Tag Archives: Tugboat

How To Stay in Shape if You Work On a Tugboat

Posted on by
21

Have you given any thought to the daily life of a mariner working aboard a tug at sea?

wheelhouse

Wheelhouse or bridge on a tug

It’s a fairly sedentary life with bursts of physical labor, but mostly there’s a lot of sitting and standing, as in “standing watch”. Standing watch or watchstanding refers to the division of qualified personnel necessary to operate a ship continuously.

What is Standing Watch?
On a typical sea-faring vessel like an oceangoing tugboat, specific crewmembers keep watch on the bridge (also known as the wheelhouse) and the engine room. It’s a twenty-four hour, seven days a week job. Time is divided up as “watches” so that every one is on a rotation.

Someone has to be there all time, or else it’d be like a car rolling down the road with no driver!

On a tugboat, there is usually a team of two bridge partners, a lookout and an officer or mate who is responsible for the safe navigation of the ship. Safe navigation means keeping the vessel on course and away from dangers as well as collision avoidance from other vessels. The engineer ensures that the tug will continue to operate around the clock. A secondary function of watchkeeping is to respond to emergencies on the tug or involving other ships.

When they’re not standing watch or working, the crew sleeps and eats. They watch videos, play video games, and read books.  Most tugboats aren’t large enough to hold exercise equipment like a treadmill or an elliptical; consequently, there are few opportunities to exercise and maintain good health habits.

My tugboat man developed his own workout routine when he’s unable to go to the gym and he’s stuck on a tug for days – weeks – sometimes even months.

Neither one of us are licensed trainers but we both share a lifelong love of being physically fit and healthy. He used to be on a semi-professional soccer team, and has always worked out, lifted weights, martial arts, surfs, skis, and swims. I’ve taken ballet most of my life, taught aerobics, and work out almost every day. We hike and bike and ski as our activities together.

Not my hubs abs, sigh...

Not my hubs abs, sigh…

This is a basic but comprehensive cardio and strength training routine. Unless there are dumbbells or weights on board, he doesn’t travel with them, so this routine doesn’t use them. Because of the steel decks, there isn’t a lot of jumping around because that surface is too stressful for knees and other joints. If he can’t do jumping jacks safely; for instance if the tug is bouncing up and down in a storm, he’ll do high knees, high steps, or kicks. He brings a jump rope but can’t always use it.

Actually, this is a good routine to follow if you need a workout while you’re in a hotel that doesn’t have a gym, or even if you’re not a member of a gym. Add a five or eight (or more  – pound weight and a set of curls, triceps extensions, and shoulder presses, and that’s all you need to be on your way to good health and strong bones.

A Tugboat Captain’s Basic Guide to Exercise
Performed as a circuit; depending on fitness level: two to five times. Starting with one circuit is 100% OK. It’s important to move around and be active at any level.

Start with three to five minute stretch.

  • 25 jumping jacks
  • 25 squats
  • 25 burpees
  • 20 lunges (alternate legs after 10 lunges)
  • 25 jumping jacks
  • 50 sit-ups
  • 25 jumping jacks
  • 25 squats
  • 25 jumping jacks
  • 20 lunges (alternate legs after 10 lunges)
  • 25 burpees
  • 50 push-ups (5 sets of 10)
  • 50 sit-ups
  • 25 jumping jacks
  • 50 push-ups (5 sets of 10) Alternate regular push-ups with triceps push-ups.
  • 50 sit-ups
  • If he can use his jump rope, he’ll end the session with a three-minute jump, or a count to 500.

Don’t forget to always end with a series of stretches.

Check out this video for some great chest exercises:

Related articles
About these ads

Holla! to Pinterest

Posted on by
27

Of late, I’ve been shamefully neglectful of my Pinterest boards. I know you’re all out there, organizing and pinning and repinning and following and liking.

He's soo dreamy!

He’s soo dreamy!

I even know what you like best about my own Pinterest site (click to visit) and that would be  my NUMBER ONE pin: Ed Westwick, who so briliiantly portrayed Chuck Bass on Gossip Girl – and Owls.

Saw-whet owls

Yes, owls are a fave amongst my pinning pals! And animals in general, which makes me happy, ‘cos I’m a huge animal lover.

Pinterest now has created Group Boards that one can be invited to join and pin to, but what kind of freaks me out in a slightly squinchy way are my MALE pinners. I just don’t get the appeal for a guy. I’m not at all sexist, but the two males I asked — my tugboat man and my son —  said they would never in a zillion years have any interest in Pinterest. Sorry for all you guys that do, but in my own little world, the answer is NO WAY. All I got was a “let me see those In the Tube surfingsurfing pics” and then they walked away, shaking their heads.

Although…I got a little snarky comment under his breath from my tugboat man, something along the lines of…”must be nice to have so much time to waste on crap” but when I demanded that he repeat what he said, he changed it to, “That was a delicious dinner, my love” but don’t you worry, I heard it. Yes, it’s a waste of time. I agree. But it’s also very addictive.

Click on my Chanel board. Very aspirational, don’t you agree?

Chanel surfboards

OMG, this is an amazeballs seashell wedding cake, isn’t it?

Unique-Beach-Wedding-Cake-IdeasDoesn’t it make you want to get married all over again? Hmmm. Ya know, I’ve been thinking about planning a vow renewal for our big #20 wedding anniversary next February. Pinterest is the perfect place to organize themes and ideas.

Now if I could only PIN my tugboat man down to actually being at the same latitude/longitude as me, maybe it’ll happen!

This isn’t my mariner nor his tug, but it’s a good example of the kind of work he does. 

Tug and barge

Related articles

Lesson #1. Never do this to your daughter-in-law. Ever.

Posted on by
58

Or anyone else, for that matter…

I write a lot about THINGS.

Things I collect.

Things I like to acquire.

Seashells. Rocks. Driftwood. Sand.

Treasures discovered in little out-of-the-way shops.

Other things…gifts, presents, prizes, surprises…rings and necklaces and bracelets and trinkets from my tugboat man’s travels around the universe.

Chanel south coast plazaMy first Chanel handbag and wallet — ad nauseum.

Why does Princess Rosebud’s tugboat man give her so many THINGS?

Have you asked yourself that question?

Why does SHE rate all that loot?

Really, why DO I?

One of the reasons, I mean, besides my specialness, of course –hold on — I’m taking a breath here.

I’m gonna reveal something personal.

It’s deep.

Hubs feels that he needs to make amends for the way his parents treated me –uh, er, I mean Princess Rosebud.

THE FOLLOWING IS A CAUTIONARY TALE.

Never do this to anyone, especially your DIL. It’s the meanest thing EVER. EVER. I mean, like EVER.

My wonderfully sweet tugboat man EXORCISED the demons.
In a big way. Again and again.

Here’s the story: We had been married for only a year, perhaps two. I’m not sure exactly because I’ve tried to block the pain of that Christmas. And yes, I’m Jewish, and yes, I have a Christmas tree and a menorah, and yes, I say “Merry Christmas”. What. Ever. Haters gonna hate.

If you’ve been reading my confessions for a while, you prolly have gathered by now that I loves me some designer labels. Whether it’s a new ChaCha or treasures from that secret consignment shop, I have a deep and abiding love for all that is beautiful. And Valentino, too. (Click on the link to read about my vintage find of all finds.)

Take a look at these Lanvin and Jimmy Choo shoes. Aren’t they TDF fur realz?Jimmy Choo and Lanvin Yup, that consignment shop again.

During that particular holiday season we were still seeing hubs family which means it was pre-2001, ‘cos we haven’t seen them since. (That’s a whole other chapter, and not the subject of the MEANEST GIFT EVER, but a story about the worst family ever.)

We received a package of gifts from the captain’s family and arranged them under the tree for Christmas morning. I was sooo excited because the one that had my name on it (misspelled again, dammit) was a huge bag from Versace.

In fact, here’s the bag.

versace bag I’ve kept it as a reminder of something to NEVER EVER  do to my DIL–or anyone else. Look at it! It’s Versace! All glossy white with the iconic golden lion head.

OMG, I thought it was prolly a scarf–I love scarves–and I was having a hard time not sneaking a peek.

Christmas morning…in front of the fire with a fresh cup of coffee–one present for the captain, one for my son, and then it was my turn… I plunged my hand into the bag and pulled out something encased in white tissue paper.

What could it be??? A scarf? Jewelry?

Alas, NO to all that wishful thinking. pencil and pad of paper

It was a muvvverfluffing pencil and pad of paper from a muvvvvverfluffffing dollar store.

This is MAJOR. Let me repeat that.

IT WAS A MUVVVERFLUFFING PENCIL AND PAD OF PAPER FROM A MUVVERFLUFFING DOLLAR STORE.

I turned the bag over, shook it, peered inside, felt all around the four corners and even under the little flap on the bottom, and then  – nothing, nada, zip, birds could fly in and out. Empty.

No Versace ANYTHING.

Which means my darling hub’s evil bitch of a stepmom must have gotten something for herself from Versace and used that bag to toss in that cheapass idontgiveashitaboutyou pencil crapass crap in the bag. BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH. Yeah, I’m talking to you, MOTHER-IN-LAW.

A vicious calculating diabolical mean-spirited deliberate intentional act. There is no excuse for that behavior. None at all.

I “get” the whole subtext of that little THING. 

Not that I wouldn’t normally like a little gifty like that as a stocking stuffer because I’m a very apprciative recipient, but for all that is holy, don’t set me up to expect something from Versace only to be brought to tears by your passive aggressive ultimate unkindness.

The message was crystal clear; this was no accident. I’m not being overly sensitive but I always had the feeling that she didn’t like me; before this occurred, I never had an overt sign.

How do I know that there was no other reason for this cruelty?

She’s a muvvverfluffing PSYCHOLOGIST.

She knew full well what she was doing. She has all the mind screwing tools at her disposal. Way to go, hateful bitch!

I was gonna take that pad of paper with the cheapass pencil and fill every page with a long list of all the ways she was a total bitch and how it hurt my feelings, and how it wasn’t a very nice way to treat the woman her husband’s son loved, but then I decided not to (which isn’t like me cos I don’t have much impulse control); instead, hubs and I ceremoniously burned it in the fireplace.

My amazing hubs could see how distraught I was, not because I didn’t get an expensive gift, but because she set me up, and because it was proof positive that she didn’t like me, because everyone else received nice and thoughtful gifts. (Like I said, there’s much more to this story.)

And for all these many years later, he’s still feeling guilty and ashamed of the way his family [still] treats me, and that’s why I get a lot of prezzies. Well, one reason, anyway! Wink, wink.

But I kept the Versace bag so I’d never forget. Lesson #1 about how to NEVER treat my own Angel Boy’s DIL.

marc jacobsRight, S?

Don’t you just love your Marc Jacobs handbag “reward” for achieving that extraordinary work-related goal? My pleasure.:)


Related articles

Related articles

Don’t bury the lead

Posted on by
41

My tugboat man called last night.

When he’s near land, he tries to call at least once a day. I know he’s concerned about me being here alone and a phone call or an email eases his worry.

I spent about ten minutes blithely chatting away about my car that slipped a little on the wet streets because it was raining and everything else I did: went to the gym,  how I was planning the menus for my son/DIL’s visit and what kind of birthday cake the Angel Boy requested (chocolate), and how we were hoping the weather would be nice for them.

Screen Shot 2013-03-09 at 7.57.30 AM

When I stopped to take a breath,
he told me what was happening on the tug –they played cribbage,
he lost–he was tired and
going to sleep, and oh, by the way, the assignment was winding down and he’d be flying out in a couple of days.

WTF? WHAT?

WHAT. THE. HELL. DID. HE. JUST. SAY?

“What did you say? You let me chatter on for all that time and never stopped me to say you’re coming home? YOU BURIED THE LEAD? Who does that? You’re supposed to LEAD with the important part of the story. Geez”

“I was planning to, whenever you stopped talking.” he said. Oh SUH-NAP.

What every writer should know

BURYLEAD

Every writer, every journalist, EVERYONE knows that you never bury the lead!

Once upon a time, there was this thing that was made out of paper that had words printed on it. It was called a newspaper. People just like you and me read them every day to learn about the world around us. That was before television even, and well before the internet. Writers and journalists were a key element and held in high esteem. (This is MY story, right?)  Those of us who took journalism and writing classes in college learned the old adage: Never Bury The Lead.  In the pre-blog paper based publishing world, page space held a premium. All writers knew their magnificent five hundred word story might get hacked up on a busy news day. If the shortened version didn’t “have legs” on its own, the piece could be killed. That’s why news writers are concise.  The survival of their by-lines depended on it.

hisgirlfridayNothing like the good old days, am I right?

Our conversation would have taken an entirely different path if my tugboat man had started with “I’m coming home”.

Barring more delays (entirely possible), he’ll be here early next week!

Picture me spending that time finishing the spring cleaning, grocery shopping, and baking — oh, and planning what to wear to pick him up at the airport. I think it’s time for another new outfit to match my new and improved face,  don’t you?

Happy International Women’s Day and Happy Friday, everyone!

For your enjoyment,  another Cure song (of love and sadness) along with one of our favorite Bob Marley songs (of love and joy).

Related articles

Smooth sailing? Not always.

Posted on by
28

The Continuing Saga of Princess Rosebud and her Tugboat Man

Day 30…thirty days and thirty long nights since my tugboat man has been away.

He’s on the move–closer to land–and his cell works! He called last night. Other than the five minute satellite telephone call on our anniversary a couple weeks ago, this was the only time we’ve spoken. It was so unexpected. What a surprise to see his name pop up on my screen!

I always ask the same thing, “When are you coming home?” The answer this time was the answer he usually gives me; he doesn’t know, it could be now or in a month. “…you’ll be the first to know.” Dry humor.

The unpredictable life of a mariner

Some mariners have a regular schedule: three weeks on, three weeks off or two weeks on and two weeks off or even a month on and a month off. In the world of ocean-going tugs, there is no such certainty. One of my captain’s recent assignments was estimated to last  two months and it dragged on for a full four months due to several factors–including weather related issues.

Weather

There’s always weather. Right now, the project he’s on has had a lot of weather delays. If there are storms, high winds, and high seas, it’s neither prudent nor safe for a tug to proceed, and that entails a wait or what they call “on standby” until it clears.

What do you think about that? Do you think that uncertainty is a relationship hardship?

Things weren’t always so idyllic for us.

Did you think it was?

Before we met (at the company where we both worked), the captain had plotted a career move to Hawaii. His goal; good surf and work, probably in that order. Our company was setting up operations in Hawaii and he was tapped to head up that division.

Guess what? A year later, he left. He did. He really did.

I do kinda still hate him for that sometimes…wouldn’t you?

I took him to the dock and had to say goodbye. I mean a real goodbye, maybe a forever goodbye; he had packed up all his belongings and they were on the boat with him.

It was horrible at the time and it makes me sad now thinking about how I felt that day…so alone and bereft.

Us–we–it didn’t end. Over the course of several months, we visited back and forth a half dozen times. I was unhappy with the whole situation–I had done my work, made my list, and he was IT. Hawaii’s awesome, don’t get me wrong, who doesn’t love paradise–but that wasn’t part of MY plan.

Oh yes, he was IT for me but I couldn’t figure out how to persuade him to move back and allow our relationship to blossom. I was running out of options.

What if he met someone else?

One day I had just had enough. I was sick and tired of having a sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not boyfriend. It wasn’t what I wanted. And do you know what I did?

I changed my telephone number.

That’s just the way I roll. My home number was a landline and I called the telephone company and changed it. I figured that when he called, he’d get the recorded voice saying, “The number has been disconnected and there is no forwarding number” and he’d become so distraught when he couldn’t reach me that it would be the catalyst he needed to come running back to me!

MotorolaPager

I didn’t have a cell phone. I had a beeper, a pager–remember those things? Now I think only drug dealers use them LOL. He had one, too.

I waited for him to beep me. I waited all day. I was DYING to know if he had TRIED to call. This was 1992-ish; email was in its infancy–I don’t believe we even had a home computer, and the computers at work didn’t have internet access.

This is the funny part.

I started power paging him; over and over again. I mean, like twenty times, thirty times.

WITH MY NEW NUMBER.

I went to so much trouble to change my phone number and I couldn’t wait twenty-four hours. When he called, I asked him if he had tried to call the old number and he said he had (still not sure of that) and asked why I did something crazy like that. I can’t remember my response–I WAS crazy at that point.

[The quick end to that story is that I flew to Hawaii the following weekend and from there we went to Kauai and he said that I had wasted my time changing my number because he had already come to the conclusion that he couldn't live without me and he didn't want to live without me and he proposed and came home for good two months later and we were married nine months after that.]

Fast forward to yesterday’s phone call.

After we said our initial hellos and all that, I asked him,  ”Do you ever get worried that I”ll change the number again and you won’t be able to reach me? Like when you’ve been gone a really long time and I’m getting tired of it? Like NOW?”

Him: (Laughing) “Not really, or if you did, you’d just call me right away to give me the new number like you did before.”

HA HA.

Now he’s turned into a sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not HUSBAND. The difference is that he always comes home–to me. Oh, and his paychecks come here even when he’s not. Hee Hee.

Final Words

It cracks me up when I hear “Somebody That I Used to Know“.  Gotye sings, “No you didn’t have to stoop so low. Have your friends collect your records and then change your number“…

Related articles

No, I can’t go with him. Ever. Please stop asking.

Posted on by
78

Being married to a guy who goes out to sea elicits ongoing explanations–what does he do, why does he go away; he’s fishing, right? (Wrong)

At the gym today, one of the girls asked me the question I have been asked literally hundreds of times, “Do you ever get to go with him?”

NO, I can’t ever go with him, nor can I meet him and spend a few days sightseeing.

In the middle of the ocean?

These are working vessels. They don’t carry passengers for safety and security reasons; plus he works ALL the time.

Usmm-sealA refresher for new readers…my husband’s a tugboat captain. He’s also referred to as a mariner or a merchant seaman. He’s a member of the United States Merchant Marine.

The way most tug captains and crew are paid when they’re out to sea is on a “daily rate” basis which means he’s literally on the clock 24 hours a day.

Sometimes it’s eight hours on and four hours off, or six hours on and six hours off. In the “off” times, he has to eat and shower and sleep, which is why seamen often suffer from sleep deprivation.

When he comes home after a long assignment, it takes about a week to regulate his body to a more normal sleep/awake pattern.

I guess there are still some situations where spousal visits to ports are possible, but that’s never been my own experience, and since I get seasick and tugs are super noisy and smelly and dirty, I’m not sure it would be that much fun.

Here’s how we prepare for a long assignment. We’ve discovered that having a departure routine is also a coping strategy, as it helps us work as a team.

The prep is a major undertaking, although a reluctant one on my part, because it ends with a drive to the airport as a couple and the drive home alone. When our beloved pets were still alive (Victor the Border Collie and our daughter cat, Bandit) just getting the suitcases out of the garage actually caused them to become depressed, as they both came to associate that action with their daddy going away. So sad.

A very old pic of Bandit as a kitten and old man Victor

Bandit as a kitten and old man Victor. The best kind of love.

We make a lot of lists so he’ll have enough supplies of personal items to last the duration of his assignment. He’s often gone for 2-4 months without any stops in port or he’ll be in a part of the world that doesn’t have a Target or CVS on every corner.

Food
There’s always a cook aboard the tug, so he doesn’t have to worry about preparing his meals, but he has to have enough toothpaste (4), dental floss (4), vitamins, the kind of tea he likes (Yogi Antioxidant and Ginger), underwear, socks, shampoo (Kiehls is the shampoo of choice), sunscreen, and supplies for his marlinspike seamanship projects.

ropework bottle IMG_0786

I pack raw almonds, raisins, dried (unsweetened) mangos and papayas from Trader Joe’s to ensure he has healthy snacks for as long as possible.

He fills two large suitcases, two medium suitcases, and a backpack that contains his computer, iPod, other personal items.

suitcases

Serious things…

I think it’s important to have a discussion about serious matters,  just in case.

It’s something no one wants to think about, but the reality is that a tugboat is a dangerous place, and it’s smart–not to mention empowering–to be prepared in the event of a worst case scenario.

I suggest making sure you each have current powers of attorney and easy access to all financial documents. (I’m not an attorney; this is just what we have found to be a good idea).

He always checks our two cars to make sure they’re in good working order, fills the gas can for the lawnmower, and completes any last minute house repair jobs. This last time he washed the second story windows. (I abhor dirty windows!!)

It’s these little things that he does that make me feel like we’re still connected even when he’s an ocean (or two) away.

It’s equally as important to know how to reach him in case of an emergency. Cell phones often don’t work in remote locations, and there’s a definite course of action with the company if it becomes necessary to bring him home.

Make sure that neighbors, family, friends have that emergency contact information–just in case.

After his first long assignment, we installed a security system for peace of mind as much as for actual protection.

And to give you a real idea of what life is like aboard a tug, try this…
Leave your lawn mower running in your living room 24 hours a day.
Set your alarm clock to go off at random times during the night. When it goes off, jump out of bed and get dressed as fast as you can.
[Taken from http://gcaptain.com/forum/professional-mariner-forum/3115-life-aboard-merchant-vessel.html]

Related articles

T’was the night before the captain comes home!

Posted on by
56

A miracle occurred and at the very last minute, my tugboat man has been released from his assignment and is on the long  journey home. Because of the great distance he must travel, it takes two days but he’ll be arriving on Friday, which means another drive to the airport at midnight. It’s an unexpected joy, and in honor of this great occasion, I have written a poem based very loosely on “Twas The Night Before Christmas“.  It won’t win any prizes, that’s for sure!

Twas the night before arrival
when all through the house
there was a lot of vacuuming and bleach
with not a single dust bunny too far to reach.

The little sign says Princess Rosebud but it doesn't show up very good

The sign says Princess Rosebud but it’s hard to see.

The f-me boot was hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Capt Cranky wouldn’t be too tired to…you know, (overshare).

The sheets are perfumed and ironed with care
because FINALLY my tugboat man would soon be there.

There’s granola and cookies and cupcakes, too
And vodka and whiskey, and champagne flutes.
Let’s all hope I can find that missing corkscrew.

I did a mani and a pedi and some ‘scaping, too
for the reason that you-know-who would heed the clue

I’ll  drive to the airport and what might I find
but a very, very tired husband who’s ever so kind.

And what to my wondering eyes will appear
but last minute gifts so shiny and sheer.

And I in my vintage Valentino
and he in his new fuzzy robe
will sit by the fire and sip champs ever so slow.

Life Lessons from a Tugboat Man

Posted on by
14

Last night at 7:00 p.m. I received the call I was hoping for from my merchant marine tugboat captain husband. He was heading toward home, with an estimated ETA Thursday evening. Yeah! Joy! Visions of a naked tugboat captain was dancing in my head–uh–of course I meant sugarplums-hee hee, his sugarplums, that is. I need to stop that right now. This is not THAT kind of blog. Home for Christmas and home for Hannukah, which starts in a few days. “I’ll be home for Christmas” was playing over and over in my head. It was originally a song from World War II, but it’s still relevant. 

Maker of lists that I am, I got right on it. I organized the next few days into chores to do, projects to list not porncomplete, and his fave foods and beverages to get.
The time he’s on assignment is a weird limbo for me. I wait and wait and wait and wait. Don’t get me wrong, my days are filled with lots to do so I’m not just hanging around binge-Tweeting or anything. Hah! Of course that’s what I do, ‘cos the captain doesn’t approve of my Twitter habit. He gives me a dirty look and tells me to “stop laughing like a maniac” so I go cold turkey when he’s home. I went to sleep last night intending to wake up extra early and get to work with a renewed sense of purpose. With a cup of coffee in my hand, I checked my emails. This is what I read:

Bad news they just turned us around the ship needed us after all so we are headed back to______. No kidding either no idea what will happen now, crazy. We can’t believe it. LU

WTF??!! Are you f-ing serious? Again? You would think I wouldn’t be so shocked about an abrupt course change after all this time, right? I should be used to it by now, is that what you’re thinking? Well, I confess to being a lover of immediate gratification. I really hate waiting for anything (like that Chanel), and waiting for him to come home goes against my nature. I want him home NOW. Right NOW. Not whenever. I need a drink. Oh right, I can’t really drink anymore. Now what am I gonna do?

Not only is my MM a tug and tow master, he’s sailed boats all over the world. We had a ketch a few years ago but  I’m not much help; I like to let him do all the work. He’s definitely my better half (no argument there) and this is one of the life lessons he’s taught me (tried to teach me) using sailing as a metaphor. Life is like jibing and tacking and luffing, beating and running–all those things he does while I just sit there. I only move when he yells something about the boom hitting me. “You can’t fight the wind, you have to learn to work with it and manage it to reach your destination.” I get it, I get it. There’s no point being upset about something you can’t do anything about. You need to accept it and make lemonade out of lemons and all those other overused and tired platitudes. That doesn’t really make me feel any better, though. I had a list, I had plans, I had anticipated the end to my five weeks of enforced solitude!! I have my own words to live by…”When your husband’s delayed, buy some seashells.” That’s what I did today…seashells on a plate

I spent another couple of hours setting up my little tugboat photo sesh with every loose pearl I could find to create a new header for this blog. tugboat with pearlsAfter that, I stalked the captain on the live ships satellite map and emailed him to let him know I had my eye on him. He said he should have some updated info on Monday and I should “standby” which is another tugboat-y type term. I have to prepare myself for the call that says he’s on the plane and I need to go to the airport, which means I better take care of some much needed personal stuff, ya know what I mean?? If only I could cross my arms like I Dream of Jeannie, blink, and he’d miraculously appear! I just tried. No luck. Still here, still alone…Oh, and a final thought, you do NOT want to mess with a pissy Jewish princess. No, you do NOT want to go there. Trust me.

Related articles

More bitches, I mean, chicks– on tugs

Posted on by
15

Picture a tugboat. You’ll have to use your imagination as I’ve been admonished to never divulge any of the captain’s specific information. For some reason–I’m sure I don’t know why–he thinks that if anyone connected him to Enchanted Seashells, it would be VERY embarassing. In the world of the Merchant Marine, that is.  For that reason, you need to conjure up a tugboat’s shape. I hope this little picture is helpful in a generic way.  As far as tugboats go, the one the captain’s on is a pretty big one at 127 feet long, 36 feet wide.  In general, tugs are NOT five-star luxury floating hotels. Living, sleeping, eating places are stark, cramped,  functional, and devoid of all the comforts of home, (including seashell embellishment, well, unless I was on one.)  The crew usually rooms together; only the captain has a private space unless it’s a smaller crew. I wrote a post a while back Chicks on Tugs, and now it’s happened again.

On this assignment, there are nine crew members– TWO OF WHOM ARE FEMALES. I am yelling that. THERE ARE TWO CHICKS ON THE FREAKIN’ BOAT! At most land-based jobs (if memory serves–it’s been a while),  there are separate bathrooms for men and women, and at the end of the day or a shift, everyone departs to their respective homes (or local watering hole), their individual lives, and return the next day. On a boat, the crew is thrust together 24/7. And yes, I chose the word “thrust” with all possible definitions that word evokes. The boat becomes their workplace AND their home for the length of each assignment.  They eat together in the galley, watch TV together, sleep near each other, and share a bathroom, even do laundry together and smell touch see silky little undergarments. (None that belong to the captain, I should clarify.) When he told me there were TWO WOMEN ON THE BOAT, I asked him what happens when they menstruate and get all PMS-y although I actually said time of the month ‘cos it’s a subject he finds particularly icky and not a regular topic in our “two peas in a pod” conversations.

Then I started peppering him with all kinds of questions: “Are they cute?” Are they lesbians?”"Do they work out and do they have good bodies?” “What about their butts?” Are they firm and tight?” “Why are you looking?” “Are they blonde?” “Are they flirting with you?” “Have they ‘accidentally’ allowed their towel to fall when they emerged from the bathroom after taking a shower?  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there…” ”Do they rub up against you in the wheelhouse?” “Do you think you might love them more than me?”  Quantum leaps and bounds. Yes, I go there. I’m not shy. I have no filter. We have an understanding. He is the rational one and I’m the one who’d go all Lorena Bobbit on his ass.

The thing is, he doesn’t have a whole lot of privacy, so it’s impossible to really respond to my interrogation. He has to be politically correct but I think it must put undue strain on the male crew members that have to work that much harder to accommodate a female crew. I’m a total feminist, but tug and barge work is super physical and demanding and I don’t think the women I’ve seen who work around this industry are really capable to handle it–handling lines, tow ropes, wire, winches. It’s not fun and it’s dangerous. But that’s just my opinion. He says there are lots of women who are as competent as any man. It’s just not my cup of tea-or martini-or glass of champs.

I’m waiting for the captain’s daily telephone call and New Girl is getting ready to start. My car is dripping some red stuff that looks like blood and something’s making an annoying chirping sound every thirty seconds somewhere in the house and I can’t figure out where it’s coming from and now I think it’s that stupid Spirit Squirrel come back to haunt me or else someone’s trying to sabotage my mental health, ‘cos if I have to hear that sound for one more day, I’m gonna burn the house down.

By the way, was anyone else disappointed by Gossip Girl last night? It was so booorrrinnng.