NEW: Paul's Mexican/Brazilian Soap Opera Drinking Game

OK, here's one you can try at home. Just put on a Mexican or Brazilian soap opera "Novella" for 30 minutes, and open up a bottle of Bourbon, Whisky,, Tequila or Rum. Here are the rules:

1) Every time a woman cries, drink. Double if she is talking to her ex-husband.
2) Every time a man accidentally runs over his ex wife with whom he is still secretly in love, drink twice.
3) Every time a much younger man takes off his shirt in front of a MILF, drink.
4) Every time she loses the baby, drink. Drink twice if the father was actually her husband.
5) When the leading man tries to reconcile with his ex-wife, flip a coin. If you call the coin toss wrong, drink.
6a) When the helpful but angry-looking older woman tries to kill the younger woman who was looking for advice, drink.
6b) When the younger woman turns the tables and the older woman is handcuffed or is made to cry, drink.
7). When your latina wife gets really angry because you showed this to her, *Drink.*  Repeat until the temporary celibacy passes.


*Paul takes a pull from the bottle*







Noto Bene: If the player to your right no longer responds to verbal questions or the game lasts longer than 30 minutes, dial 911 and contact a poison control center.

another lap

So, I'm 39. I discovered Bulleit bourbon last night, so I feel 49. Good stuff, though.

Home!

No free ice cream right now. I'm home, and probably killing fish and liver cells. Back later.

Sharks are assholes

THIS. This is why The Notorious B.O.B. and I used to kill sand sharks (Spiny dogfish) that got into the lobster pots. Sharks is dicks.

         Click on pic for animu!

Bad mood rant

Well, last night sucked. Today too.

 Last night we had an incident which I *shouldn't* talk about much, as there's an insurance issue involved now. We're OK, we're still floating, and by next week we'll be 100% again. Had a quick physics refresher, so thank you buckets Sir Isaac Newton for another 24-hour workday, and after we visit a shipyard to undo what was done, we'll be sound as a pound.
       
     Today I came alongside the QUEEN MARY II to deliver a couple of hundred tons of low-sulphur diesel for their generators. We had the diesel loaded already when we had our incident, so we have to get rid of it anyhow.

Mary, you're a bitch to get close to. 

I'm not sure why the designers had to make the QM2 damn near impossible to fuel in a safe manner. The architect who failed to design the vessel to accomodate at-sea transfers with bunker vessels should have a rubber band wrapped tightly around his privates for a few weeks to prevent the passing of his stupid, stupid genes. Cunard lines, too, is culpable. They're the ones who hired an architect who never thought about how they were going to makes the wheels spin.

 I say this, not to be malicious, but to note that punishment has already been meted out. Although the QM2 is relatively young, her hull along the waterline has more ripples and dimples than a fat grandma's ass, so I'm not the only person who has struggled to get moored to her. My psychic alter ego, Nostradumbass, foretells of much time and treasure spent on restorative steelwork on her shell plating at the waterline over the next 50 years.

 Also, the ship has two bunker stations- one forward, ahead of the parallel midbody (the flat of the hull, where there's no curve in the steel from the bow or bilge), where you can't possibly get moored alongside securely (thanks, genius!), and one aft, where you can get a line or two secured to panama chocks even though they're mounted waaaaayyy to close to the water to be truly safe from letting the lines slip off as the barge comes up when pumping off.

These, recessed into a ship hull, will keep a guy like me from poking a hole in your boat when trying to give you fuel. Spend $5000 more in construction, or replace half an acre of steel plate every 10 years... seems like a no-brainer.


 Anyways, we did OK. I'm admittedly not in a fine form just now, so bear with my grumpiness. The QM2 looks like a dream to visit, but to bunker her is an utter shit show.

So... Taylor Swift's moving in nearby

So, Taylor Swift has bought a house in Rhode Island. I've been to Watch Hill. It's a pretty area. Seems like an unusually smart decision coming from a girl who at age 23 has already had more balls in her mouth than the Hungry Hungry Hippos.

The Romantic Life of the Merchant Mariner

So... I'm suffering from motivational issues here in terms of writing. I'm having issues at work.

    There's no such thing as a day off on the water. There are cargo-free days; not as many as I might like, but I have them, days when I can get caught up on the stuff I need to do. Today being such a day, we're at the yard at Brooklyn HQ having a little steel work done. I only managed about 2 1/2 hours sleep yesterday, and 3 the day before. Trouble sleeping, and an assist tug from another company that had a habit of bashing into us when I was trying to nap. Left me feeling soggy and hard to light.
   So, last night, and those sausages for lunch I taked about? Spicy. Too much jalepeno but not too much burn on the way down. Today, however, it's like I have an invisible tether keeping me 20ft from the head. I don't want to be too far, and even so, no one wants to stay in the house what with the screaming and crying and cursing God that's going on. I have to take a watch off from my walking what with my buscuits being burnt up and all.

 Anyhow, one of our brandy newie main cargo pump diesels is in need of servicing, and there's a nice cargo hatch not 20 feet away if I can't make it back to the deckhouse.

 My mother was right. I just should have been a fuckin' pimp.

 I'll check in after I have a nice seat in an ice bucket.