Purple Bathrooms

"The world of the Pirate is thought to be radically different from Kings and Warriors.  While Kings and Warriors are exalted more, the Pirate is envied most by the King." - William Corinthus

That was written by a friend almost 20 years ago.  I went in search of it after in a conversation with Velcro I brought it up but couldn't remember the exact words.  It seems the less we have and the happier we are with it, the more others take notice of our minimalist approach.  I've always wanted people see life a little bit differently from knowing me, but lately I've noticed it's more him being that example to others. 

I've been intrigued by the idea of house boat living for longer than I can remember.  Once I found John MacDonald's Travis McGee novels it only fueled the fire.  In case you are in the dark, Travis McGee was the main character of a series of novels that he wrote from the mid 60's through the mid 80's.  I think there were 20 some books.  He was Magnum PI ish and lived on a houseboat name the Busted Flush (that he won in a poker game) at the Bahia Mar Marina in Fort Lauderdale.  Slip F18.  Our never miss bar in Ft. Lauderdale, Bahia Cabana, sits on that marina and I never sit there that I don't think about Travis McGee....even if he was fictional.  I wonder if there is some kind of marker on F18, or if that slip even exists.  One day I intend to walk those docks to find out.  All this came about from seeing a handful of house boats last night.  I guess that's more of a Florida thing because you seldom see them in these parts.  It reminds me of a trailer with pontoons and I'm pretty sure I'd be a good candidate to live on one.  I'd like it if a car wasn't necessary and one could exist with just a bicycle and a kayak and a floating trailer.  A bar within walking distance would be a necessity as well. 

Dog just farted.

I finally upgraded my tired Droid and got an I Phone.  Although I love the little notes screen so I can jot down all my random thoughts, me and the phone are still on a get to know each other first date.  It keeps auto correcting me.  If I type pussy that does not mean I meant pussyfoot...and not for nothing, I thought my dad was the only one that used that word.  Shit is not shot...and hoohah is not hookah.  Your next question may be why me and my phone were making notes about pussy.  First I must point out an obvious.  Our skin is basically the same all over our bodies...with the exception of the elbow...and the nuts.  Why is the elbow make out of the same stuff as "the boys"?  That leads me to tell the story of a woman I worked with many many moons ago in Charlotte.  She had one of those big brown flat moles on her forearm, right close to the elbow.  That in it's self wasn't really the problem.  Problem was it had black hair growing out of it ...like a lot of it.  It creeped the shit out of all of us in the office.  One day I asked my buddy if he thought she might have an elbow "down there" since her pussy was apparently on her arm.  Twenty years later I'm still laughing about it.  The folks in that office use to tell me I was driving the bus to hell.  When I left, one of my going away presents was a set of keys. 

To update on my most recent egg boiling ...as I predicted I forgot them again.   It wasn't quite 30 mins but the house smelled like an omelet.   By a similar token I've noticed some asshole turns my clothes inside out and when I do laundry I have to reverse...every. single. thing.  There is never one thing turned right side out...socks...tshirts...shorts...nothing.  The only thing separating me from being a teenage boy is that I do put most things in the hamper and there are no playboys or stiff tube socks shoved under my bed.  I'm fucking awesome.

Trying to think back, I can't exactly remember if have had purple bathrooms in 3 or 4 of my houses, but it was always the thing I wanted...my purple bathroom. It also always went hand in hand with moving almost immediately.  I'm not sure why as soon as I redid a bathroom purple I felt the gig was up, but it has always gone in that order.  Not very long ago I made a list of all the places I've lived and times I've moved.  When comparing that extensive list to my 3 or 4 purple bathrooms there probably is no collalation to the color of my bathroom walls making me move.  My spare bath, better known as, where I keep the cat pan, is one of the last rooms that I've tackled in my condo.  I've had purple paint swatches wedged beside the medicine cabinet since a year ago when I had tile put in.  I also have not had a mirror in there in that amount of time.  Divine intervention in the form of a $13 mirror this week got me back on track.  I opted to fore go the purple paint and landed on a funky muted kind of Caribbean blue.  I feel like I am where I'm going to be for a while and didn't want the strange vibe purple bathrooms seem to carry with them. 

How To Boil Eggs

The Truth in 13 words - "Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what the fuck happened."

How to boils eggs, or at least how I do it, put eggs in pot...add water...put on stove...wait for water to boil...note time. Go about your business for a minimum of 30 minutes or until you start asking yourself why the fuck your entire house smells like an omelet.  Recall vaguely something about eggs.  Cuss.  Run to kitchen.  Cuss again.  Run cold water over them.  Put them in fridge and eat as normal.  Actually they were much easier to peel than the last batch that I cooked for the "right" amount of time.  Now I'm out of eggs and the whole bizarre process will start all over again and I already know I will completely forget them and cook the water out of the pot.  On a more adult note I've discovered how to get the same bad egg cooking 40 year old to take vitamins...they have grown up chewables that taste just like Flinstone vitamins. Only problem is that they don't have purple ones shaped like Dino and now I'm over vitamining myself cause there is no one to stop me from eating them like candy. With all the wrong stuff I manage to consume I'm thinking a few extra vitamins is really the least of my worries. 

It's been just under 3 years since I decided upon moving that there just wasn't enough room in my car or my life for an iron much less an ironing board.  At some point late last year I broke down and bought an iron.  The only reason I bought it was because I found it super cheap at the Ollie's store.  I wondered why it was in a brown box and not the kind you normally see in the store.  When I got it out there was a sticker on it something to the effect of "refurbished".  This mattered little to me since it took me probably 5 more months to pair it up with an ironing board.  The newly formed couple sat propped against the wall of my bedroom for another month or so before last week I finally took the twisty tie off the iron cord and rubbed this strange hot metal thing across my wrinkled little Harley shirt. Don't get too excited I'll always be more of the "turn the dryer back on girl" than I will the iron wielding domestic goddess. 

Right now I'm sitting on my balcony listening to my neighbors argue.  Not that I'm "listening" but its hard to ignore.  One of the best parts of the Velcro and my relationship is our ability to talk to each other.  I know that my clamming up has been the demise of most of my past relationships.  I've gotten old enough and smart enough now to recognize patterns.  It came up while we talked on the balcony one night this week, that I question why it's "shaming" to have had several substantial relationships that didn't work out.  And in the same breath no one shames people for over staying an unhappy marriage by 25 years.  Why do/should I feel bad that when things started going the wrong direction I choose to move on.  Is that not fate's way of getting you to the right place at the right time?  You have to wonder how many people are missing out on their true destination because they are doing what we've been raised to think is right.  Rules are bullshit...and living by imaginary ones has never been in my cards.  

"No matter where you are in life right now.  No matter who you are.  No matter how old you are...It's never too late to be who you are meant to be."  Jerry & Ester Hicks