How the hell am I supposed to write an entry that is funny enough to follow one about Craig wetting the bed? It’s too tall an order; lower your expectations. I mean seriously. A grown man pissed himself. It’s free fucking comedy. I just can’t top it. I encourage all of you (except Uncle Tim) to never let him live it down.
After our failed attempt to catch a mooring ball the day prior, we had no intentions of repeating all of that nonsense. This time we had a plan of attack and it required an alarm clock and a strong cup of coffee. (We actually finished the last of the delicious New Mexico Piñon Coffee that we confiscated from Lisa’s house. So if one of the Metcalf clan could send a refill that would be greeeaaaat!) In order to get to Rosario by the time folks were leaving their mooring balls, we had to weigh anchor and head south at a respectable hour. Ugh.
Upon our arrival, the marina informed us that, yet again, there were not any mooring balls currently available. Oh the humanity! “Fine!” we said. “We’ll just go to the pump out dock and kill time until one opens up!” As we approached we realized we had been foiled again. A big-ass powerboat was taking up the entire poop dock.
“Fine!” we said. “We will just circle around the mooring field until something opens up.” And circle, we did. ‘Round and around and around and around. The mooring field is not that big, so even at idle speeds, it did not take very long to make a loop. People waved the first time, sort of ignored us the second time, and flat out stared the third time. Each loop we stared right back. The three of us, debating whether each of the boats was making moves to get settled or to get going. Talking in circles while driving in circles is far less fun than it sounds.
Eventually, it became clear that a boat was giving up their mooring ball. I was in the perfect spot to snag it once they were clear. Then they went and screwed the whole damn thing up by backing off the mooring ball and then continuing to back up, heading right at us. Who does that?! Just go forward! It would be like backing up out of a parking space, and then backing up an extra 100ft to make sure you could get down the lane in the parking lot. It doesn’t make sense!
So while they were driving like maniacs, I got stuck trying to maintain good position, not run into their boat, and not run into the other boats that are (mostly) stationary on their mooring balls. It was one of those tense moments that just felt like a gut bomb because I was convinced that the whole scene would end in paying our insurance deductible. I know what you’re thinking. Maybe they didn’t see us, right? I know they saw us because they commented on our sweet headsets. Maybe if they had a set of their own they wouldn’t have had to reverse a mile to get around a G Dee mooring ball!
Finally, we were on a mooring ball. Hallelujah! For a while we debated leaving Zubie on the mooring ball and taking Small World to the pump-out dock, but every time we thought there was an opening on the dock someone else would sneak in. Rather than waste all day trying to swoop in there, we decided to go ashore. It wasn’t the most adventurous trip, but it did include laundry, sitting poolside, an organ (not a pancreas) concert, and showers! That’s right. We each had our fourth shower. We didn’t even have to pay in quarters. I felt like a damn princess.
Later that evening we revisited the pump-out discussion. “Should we try to go now? It seems to be open. But it’s really windy, so what would the approach be? What about getting off the dock? What would the tactic be to make sure we don’t get blown back into the dock or into another boat? Should we wait ‘til morning and hope that the wind has calmed? It wasn’t that calm this morning and it was chaotic with all of the boats coming and going.” Seriously people. This is how much we talk about bullshit things that just don’t come up in normal day-to-day life. It was probably about thirty minutes of this back and forth nonsense. I (shockingly) completely lost patience because who really wants to talk about pumping out poop for that long? Not. Me. But Craig’s a weirdo.
Suddenly, the winds calmed substantially to almost nothing. We all jumped into action and got to the dock and it was mostly amazing.
To the guy in the power boat at the dock who told us there wasn’t room behind his boat and just lounged there staring at us with a smug look on your face instead of helping, I hope you one day figure out what this community is supposed to be about instead of thinking you’re better than anyone else. Plus your boat was ugly.
After getting back onto the mooring ball, Emmy and I whipped up our very first batch of Pocket Butter Cookie Dough as a dessert offering for Jeff and Brenda who had spent the evening making super delicious chili. We didn’t waste time baking the dough because, duh. We’re all adults here and we ate that shit up with spoons. YOLO.
An incredible amount of bioluminescence escorted us home to Small World that night. (If you haven’t seen that stuff, it’s one of the most badass occurrences in nature.) It was a calming way to end a day that felt more than a little chaotic and frustrating at times. Such a great reminder that the little things, literally tiny creatures that light up, are actually some of the things that make this dream so exciting.
2 thoughts on “Resort Life”
Poor Craig! Things like that follow you around for the rest of your life. For more comedy, read my mini- blog “happy cruising”. You have it in your inbox.
never fear, kraigle (specifically, krystle) ~ you have managed to write a Very Funny entry! not sure what made me laugh more — the boat-that-wouldn’t-stop-reversing incident, the never-ending pump-out discussion or the message to the guy at the poop dock (what can you expect from someone with an “ugly boat?”)!