Fantasy Fest Survival

OMG! I almost forgot what time of year it is. It's Fantasy Fest Time. Yeah, I've been, Nah, I didn't get a total body paint, Yeah, I got me some beads, wampum,...and I still couldn't get me a drink. Here's the story.
We happened to be in DC at Gangplank Marina on 9/11, we happend to be scheduled to fly out of Reagan that morning back to Kansas and home, obviously, that didn't happen. The Potomac was closed and we were stuck, but I have to say what a profound time to be there and we wouldn't trade it for the world. However, 3 weeks later the Potomac opened up and the cap'n says "I'm going to Fantasy Fest!" Not even stopping by Disney World, he was going to "Fantasy Fest!" And as he likes to say, "I've been to two pig pullin's and three county fairs but I ain't never seen nothin like that. Well, if you're going to go take some advice from me.

FANTASY FEST SURVIVAL GUIDE


“Get dressed up and I’ll take you out tonight,” the cap’n said.

I could hardly believe my ears. What would I wear? A little short slinky number or something more sophisticated? Where will we go? A nice, quiet restaurant or a lively bar? I’ll go all out. I’ll put on make-up and even style my hair. Of course, I’ll have to do it under the hand dryer in the marina bathroom.

This was all before I found out the cap’n’s idea of dressing up was an itsy bitsy bikini top and a long, but tight mermaid skirt.

“Uh, I don’t think so!”

Not with this forty-something, never-met-a-food-group-I-didn’t-like body. Now I don’t mind indulging the cap’n’s sordid imagination on the rare occasion. But in the privacy of our own boat, for Chrissakes! Not out in public! Not on your Buster Browns!

“Where in the world did you think you were going to take me dressed like that?” I implored.

“To Fantasy Fest,” the cap’n replied.

“I can’t go in that get-up,” I cry. “I’ll be horribly over-dressed!”

For the few unfortunate and unenlightened souls out there, Fantasy Fest is a yearly event in the Conch Republic of Key West. Every year in October thousands of people converge on this small island to dance, go naked, get painted, and get plastered.

A lot of us think this is fun!

A few tips before you go though:

Have a designated place to meet if you should get separated because amidst a throng of 70,000+ bodies, you will get separated. And when you do get separated the cap’n should at least put up a plausible act of trying to find you. Unlike one cap’n I know very, very well (right down to a certain special place where the angels kissed him) who, when his first mated finally located him at 4:00 a.m., said ,”But Honey, I stayed in the same spot where we got separated the whole night so you could find your way back to me.” The fact that he was finally located a half a mile from that spot was damaging enough. The numerous pictures of numerous pairs of female protuberances in front of numerous different bars sealed the verdict. Busted!

Make sure each of you has your own money. I witnessed one poor abandoned mermaid who had gotten separated from her cap’n who didn’t even have the fare to pay for the water taxi back to her boat, much less any money to buy herself a drink. I did have one very nice older man that kept offering me a ride on "their bus" back to the hotels that I had to convice that his bus could not take me back to my boat on a mooring in Garrison Bight. I did manage to borrow the 15.00 water taxi fee from him, now if I could only find the water taxi. I should have had a counter on for how many times I walked between Duvall Street and Schooner's Wharf. Now for those of you that choose to undergo a total body painting you’ll have to be a little more imaginative in stashing your cash. A“fanny pack.”perhaps.

The cap’n advises that you take your dog with you, in case you get separated from your first mate. You’ll need some companionship. No, Dummy, not from the dog. You use the dog as a chick-magnet. Apparently it works because Stanley, the dog, got more beads I did and he didn’t even have to humiliate himself to do it.

Buy your first-mate lots of beads so she won’t feel rejected if nobody asks to view her feminine attributes. Not that she would show them if asked. Would she?

Have Fun! And by the way, if you see some poor, lost, bedraggled mermaid wondering around, buy me a drink, darn it!

Aw!! Stanley looks so young then, he's older now, wiser, and blind. The same could be said of me.

Going Off: Intracoastal Waterway vs. Offshore Passage

Howdy everybody,
It's that time of year again. Everybody's stocking their boats up and getting ready to head south. There's just one question, do you do the ICW or do you bite the bullet and go offshore. Here's my take on the issue. As usual, it's completely unbiased.

I’ve decided to come out of the closet. I’m stepping forward and declaring my true feelings. I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. I’m a little nervous but I am unashamed for I know there are others like me out there. I know this because they’ve told me. Muttered under the breath confidences while surrounded by “normal” sailors. Somebody has to be the first to make the admission, so here I go.

“I hate offshore passages…..especially offshore passages at night.”

Already I hear the collective horrified gasps of the “don’t ask, don’t tell” sailing community.

“Infidel!”

“Perversion of sailing nature!”

I know. I know. Believe me I’ve suffered a guilt complex for years. It took forever for me to admit even to myself. Years of doing it but never really liking it.

So what is a sailboat’s first mate of a different persuasion to do? Well, for the last three years the cap’n and I have been fortunate enough to sail the eastern coast where there is a very handy solution to this problem. It’s called the Intracoastal Waterway. It has great scenery and the social possibilities abound with its parade of sun seeking boats. There are great places to dock or anchor. The best part is if you get into trouble you can pull in somewhere without having to call the coast guard to come out and get you. As a matter of fact, I feel it’s downright unpatriotic not to use the ICW. It took a lot of men a lot of years to dig this ditch for us. I guess somebody else didn’t like offshore passages either. We owe it to them to use it as often as we can.

So what’s the problem?

The cap’n hates it!

Okay, I admit it does get a little skinny here and there and it’s a little humiliating to have all your new friends hearing you hail Sea Tow on the VHF. These are probably the same friends you spent the night before espousing sailing wisdom to. But it’s only mud and as they say on the ICW and just about every other body of water, “If you haven’t run aground you’re either lying or you never left the dock.”

“I just can’t relax if I have to watch the depth gauge all the time,” the cap’n whines.

Relax? Oh yeah. Let me describe a relaxing overnight passage we did across the Chesapeake to Norfolk, VA. Yeah, I know it’s not offshore but it was doing a damn good impersonation that night. A fluke of nature? I don’t think so since it repeated itself a few days later on a true offshore from Wrightsville Beach to Charleston. All of you of the offshore persuasion can read on and reminisce.

It was a beautiful, clear starlit night. There was no wind, of course, and NOAA was predicting waves of one foot. We all know NOAA has a tendency to lie. The cap’n defended NOAA. He says the waves really were 1 foot or less it was the swells that were seven to ten feet. So it was just like one of those wonderful offshore nights. You know one of those nights where it feels like some demonic grandmother has lifted you up and is rocking you madly to and fro until you throw up. You dutifully pull your watch but even when you’re off watch there is no rest for the weary. Instead it seems you’re at the hands of some amateur magician who keeps levitating you of your bunk just to drop you a few seconds later. And he just won’t give up, he keeps trying over and over and over again. Of course, your stomach is levitating and dropping right along with your tired body.

So let’s compare. The previous described relaxation versus going aground in soft mud and sitting back and tossing back some cold ones until Sea Tow comes to rescue you. Seems like a no brainer to me.

The cap’n won’t give up.

“It saves time,” he argues.

That’s a good argument but consider the following scenario. The story you are about to hear is true and not even the names have been changed to protect the guilty.

See the cap’n and I and our friends, Larry and Joan, at Point A discussing our sail plans over sundowners. The cap’n is adamant and a bit superior in his plans to go offshore to Point B. Larry and Joan demurely state that they have decided to do the ditch. See Mary (me) look enviously at Larry and Joan.

The next morning:

See the cap’n and I wave regretfully at our friends as they head down the ditch and we head out the inlet. It will probably be awhile before we meet up since we’ll be so far ahead of them.

Two days after departure:

See the cap’n and I drop the anchor at Point B. We are so exhausted we barely make it to the bunk before we crash. We sleep the whole day away.

Three days after departure:

See Joan and Larry wave gaily as they anchor next to us at Point B. See the cap’n scrubbing saltwater stalagmites that have formed over all outside, and some inside, surfaces. See me resecuring and restowing escaped stuff in preparation for our next relaxing offshore leg.

See Larry and Joan get into their dinghy to go explore town and get a bite to eat. Our dinghy is deflated and secured.

See Joan smile happily at Larry.

See me shoot daggers through my eyes at the cap’n.

The next morning:

See Larry and Joan heading back down the ditch.

See the cap’n and I following right behind them.

THE END!


38 days 'til back on the boat

By the way GW is getting pretty lonely down there as my only other first mate and I'm getting my feelings, but hey, it's not all about me, wait a minute, I guess it is since I haven't heard from the rest of you. You know being Catholic, I've got plenty of guilt to spread around.