all over the side of the boat into the angry sea.

Everyone knows I get car sick or motion sickness if there’s too much going on (like say, going on any type of spinning amusement park ride or being on a boat that’s being tossed around like a cork in a wave pool). So it’s not really surprising that my stomach felt like it was upside-down inside of me the whole ride out and back. But usually when I get like that, I can control it and at least keep my breakfast down. Not this time. When it’s going to come up, it’s going to come up whether you like it or not. Thankfully I was able to spew it all over the side of the boat into the water and not fall over board in the process (my mom was not happy with this; she was afraid I’d fall in and wanted me to puke in a bucket, but who wants to puke in a bucket for everyone to see and smell when you can just let it go into the deep blue sea? sorry mom). Although I’m not thrilled I puked (especially since that means I’m now on the scoreboard with Kevin for who’s puked since we’ve been dating- but it’s 3:1 and I’m still ahead so it’s fine), I did feel a little better after the fact. So it’s probably for the best. And we all made it safely back to shore (where we checked the marine forecast again and those bastards were STILL CALLING FOR 2-3 FOOT SEAS THE JERKS). Being alive and back on land was really the end goal, so all in all, it was okay. We didn’t get to fish, and I barfed, but we got in safe, so none of us were mad (just disappointed and bitter towards those lying Sea People).

We loaded up the car and decided just to hit the road and come back home to salvage the weekend (because at this point, it was only like, 8:30 a.m., and we really had no reason to hang out in West Palm). We got about 20-30 minutes in to our 4-hour drive home when the engine started smoking and we had to pull off the road. At first we thought we were just out of coolant, and that’s why the engine had overheated. So we used all the water we had, got back on the highway until we found a gas station and bought some. Problem solved, right? Clearly you should know where this is going by now.

Turns out the radiator was leaking and we needed a new one. We drove to the local Chevy dealership but they told us they wouldn’t be able to even look at the car until Monday. MONDAY. Yeah, because we can just sit around in some random Florida town for two days waiting for the car to be fixed. No thank you.

We had passed a sign on our way to the dealer that said “radiator repair” so we drove back that way to inquire, where we encountered yet another asshole to add to our shit list. While he rambled on about god knows what, we got in touch with NAPA, who told us they had a radiator for us. Finally, someone competent who could actually help us. We bought the part and struggled to find a body shop that was either a) open past noon or b) open at all. Apparently no one in the town we were stranded in liked to work on Saturdays. Assholes. Just when it looked like Bill was going to have to change it himself (and probably die of heat exhaustion in the process), we FINALLY found a shop that was open that would do it for us. They got it done in under two hours and we were (finally, actually) on our way back home. After all that, I am grateful it wasn’t any worse, but I’m still bitter towards the Sea People for steering us in the wrong direction in the first place. You know who you are, Sea People, and don’t think you are getting off so easy.

My friend Nicole sent me a book for my birthday called “Dear Asshole.” It’s filled with tear-out letters to send to all the assholes in your life, yet there isn’t one for Sea People. So I’d like to add my own (and hopefully the publishers will revise the book and release a second addition with my personal letter included, although probably not because they don’t even know who I am). Anyway, here it is:

Dear Asshole Marine Forecast Sea People,

You are liars. You continuously broadcast incorrect marine forecasts to innocent boaters and drive them (literally) into danger. We could have been killed out there (highly unlikely, but still possible). It’s your fault we were even in that situation in the first place, because if you had done your jobs correctly and told us what the seas would ACTUALLY be like that day, we never would have risked it. It’s your fault we drove all the way out there and didn’t get to fish and it’s your fault I barfed everywhere. It’s probably not your fault our radiator crapped out, but I’m going to blame you anyway because you’re an easy target and I hate you. Please stop being terrible at your jobs so people like me and my family can actually know what we’re driving our boat into.

Sincerely,

The girl who barfed

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A lazy Sunday idea

So my boyfriend and I had the ingenious idea of buying inflatable pool floaties and just being lazy on the water all day yesterday. It was pretty much the best idea we’ve had yet, and we’ve had some good ones, so you know this one must have been awesome, but only because I’m telling you it was awesome, because you weren’t even there, so what the fuck do you know about anything?

Err..moving on.

With our styrofoam cooler floating in the water next to us- stocked with snacks and delicious adult beverages, of course (beers for him, fruity mixed drinks for me)- pretty good weather and a quiet, secluded spot in the water, we couldn’t have asked for a better setup. And even when we realized hey, we’ve drifted pretty far away from the beach and into open water, I really didn’t seem to care that we probably wouldn’t make it back alive. I had the sun, the sea and my man, what else did I need? Who really cared if we drowned, right?

Wrong. Apparently I cared if we drowned. A few storm clouds started to move in and it started to rain lightly (but even then I was still unfazed by our predicament). Once darker clouds started rolling in, though, and the water started to get choppy, and I realized I wasn’t making any headway trying to paddle myself back to shore, I started to freak out a little internally, but only because I almost washed away to sea once. Perfectly legitimate reason to be scared, right?

Now I suppose this is the part where I tell that story, huh?

One time I was on a sailboat with my dad and a few friends. And we anchored so we could swim and I jumped in and my friend jumped in and we started floating away because we couldn’t fight the current back to the boat, so my dad had to jump in with a rope and save us. And our life preserver/buoy/rafts drifted away into the abyss, never to be seen again (probably picked up by the Coast Guard). The end.

I’m not really even sure where this post was going in the first place (not like I ever really have a direction that makes sense when I’m blogging, anyway). But basically the moral of the story is that in the future, my boyfriend and I need to keep ourselves beached if we’re planning on floating aimlessly (or invest in a tiny baby anchor). Although it really doesn’t matter at the end of the day, because the water was probably only chest deep, but I’d rather drown than put my feet down in those nasty, murky, weedy, mushy waters.

And to make this post even more useless and irrelevant, because I didn’t even get a picture of either one of us doing the lazy float thing (because let’s face it, who has time for selfies when you’re busy being lazy and float-y?), here’s a picture of a dog being lazy instead:

Basically what I looked like. I'm not quite this tan though.

Basically what I looked like. I’m not quite this tan though.

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Shark wrestling (and 5 other sea creatures I’d like to meet)

I defeated a shark.

Albeit, a baby one. But a shark nonetheless.

Sharkie and me.

As a diver and avid water enthusiast, I’ve always been fascinated with sharks. Sure, I’m terrified as much as the next guy, but I’ve always been strangely obsessed with things that terrify me (hence my all-consuming obsession with horror, gore and all things Halloween).

And when it comes to sharks, the more up-close-and-personal I can get with them, the better (unless they’re sneaking up on me to have me as dinner). Now, I’ve been diving around sharks before, and I’m sure there have been plenty of times they have been lurking below me as I frolicked at the surface, but there’s nothing more exciting than coming into contact with one (in a good way, not a “my-leg-just-got-ripped-off-by-a-shark” kind of way).

Shark attack!

Catching the six-footer off the coast of Key West two years ago was awesome. I wish I could find the pictures to show them off to you now, but you’ll just have to trust me. But we cut the line before I even had a chance to say goodbye, let alone touch it. So catching Sharkie (as I’ve dubbed him) last week was quite exhilarating; here was a baby shark that was big and strong enough to put up a good fit but small enough to come on board for a quick photo op. As terrifyingly awesome as it was to hold the thrashing beast in my bare hands, there are still several other sea-beasts I’d like to encounter before I croak. In no particular order:

A whale. They may be gentle-ish creatures (to us, not plankton), but they are so massive and hard to come across it would be a shame never to meet one. Plus I could probably even have a conversation with one if I channel Dory from Finding Nemo.

Dolphins. I swam with dolphins on several occasions (thank you travel & tourism), and it’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. But I want to get cozy with a wild dolphin. I’ve tried to no avail, but I know one day it will happen. And when it does, they will push me out of the water with just their nose. I’m sure of it.

Sharks. I know I’ve already encountered several sharks, both above the ocean and below it. But until I encounter every species (okay, maybe not every species of shark, but at least all the really cool ones), this one will still be on my list. With a giant, man-eating great white at the top of the list.

The Loch Ness Monster. I know this one doesn’t technically reside in the sea (if it resides at all, which I believe it does), but it’s too noteworthy not to include. I want to dive Loch Ness and come face to face with the elusive monster and hope it doesn’t swallow me whole.

A giant squid. I’m not talking a tiny little blob of a creature that is smaller than a boat or one of those dinky ones that you see at the aquarium. I’m talking legendary Kraken-size, like, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea proportions. I want to go down in my little submarine with Jules Verne and be overtaken by a giant squid whose eyeball alone could swallow the city of New York. And then I will write the best-selling, Nobel-prize-winning novel 21,000 Leagues Under the Sea and retire with (most) of my body parts still intact.

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