Last night, I should have been:
- having a drink or two at Tavern on the Harbor in Northport
- having a drink or two at Gunther's Tap Room in Northport
- having a drink or two at Napper Tandy's in Northport (sensing a theme here?)
- any combination of the above
I was forced to scrub the trip home by a shit sandwich that started being built on Monday, when I was informed that I'd have to stand the mid-watch on Tuesday night. That would mean that whenever I hit the road on Wednesday afternoon, I'd be up since 11:00 pm on Tuesday. Then when I came in on Tuesday for duty, I found out that the way the ship and divisional schedules played out, I'd probably be here fairly late into Wednesday afternoon. Among the things standing between me and my ancestral home was the performance of a maintenance item...to be monitored by the Commanding Officer. Of the ninety-two days in the fourth quarter of 2007, he has to pick Thanksgiving Eve to watch us play nice with our gear? Oh yes, the Submersible Death Trap strikes again. As it turned out, the skipper had a meeting to attend, so he didn't make it, but we still did the maintenance, and it was still monitored by one of our junior officers. I finally drove off Seavey Island about 2:50 pm yesterday, and at that point, I was still green-lighting the trip. But then I drove home - and that distance of seven miles changed everything. When the Minivan o' War rolled up to the Nexus of Hate at 3:06 pm, I had considered the following factors:
- I've been awake since 11:00 pm last night, with only five hours of sleep preceding that.
- Thanksgiving Eve is the most heavily traveled day of the year, so I'll be fighting traffic somewhere on the trip.
- I'll be getting in most likely after 10 pm, so I'm probably not going out in Northport.
- With a projected return trip departure of 4:00 - 4:30 pm, I'd only have about eighteen hours in Northport.
- The weather forecast has potential for rain along the entire return trip (would have been this afternoon).
- Evan wanted to pick up the Yuengling that Ray had procured for him; with Ray on duty, I had to stay behind until Evan got there.
Had I made a quick turnaround and gotten out of there, I might not have noticed that the paint on my ceiling had peeled again, and water had seeped into the carpet directly below. I called Beechstone management, and they sent a guy down to look at it. The solution he came up with was...to paint over it again! This despite the fact that they tried that course of action two weeks ago, and the result was a giant FAIL. Is it too much to ask to actually fix the fucking leak in my ceiling? I think if this doesn't work - or if they don't handle it in a timely manner - I'm going to let my roommate have at them. That'll be much worse for Beechstone than having me deal with them.
After the maintenance guy left, I set forth upon implementing Plan B. Step one of this plan was dinner at Applebee's, which served as my Thanksgiving meal. The experience was enhanced by my taking a giant dump before I even made it out of the restaurant. Maddox was right - there are few things more satisfying in this world than a large release of fecal matter. Round 2 of throne time came just after I got home from Applebee's. Not too long after that, I began implementation of step two of my plan B - getting absolutely and totally drunk. And with plenty of Yuengling in the fridge, I had no problem accomplishing this goal. In concert with the consumption of a LOT of Elixir of Joy, I watched Ocean's Thirteen for the second time since purchasing the DVD on Monday, and I also watched Chelsea Lately. Just after midnight, I passed out on the couch with half a beer in front of me; not only did I waste beer, I just missed getting into double digits on drinks. I woke up at 5 am to the morning news; I cleaned up the living room and passed back out in my bed.
Today's a day to stay in and watch football. The SDT is putting on a Thanksgiving dinner, but I refuse to partake as an act of protest for the boat having shafted me this week. In fact, I decided to play arts and crafts with the special request chit I submitted to go to Long Island for Thanksgiving. This is the result:
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I'll close this by wishing everyone a happy Thanksgiving, but especially my friend J.P., whose brother lost a long battle with leukemia last weekend.