Pirate's Punch, Puppies, and Purging

The story of "us" is thus far undoubtedly interesting enough to inhabit a screenplay of its own.  The first few months of our relationship was a whirlwind of insanity and nothing short of qualification for the asylum.  Well, ok.... if we are telling the whole truth, the first few YEARS were nuts (and packed with adventure, I might add), but we’ll just do this in small doses for now.  

We moved in together quickly (I know... shocker!) and spent the months between June and December 2006 setting fire to our money, partying our asses off, and giving ourselves permission to do things like... answer a makeshift sign on the side of the road which read (in bright orange spray paint), “Golden retriever puppies!”.  It didn't take long to know which fur kid would best suit our family because he was the one with reddish ears who preferred to entertain himself while keeping his littermates at paws length,  refused to stay confined to his pen, and was found sleeping peacefully and defiantly on the tile in front of the refrigerator each morning.  Unaware that we would soon meet our match, I withdrew the last $200 from my savings account to bring Sailor home from the place where he was born.  He was seven weeks old, and cute enough to make my heart do things I was convinced it wouldn’t do anymore.  I brought him to the apartment where Sarah and I lived .  She was at work so I called her to come home for lunch, and she fell head over heals in love... with Sailor, at least.  We were already going through some rough times, and when I look back, sometimes I’m not sure how we stayed together.  But by this time in our lives, each of us were well-practiced in finding temporary solutions to long-standing problems.  This worked for us for longer than I’d like to admit, but I wouldn’t trade it for all the experience, strength, and hope it has rendered in my life and hers.  That said… a fluffy, little puppy named Sailor was just what we needed to get back on track, and it worked like a charm.......for a day or so....

It wasn’t long before we realized that we couldn’t get up at 3:30am with Puppy the Sailorman if we had just gone to bed at 2:30am.   This, among other more significant factors, was reason enough to at least admit we had some work to do on ourselves.  So….We began trying to cut back on the partying which proved to be more difficult than we ever imagined. 

The apartment complex we lived in was situated across the street from the Atlantic Ocean.  There were crazy people everywhere.  Our next door neighbor was the ex-wife of the lead guitarist for Foghat, and at about 3:30 every afternoon there would be an obnoxious, but ever-so- endearing, medley comprised of anything from Eminen to Elton John... the Grateful Dead to Destiny’s Child and maybe a little Lynyrd Skynyrd for good measure ….blasting through her screened patio and coming to rest on ours.. My ex lived in the building across from us and more often than not, when she would see Sarah on the property, she'd try to punch her in the face. You know.... just the usual stuff.  The entire staff lived on site, so it was understood that most days, the front office hours were, “Whenever the apartment manager rolls out of bed” o’clock – “whenever she decides to go back to the unit she lives in and throw a party” o’clock.  If you didn’t catch her within that time slot, you would just have to try again tomorrow.  Unless, of course, she invited you to the party…. to which we maintained a not-so-glamorous VIP status.   And everybody knew what everybody else was doing…. All the time.   There were 5 buildings.    We lived in the building closest to A-1A, and the crowd we partied with most nights of the week lived across the sidewalk (this crowd included the apartment manager on many occasions).  So most days when work was over, we’d walk across the street to Kamal’s BP station, grab a 12 pack, and head to the party patio.  Or the pool… which was even more conveniently located.  OR the beach.... because everyone who’s anyone knows there is never a better reason to drink than if you are going across the street to fish for dinner.   If none of those places were hoppin… we could always get on our bikes and ride a few blocks down to the bar, where sarah and I both had been employed off and on and where, most days, we were  granted a free pass behind the bar to mix our own drinks.  Whew!  We were beginning to realize a snowball had a better chance in hell …..

When we tried to cut back on hanging out, it seemed some folks took it personally. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t…. maybe we just were too oblivious to realize there was more happening than what was right in front of our faces.   We tried to explain it, but it got worse.  We finally decided to sell everything in our two bedroom apartment, buy a tent on credit, and settle in for the winter in a little campground just the other side of the Banana River.  Our intention was to start over… give ourselves a chance to dry out.  Looking back, I can see that we were doing what we had apparently always done in a “fight or flight” scenario.  We were flying.... but what we didn’t know at the time, and thank god we didn’t….. is that wherever you go, there you are.  I’ve never felt so liberated and so imprisoned at the same time, but I’m pretty sure this is what they call hope.
  

Sailor was happiest of all.  He was 4 months old by now and clearly thought he’d won the lotto.   He was so noticeably happier living in the great outdoors that we immediately knew we’d made the right decision….even if it was the middle of a cool December, our home was a small canvas bubble, and we weren’t quite sure what our next move would be. We have learned a lot about life from that dog, I swear.  Eventually, we would adopt this way of life, buy a travel trailer, and embrace our inner golden retriever, but first.... we needed to learn how to sit..................