Parrothead Ramblings

"Wish I Was A Pirate On the Caribbean, Smoking On My Boat and Havana Daydreamin'...." The Boat Drunks

One thing is for sure: The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog is a trooper, baby. A tough one. No way was she going to let a little inconvenience like a broken toe interfere with her Meeting of the Minds. So we scootered off on Tuesday to The Conch Republic, and upon parking, ran into our first problem of the day. Cheap Bastard somehow managed to lose his scooter keys despite never being more than arm's length from his scooter. He dug through his pockets and his dive bag about a hundred times, together we went over the scooter with a magnifying glass, mercilessly interrogated Annette and TFMCD, and moved every leaf and piece of post-Wilma debris within a five-foot radius of Cheap Bastard's Hawg. After what seemed like a decade of this activity, CB says "Oh, here they are. In my pocket."

Huh?

Like, wasn't that the first place you looked, dude? "Yeah," he says, "but they were way, way down in the corner of my pocket."

So we lock up, put everything back together and head out. After about about five steps, Cheap Bastard hits the brakes: "Shit! I can't find my money." So we begin to repeat the efforts of the previous decade, when he suddenly finds his money.

In his pocket. Way, way down in the corner. Probably underneath his scooter key.

Our dive boat that day docked just outside the Conch Republic, so we parked our asses on some barstools to grab a cold brew and wait for it to come in. I decided to conduct a little poll. When a server walked by, I snagged her, pointed at the little non-descript white building we discussed in Part II, and asked "Hey, do you know what that building over there is?"

Nope. No idea.

I heard it was Jimmy Buffett's studio.

No. No way. His studio is not far from here, but it just looks like a house, so no one will know it's his studio.

You sure? I mean, that's the word on the street.

Nope. I don't know what that building is, but I know it isn't Buffett's studio.

Hmmm. I wait a couple of minutes, then grab a different server. "Hey, do you know what that building over there is?"

Sure. That's Jimmy Buffett's studio.

I'm going with Server #2, because I like his answer better.

We tried a little diving off a catamaran that afternoon, but a 4' chop and the remnants of that Big Bitch Wilma left a lot to be desired, so we headed back to port with all the free beer we could drink. I caught another gravity storm on the way back and did a nice little slow roll onto the non-slip deck, shredding my knee in the process. Once he realized I was OK, Cheap Bastard found the whole affair quite amusing. I've given him shit since Parrot Grande for doing a similar (though alcohol related) slow roll right out of his lawn chair. At least I can blame a rolling deck. As I recall the earth underneath him was relatively still the night he did his.

Karma bites me again.....
  |