Wednesday, January 4, 2012


Not quite shwashbucklin yet, but I have a phone interview tomorrow.  To shwashbuckle.  Actually, it's for the worse job at sea.  In the letter, it was like, 'ya, we have the boats all crewed, but there is one job that we can't find anyone to accept, so give us a call tomorrow.  K?'  Welp, I'll be a callin.  The good thing is that this job is bad enough that it pays a little more.  How much?  Don't know don't care.  Their scale of good pay is seriously different than mine.  And I mean that like, they think good pay is way more than I do.  These fisher folk pull in some cheese from time to time.  So, we shall see.

The tough decision has nothing to do with the sea.  That's basic.  First job coming and I shove off.  The tough decision is a bit different.  Now that I'm a little older, you know, 30ish, there are some new dynamics at play.  Like choosing between mother and daughter.  Met a girl and her mother.  Girl-21.  Mother-43.  Me-31.  So...ya.  I figured the daughter was too young, so I was coking and joking with mom for the most part.  Mom was pretty decent and worldly and seemed like fun to be around.  She was like, "You should take my daughter out."  Ya, ya that too.  So little Brittani with an 'i' dropped the digits and smiled winningly.

This reminds me of the time I went to Bob Arruda's house.  He called me and was like "Maverick, I need a wingman.  There's two chicks here and I'm by myself".  I was like, "Maverick supersonic.  ETA-two minutes."  And the Elco flew to the grove.  So I walked in all life of the party cracking jokes and maybe undressing.  I had my attention on this girl with dark hair.  Obviously.  Important point to remember.  I dipped in there on a search and destroy for this chick.  The way everyone was positioned told me she was the target of opportunity.  And to take it out. 

HQ called me over the radio, "Hey Barrell (Bob called me barrell), let me show you my weights in the garage".  I was like no problem.  I lift weights.  We get into the garage and HQ told me, "that's the wrong girl meat.  That's the one I'm getting at."  So we went back inside and without missing a beat I just started flagrantly hitting on the other girl.  It was so obvious it was hilarious.  Even the girls were laughing.  But they didn't care.  This is one of the rare occasions when putting my foot in my mouth worked out for everyone.  There was no more ambiguity about what was going on and we all laughed. 

Well tonight was a similar situation.  Not flagrant hitting on of either, but at mom's suggestion I jumped ship like it was going down in a blaze.  But the question remains.  Who?  The younger girl isn't really any better looking and might be higher maintenance, you know?  For a guy who's bailing in a week or so?  Then she's gonna be bitter if I don't write blah blah blah...   Mom would be down to grab some grub and shoot the breeze.  Mom would have something interesting to say.  Mom would probably just be glad I wasn't one of however many husbands she's had in her forty plus years.  Neither of these women are gonna be Mrs. Watts.  That's a fact.  So what to do? 

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