Man's best friend.

Rex  Nov 8/2010 – Apr 19/2011

Dear Rex,

From the moment I saw you, I knew you were born just for us!

Your little eyes lit up so much that I knew there was no way I was leaving there without you. And when we picked you up and felt those soft little crimped ears, the rest was history. It was only a short while later that you were fast asleep on my lap as Rebecca and I drove you to your new home. You were just so cute we didn’t know how on earth we could keep you a secret until Christmas. And when the time came, you were so calm as we placed you in the box as we carried you up the stairs for Dad to open. With Mr. Giraffe in your mouth, you looked up at him with those same beady eyes you gave me. “No, I don’t want him.” Dad said so smoothly you couldn’t even pretend he was mad. Who wouldn’t want you? It was only moments later that he was playing with you and giving you treats. It was an instant love affair.

From then on you were a Britten.

You were Dad’s new sidekick. Something he had missed out on with Gus because he had to share with his three young daughters. Not this time. During the day, you were all Dad’s. Riding around in the front seat of the truck, having your regular visit to Home Depot, where everyone knew your name. You were like two peas in a pod.

You even had your own routine down. You knew when it was time to get your leash and go for a walk – even though you didn’t particularly like that irritating piece of string around your neck. You even knew when it was time to go out in the hot tub in the mornings and take a drink from our coffee mugs, or share the odd bite of banana.

You were a great puppy.

And I’m so sorry your time with us lasted so little. I wish I could change that. I was so excited to see how big you’d grow, and how you’d get along with those pesky cats. I was excited to watch your discovery of the water and see you fall in the pool! I was so excited that I would have a running partner, and someone to cuddle with on my bed again in the mornings. But mostly I was excited that you’d bring life to us again. Excited that once again a happily wagging tail would greet us at the doorway with instant love to give. I always thought that after Gus we would never have a dog that great again. I even whispered in your ears that you had ‘big shoes to fill’ on a few occasions. And I just wanted you to know that you did. You filled them very well. You brought us all back to life. And I know we gave you just the life you needed, filled with more love than you ever imagined.... and now I miss you so much it hurts ---all my love, forever.

&& Dear Dad,

This is not your fault. It’s no ones fault. It was an accident. Things just happen and there is no explanation. Nothing could have stopped this from happening and I just want you to know that I love you very much and I wish I could be there to help. We are all equally hurting. 

xoxo

All the words I don't say

After quite a long weekend [ & little sleep ] I am at a loss for words. I think one drink too many may be the cause of this? Until I fully collect my stories and they are pieced back together enough, enjoy the heartfelt words of others today.

Nothing like a Sunday to find out our secrets are not just our own.

xxx

the one with the birthday

The day started off just like any other. It was sunny and hot out- but we were stuck inside. We had a fake smile on our face as we listen to our early morning ramble, pretending you're more than awake to listen to it as 8 a.m is harder than you think. Coffee and sugar granules were left on the crew mess counter, a gift no doubt for a stewardess to clean. With all this normal however, came a birthday. And as the day went on, the bounce in everyone’s steps grew and their fake grins faded into real ones. Oh yes.  Everyone knew what 5 p.m. would bring.

“Shots. Shots. Shots. Shots. Shh-shots.”

The LMFAO party anthem entered my brain as the clock hit 4 p.m.

Four- o'clock? That’s it? I quickly let out a huge sigh as I realized I still had a whole hour left in my workday. I slowly vacuum a wall and wipe it with water and vinegar- I do this so frequently that I don’t even realize my life is passing me by anymore. Surely this would have taken me more then half an hour. 4:15 p.m. glows on my iPod as my hope gradually shifts to the fact that this day couldn’t be going any better unless time was going backwards. I was daydreaming about how good my acting skills were in order to fake a 45-minute stomach flu when these sweet words came over my radio and hit my ears.

“Alana, Alana. I think that you should start packing up your things and make your way to the galley. Kate is cutting up fruit for the punch we are making. She needs your help.”

“I believe in miracles” rung through my head as even I shocked myself to how fast I could put the vacuum cleaner away.

Now, this is where my Canadian comes through. I thought punch was what they show in the movies. Where it’s ¾ fruit punch [hence the name] and ¼ alcohol with some rando-pieces of fruit floating around. I was starting to contemplate the name of this so-called ‘Punch’ when hours later it hit me like a literal punch to the gut. If it wasn’t the champagne, berry liquor or rum that was kicking my ass, then it was the gin, vodka or some strange Mexican liquor. Either way, it was already up by 10 points before we even made our way to the bar.

The Filipinos karaoke was in full blast as R. Kelly tunes played as our exit but soon to be entrance to Nelson’s. Our walk had accumulated a gang of about 10 people, which just so happened to be the ratio of people that were sitting in the pub. Boring! We quickly left after the strongest rum and coke I’ve ever encountered. Alcohol, 12. Alana, zero.

Next stop. Mediterranean. The old cougars bar where I immediately start looking for my silver fox DJ. He was no where to be found, however my new love for saxophone players was quickly being established. It may have been the vodka and red bulls x 3 or the fact that it was Kate’s birthday, but some how or another lemons were stolen from behind the bar and placed in my bra in attempts for me to snag an Italian Beau. Always fantasizing about a bigger chest, and finally getting a rather cheap attempt to live it out, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of – balancing my drink in between them. That event was followed by a surprising [on more than one level] bush presentation to the birthday girl. Then the mother of all drunk conversations. The one, the only, the infamous One-Eyed Cover. I know we are drunk when we start laughing uncontrollably, and acting out how we can see much better if we cover one eye. God we must look like complete reh-tards when we are out in public.

The last four hours of my evening ended with a Spanish dancing display in the dirtiest pub in Livorno, Frankies. On the 3km walk back to the boat at 5 a.m. some serious discussions of hanging around till McDonalds opened came close to becoming reality.

Needless to say, the morning was rung in with a stretched bra thrown on the floor [damn you lemons], my eyes still needing to be half covered, and some crew members sporting sunnies in the lights of the crew mess – they needed more coverage.

xoxo

remember when...?

You know it's bad when you walk into your everyday hangout pub and the bartender points at you, laughs and says, “ OOooh, and YOU! [in his best English/Italian accent]”. “How have you been… better than last Friday night I hope?” Then continues to laugh some more.

A puzzled look consumes my face as I realize we never even came to Nelson’s pub last weekend, where my comedian bartender seems to be my number one fan. “Sorry?” I say, in my best Canadian voice. Memories of last Friday night flash back into my mind as if I’m having a near death experience.

Flashback One: playing Uno on the front deck with several bottles of wine, shouting, and at times, Uno becoming violent from my lack of winning.

F.B Two: Drunkenly getting showered and dressed. I like to think that I am a speedy person when it comes to getting ready, and generally I am. However, on that night, my couple glasses of wine too many made my sub conscience mind focus more on the music and ridiculous dancing in my cabin as oppose too focusing on the task at hand-- needless to say, I was the last one ready for the first time in my life. 

F.B Three: Going for a drink at Vinannio Bar listening to possibly the best Italian live guitarists in my life. After we decide to leave based on the soul decision that if we don't leave now the restaurants will be closed and for the rest of my night my stomach will be empty, except for the wine sloshing around back and forth. Never a good thing, so we make the grand walk over there. 

F.B Four: Seeing the best poster ever and refusing to leave without it. Meaning, we grabbed it off the wall without any hesitation this time [or butter knife] and down it came. In all its 50 posters stuck together glory! Shit. Now what? I have this poster that is "posing" to be paper, yet over its years of being stuck there has turned into a rectangle shape that wouldn't even pass at double-thick cardboard. I'm not leaving it there to get stolen, and i'm not rolling into the restaurant with it for dinner, so we did the next best thing. Hid it under a car so we could pick it up at the end of the evening. 

F.B Five: Sitting at the biggest table in the whole restaurant with the smallest group of people. A long drawn out meal was involved, with the best steak that I will ever eat. Stealing a butter knife for my next poster stealing, I was on a roll now. 

F.B Six: Going to a under-the-bridge bar where no one speaks English, especially not the Bartender. Instead of having a drawn out conversation and using god only knows what kind of hand gestures to order a Whiskey Sour, I used this word in a serious tone for the first time in my life, "Wooodka?" and I stare blankly hoping she realizes what i've just said. If not, I will bow my head in shame. "Ahhh, Si. Wodka!" "Thank god," I sighed in relief. 

F.B Seven: Being handed a pink hearted umbrella. Posing in the street. Camera flashes. Sitting on a scooter. And more posing was involved.

F.B. Eight: Having a jager-bomb with the most unrealistic proportion of red bull to 'Wodka' ever. Asking the 50-year-old silver fox DJ to play "Barbra Streisand." 

F.B Nine: Stealing two, maybe even three posters on the walk home. And getting busted. 

That's when it hit me like a Mac-truck... THE BARTENDER.

I was face deep in three posters that weighted about 20 lbs on my 2km walk back to the boat when he saw me. 

Ah yes. 

I remember now. I looked at him behind the bar, him still chuckling, and I let out a little chuckle too. 

"No, I'll be good tonight. Promise."

xoxo

Dolce, dolce, dolce.

Since the money from all my hard work [pffft.] went into my bank account, I have been secretly cheating on the rowing machine with fashion. But, who cares. Check out these amazing finds. Thank God there are so many coffee bars, and local pubs where I can wear them out... speaking of which, I must get ready! Crew Outing #109 is in the making-- so glad we're the going out type! 

xoxo

Don't forget me, I beg.

I rarely throw the word 'love' around when it comes to music, actually that's a complete lie. I'm sorry - don't know where that came from, but I cant get enough of music. I listen to it in the shower, while I work, when I run, any waking moment I'm alone, I even go as far as having to listen to music while I sleep. It's quite simple, music makes everything better. And since being over in Italy, I have been introduced to UK's MTV. And unlike the Canadian/American version, it has musicians from all over North America and the UK. Go figure, leave it to us to be un-cultural.
But to the point -- On my first day, within the first 5 minutes of me watching, I discovered the new love of my musical life. If you have not heard of her, shame on you. Just kidding, I just found out about her two weeks ago, so you're off the hook. I just have one word to say before I rock your soulful musical world. Adele. Even her name sounds refreshing to my ears. This 22-year-old is taking over England, one broken-heart girl after another.  And has been the only one to have beaten a record set by The Beatles in 64'. But the best part? She is gorgeous, but not in the typical 'America's Next Top Model, I-only-eat-a-carrot-stick-every-other-day-kinda-way." With people telling her she can't be a musician because of her "weight and looks" and several heartbreak-soul hits that speak to any woman, on every level, the only thing I can say is this: What have I been doing with my life? 
Give her a listen, I'm almost positive you'll like her, and am almost willing to bet you $100 you will have it on replay for a month. 
xoxo

Update

I got it!

A few nights ago, one like any other night, we went out for a drink! [shocking, I know.] Instead of sounding like the typical alcoholic yachties we are, we pass our Monday night drinking fest as a bit of exercise by walking to the bars instead. It makes us feel better. We started out at the cute La Vinnanio – I had been there a few times, and still can’t for the life of me remember how to pronounce its name. But regardless of its correct name [and/or spelling], we settled with a glass of wine outside on the patio. We discussed the issues of the world, past Halloween costumes and how we all want our boat to be closer to the bars so we don’t have to walk as far – hey, I never said we enjoyed our exercise! I had told my fellow crew members of my mission and how I desperately wanted those posters. I wanted them so bad and talked about it so frequently – it was to the point that every time we passed a poster, they knew what I was going to bring up in conversation. Well, a few pints in, and maybe a mojito later, we were walking home when what to my wandering eye appeared? A wall of posters! There had to be at least eight there and one of the corners was coming loose. “Could this get any better?” I thought to myself as I immediately start ripping off the poster like a little schoolgirl. What a mistake that was! The corner ripped off faster then I had started. Damnit. My head lowered in shame as it happened. Then the other two crew members joined in… never had I had so much fun pulling at a piece of paper in my life. We were laughing the whole time as we tried to each have our say in a somewhat decent strategy to getting it off in one piece. But it was impossible. We got a good portion of the poster, most of it in which I had to tape back together when we got home, but its at least something to hang on my walls! We all agreed that the next time we go out we would carry butter knifes in our pockets to help get under it, instead of just ripping at it aimlessly. Ah, yes, we are getting wiser. xoxo