Spotted outside the sales center for a new and “exclusive” condo complex in Victoria:
I am so naive
sometimes. This is our fourth season selling our artwork on the causeway in Victoria, and every year, August has taken me by surprise. I never learn just how cruel a mistress August can be! Each June, I think to myself:
This is a piece of cake!
I could do this all effin’ year long!
Bring on the sales, universe!
By July every year, I’m a bit wiser and my enthusiasm is a bit, um, tempered. I console myself:
Hey, at least you’ve only got 50 unread e-mails in your inbox, not 500.
Way to keep up with a twice-weekly(ish) workout schedule!
August will be totally manageable. It can’t be *that* much busier than July.
Then August hits.
I go from working out twice(ish) a week to working out two times the entire month (the 1st and the 31st, natch). The unread e-mails in my inbox pile up at an alarming rate, nearly outsizing the monstrous dirty laundry pile in our closet (you know, if e-mails had physical mass and volume). Marty’s parents leave frantic voicemails on our machine, ranging from “Hello? We haven’t talked to you in two weeks!”, to “Is everything okay?? Are you guys still alive over there??” Sadly, most of their calls go unanswered, mainly because a) we’re not home until midnight to check our messages and b) we pity the fools who try to phone us in the morning before we leave for work. Mornings are for silence. That’s our motto. Our other motto is Phone us before 10 in the morning and SUFFER OUR WRATH! Just saying.
Anyway. August is a demanding master, and we are her wretched slaves. I’ve come a long way since my days at the office, no? Scroll down to experience An Ordinary August Day in photos:
Why are we even awake at 8 am? Normally, I set an alarm for 8:30 and it nearly kills both of us to peel ourselves off the sheets. Don’t judge! This Ordinary August Day started off as it normally does (albeit a half hour earlier than usual): with me preparing our breakfasts (oatmeal and coffee for Marty; green smoothie for me) and Marty loading up our bike trailer for work.
I arrive at the Harbour to join Marty, who has been working there since 10 am. (What? I was at home making our lunches.) I check on the status of my knitting (a staple pastime) and restock any inventory that needs touching up from the night before.
Marty paints. I knit and (hopefully) sell stuff. By 1 pm, I’ve devoured my weight in rye crackers and almond butter as a snack, and I’ve finished the first knit project of the day.
Marty eats his lunch (avo sandwiches), and then I head to Evil Starbucks to fetch him an afternoon caffeine fix. It’s a necessary evil. Upon returning to the Harbour (a whole 10 minutes later), I chow down on a gigantic salad (kale, arugula, bell peppers, coconut ribbons, hemp seeds, homemade dressing– other foods that I am not allergic or sensitive to at the moment.) And just in case you were wondering: yes! I eat all the time. (3 times before 2 pm for those of you who are counting.) Marty and I are actually known to the other vendors and even the security guards on the causeway as the “people who are always eating”. Ahem.
2 pm to 5 pm:
Selling stuff. Knitting stuff. Painting stuff. Glancing up at the clock tower that OWNS ME every 10 or 15 minutes. You know, just working.
The dreaded Dinner Hour begins, and Marty takes his cue to head home to fetch our battery and warmer clothes for the evening ahead. Dinner Hour is dreaded because everything sloooooooows down for a period– plus, the sun starts shining directly in my face, so I have to whip out the One Step Shy of a Welder’s Mask Sunglasses.
6 to 7 pm
Marty returns with the battery. I go fetch dinner… from the mall (groan). Two cruise ships have just docked, so the streets are starting to fill up, and everyone and their dog (including me!) take photos of the local sights.
The sun slowly starts to set, so Marty sets up our lights and plugs in our battery. The Harbour is alive with approximately 8000 cruise ship visitors (for real), and amazingly, a few hours pass without me even glancing at the clock tower that OWNS ME. I’m too busy selling things and telling people how amazing my husband is. 🙂
What the eff? Somebody leaves a “free gift” in one of our display fixtures. Opening it up, I discover that Hell is So Hot. Thanks! (There’s always something crazy going on at the Harbour. Today, it just took until 9 pm for the crazy to start happening.)
10 to 11 pm
Marty is (faking) still going strong after 12 hours at work. Poor lad is still painting, only now it’s in the dark and the paint is taking forever to dry. I’m taking photos of our provincial government building, counting the minutes until we can start packing up for the night.
Yipee! We’re packing up for the evening and looking forward to all the work that still needs to get done at home. This is what the clock tower that OWNS ME says as we’re leaving for the night:
Midnight to 1:30 am
(No photos to show you). We restock inventory, phone in our credit card transactions, wash our food containers, and fall into bed. Now, multiply this day by 31, and you’ll have our August. 🙂
How have you been lately, my dear but neglected readers? I miss you!
Sorry I’ve been so MIA lately! Work is keeping me plenty busy, but I’m hoping to get a chance to resurface in the blog world soon. xo!
Sometimes, putting residential units atop retail establishments just doesn’t work, especially when the shop in question is a popular pizza place that stays open until the wee hours of each morning. Residents of the condos on Wharf Street apparently complained about the noise levels at night, prompting this sign to be erected outside the pizza place:
Ha! Cheekiness at its finest. 🙂
Congratulations– you bought a yacht! Welcome to the How The Heck Can I Spend My Millions of Dollars? club!
As the proud owner of a new yacht, you’re probably making some tough decisions, such as:
- Where will I moor this gorgeous babe?
- What prestigious races will I compete in?
- Should I learn how to sail or just hire a reputable yacht crew to handle all of the pesky sea-faring details?
- Will I wear pink polo shirts and white tennis shorts on deck, or will I go for the gold suit and ultramarine dress shirt combo as a tribute to the fabulous Simon LeBon?
Hold on there, fella!
Before anything else can happen, you’ve got to name your yacht. Yes! She needs a name! You’ve got to register her! Sure, it was easy to spend the $750K+ to get your yacht in the first place, but that doesn’t mean it will be “smooth sailing” choosing a name. (Get it- sailing? Yacht? Little bit of filthy rich humor for you there.) Anyway. To guide you down the path of choosing the perfect name for your perfect, perfectly expensive yacht, the club has compiled a list of existing yacht names and grouped them into several categories on your behalf. Remember, all of the names listed below have already been registered* to other yacht owners, so if there’s one that really jumps out at you, try adding a “II” to the end and go from there…
Yacht-Naming Tactic #1: Go for something pretty!
Everyone loves a boat with an ethereal or nature-y sounding name. Naming your boat after a river or a woodland creature lets people know that you’re more than just a sack of dusty money– you care about the environment, too!
- Prairie Dancer
- Fragile Habitat
Yacht-Naming Tactic #2: Name it after your mother, girlfriend, or wife
What woman wouldn’t be flattered to have an expensive, sleek, and sophisticated yacht bear her name? (NB- People who marry just for love: you only wish a yacht could be named after you.)
- Red Sheilla
Yacht-Naming Tactic #3: Sound tough!
You’re not just a pretty boy with perfect teeth and pleated pants, are you? No– you’re strong! You’re manly! Well… even if you’re whisper thin and cry during so-called ‘chick flicks’, you can still create a facade of masculinity by naming your yacht something bold.
- Freedom X
Yacht-Naming Tactic #4: Play on words!
People will love you for your intelligence, wit, and clever use of the English language. Naming your yacht something snappy proves that you’re more than just an 8- or 9-figure Swiss bank account… you’re a Harvard educated 8- or 9-figure Swiss bank account. 🙂
Yacht-Naming Tactic #5: Be honest
OK, so maybe forking over 2 million dollars for your 50′ yacht wasn’t exactly easy. Let people know this by forever naming your boat after your money woes!
Yacht-Naming Tactic #6: Leave some breathing room
Some names have double meanings or leave room for interpretation. Think of what would happen if you named your yacht after your girlfriend and later broke up with her. Awkward! To avoid potentially uncomfortable situations like this, it’s wise to name your yacht something more, um, open-ended.
- Family Affair (could mean that you sail with your sons… or that you’re leaving the door open to cheat on your wife)
- New Beginnings I (it’s easy to tack on extra “I”s in the event that your relationship(s) don’t work out)
Yacht-Naming Tactic #7: Confuse people!
Who says that filthy rich yacht owners don’t know how to have fun? Why not christen your boat with a name that will have everyone scratching their heads and thinking WTF??
- Free Bowl of Soup
- Baaad Kitty!
Yacht-Naming Tactic #8: Add some sass to your class
If all else fails, why not name your yacht something sassy? If you like cats, too, why not display your affection for them by including a feline reference in your yacht’s name as well?
- Cat Sass (Note: can also fall under the Play on Words and WTF?? categories, especially if your yacht happens to be a catamaran.)
Hopefully this handy reference guide has helped you think of potential names for your new yacht. Remember, all of these yacht names are already taken, but there’s nothing stopping you from registering Doe-Sea-Doe or Stinky Cat Sass. Good luck!
*Yacht names compiled from the actual 2012 Swiftsure International Yacht Race list of registrants. (The Swiftsure Race takes place in Victoria every US Memorial Day weekend.) Disclaimers: No offense intended. Stereotypes of yacht owners were unfairly exaggerated for the purpose of this post. Don’t worry, Swiftsure racers– we know you’re not all preppy pretty boys with rich daddies and a penchant for Dockers. Besides, you know I’m just jealous. 🙂
If you want to read more tongue-in-cheek mini-essays about yachts, why not re-visit last year’s Swiftsure post, where I chronicled Marty’s re-enactment of the classic Duran Duran Rio music video? Do eet!
PS: All of the photos in this post (with the exception of Mr. LeBon aboard the amazing Rio) were taken by Marty during last year’s Swiftsure International Yacht Race. Please don’t use them without permission and/or proper credit!