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Carmel Beach

Carmel Beach

***Initially this trip took place in February, my lazy and busy ass never got around to finishing the saga.  I have a moment right now and am about to do such.  I am going to attempt to write it as things were experienced and feelings that were felt then, despite my attitudes on certain issues are at press time.  If you are a surflog reader keep that in mind if you feel my mood inconsistent with such.  If you have just stumbled upon this piece and want to be brought up to speed before continuing on or need to refresh your memory on where we left off check out Part 1: Big Sur, A Land of Endless Possibility , Part 2: Blind Exploration , Part 3: Testing the Waters.  Its old and dated, but worth the read so enjoy.***

Ahh the beauty of the wilderness.

Ahh the beauty of the wilderness.

My final day up in Big Sur country I was besides myself on what to do and how to make the most of it.  It’s true that few people, with the exception of my father can pack as much activities in a trip as I can or a day for that matter.  Don’t get me wrong, few can be as lazy as me either.  I can spend three hours sitting on the couch staring into space.   It just depends on the particular day, week or year.  At the moment I have been in high out put mode leaving little time for nothing days.

In all truth I wanted to run around looking for more surf.  Isn’t that always the agenda when surfing is involved?  One of the surfing’s rule book main rules is “never bring your girl friend on a surf trip if you really want to score”.  I have never really toted around a non-surfing girl friend before and had no experience with such.  Normally if she doesn’t surf then we always travel separately.  It sounds a bit selfish, I know, but as I wrote in the very first installment of this Big Sur saga I have a surfing problem.  Surfing always comes first, always.  No point in me ruining her trip or  her ruining mine.

Thus far this trip had been the same thing.  What I had initially wanted to be a semi-romantic weekend and a way for us to try and do some relationship damage control after the incident on my birthday (see the February2014, the 2-2 and 2-3 entries) began with me dragging Heather all over the coast trying to find some kill-able surf.  In her defense she was a good sport about the whole thing.  Feeling a bit guilty I decided that we could drive into Carmel on our last day.  She mentioned multiple times (woman have a way of doing this) that she would like to go there.  Besides I figured that there was beach there too and where there is a beach there are probably some surf-able waves.

Making the most of the meager offerings at Carmel Beach

Making the most of the meager offerings at Carmel Beach

I also had not realized that the drive up to Carmel was only about thirty minutes or so making it very do-able.  After two days of being in the woods I was about ready for some civilization anyway.  We got there uneventfully, though scenically whimsical.  Being the asshole I am I managed to get us right to the beach.  Coastal access signs might as well be like a dog whistle for a surfer.  We pulled up to this really grand beach.   It was as gorgeous as a beach could be.  The sand was bleached white, the ocean was a coral blue, to the north was nothing but the green of a golf course and all around were these lavish estates.  It looked like a scene out of “Life styles of the Rich and Famous”.

People say Santa Barbara is Beautiful and it certainly is, but I think Carmel has us beat.  Really, what I think it is, is the fact that it rains there so everything is green all your round, while here in SB we go through long periods of brown.  This particular beach also had a wave that was not bad.  The wind was sort of side shore/off shore and surf was about cheat high plus with A-Frames.  There were a handful of people scattered up and down the beach.  I was on it.

One of the many section floaters I did to get me to more close out.

One of the many section floaters I did to get me to more close out.

As I was stretching on the beach some “local” tried to give me some shit about going back to Santa Barbara (J7 is a Santa Barbara brand).  He yelled some hardly audible bull shit at me.  I looked at him, waved and smiled and then paddle out about a 100 yards down the beach from him and his buddies.  Like I said there were peaks up and down the beach all rather similar looking.  I saw no point in causing a raucous.   I got a few, but it was a little more walled then I would have liked it to be and all the sets were closed out with few corners.  I did a quickie as to not piss off Heather too much.  I was also interested in seeing  a bit of the town.

The main drag, Carmel.

The main drag, Carmel.

I was really impressed by the town of Carmel.  Cleanliness wise it was so much nicer then Santa Barbara.  I saw very few homeless.  The place just felt a bit more classy to me all around.  I think it is because Santa Barbara is really broken into three shopping sections, Downtown, Montecito and  Upper State, while in Carmel they just have a few block radius.  I am not being a hater on SB, it is my home after all, I just think if we could clean up some of the bums and panhandling on State Street it might class the town up a bit.

Carmel

Carmel

We meandered about the town for a bit taking in all the sights there were to see.  It was mostly just strolling along window shopping considering the fact that we could not afford to eat or buy anything due to the upscale nature of the town.  It was nice to take in some of the architecture and enjoy all the little parks through out the town.  I would call it time well spent.

Large fig tree in Carmel.

Large fig tree in Carmel.

Cool Charlie Chaplin painting we came across on our walk about.

Cool Charlie Chaplin painting we came across on our walk about.

It was getting late.  I wanted to check out the Mission, but we also had a long drive back to Santa Barbara ahead of us.  It would have to wait for another trip. I am always fine with leaving something more to do.  The plan was to stop at the local grocer in town and pick up supplies to do a little beach front BBQ on this chill little spot I found along the PCH the previous night.  It seemed a great spot for a sunset BBQ.  I noticed there was also the possibility of some surf potential too.  Always the ulterior surfing motive.

The problem with doing a BBQ when you have nothing is the fact that you need to get everything or get innovative.  The food was the easy part.  I bought a pair of cheap tongs and found some plastic silverware.  I still need a cutting device.  I bought a pack of razor blade edges for a buck.  It would do.  I got some veggies,  two nice steaks,  some mesquite and strawberries for dessert.  It was on.
MillCreek21414We got to my little spot and sure enough not only was it the pristine picnic spot I had thought, but it was all I had hoped in a surf spot and more.  I had stumbled upon the wave completely by accident the previous day when Heather had to use the restroom.  I had found a Big Sur Emma Wood.  From the actual picnic area the surf spot is invisible.  If you follow a little dirt path, cross a small creek, you will come around a head land into a small cove about 400 yards wide.  The cove had cliffs on both sides and some boulders on the outside to the south.  The entire cove was protected from the wind.

I am sure in a rainier season this creek runs a bit faster. On this day it was easy crossing.

I am sure in a rainier season this creek runs a bit faster. On this day it was easy crossing.

At the southern corner of the bay there was a left coming in that looked more then kill-able.  It would feather off the outside boulders before standing up on the inside sand bar creating an end section that is a high performance surfer’s dream.  Airs, hits, reverses, anything was possible and the best part was the landing was in sand.  There was even a right that the left would reform into on the other side of the peak.  I stuck mainly to the left.  I had a fucking ball.  It was not bigger then head high, but super fun.  I bet with the right wind it would barrel.
MilCreekSeq1I had an hour of light left and the cove was situated perfectly for evening light too.  Heather pulled out the telephoto and ran off a few shots while I went to town.  Sure it was a little on the crazy side to go surf some off the beaten path spot in the middle of shark land during peak feeding hour, but how could I not go slay some peaks.  It ended up being the best surf of my trip so I am glad I did.
BigSurFeb14_2-332After the surf I lit up the grill and cooked a fine meal of roasted vegetables and steak.  We even indulged in a nice bottle of syrah though I was only able to take one glass off of it since I had to drive us home.  It was a great ending to an interesting and fun trip.  While most couples were spending Valentines Day at some restaurant that was over crowded and staff over worked spinning their wheels for an oblivious clientele who were duped in going out as a result of a made up holiday, my chick and I spent it eating in the sunset and drinking under the stars.  I even  bought her a rose while she was waiting in line at the butcher counter and surprised her with it at the table.  Sometimes even a scoundrel like myself can be romantic.
BigSurFeb14_2-526On a final note I would like to say that I was very taken with Big Sur and will certainly be looking to spend some more time there in the near future.  The surf potential is really endless.  All your ability to score is dependent on is your commitment, dedication, time and level of crazy.  I for one plan on making many more surf excursions to this special piece of the California Coast.

 

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*For those of you who don’t know of Kooky’s latest adventure in Tanzania check out “He’s alive” and “Good Bye Kooky“.  They should bring you up to speed.*

How is the food in Tanzania? It is dumbfounding to me that it hasn’t conquered the world like italian or chinese food. One word comes to mind, amazing.   The best part about Tanzanian cuisine is you can loose weight if you stick to the diet, even if you eat all you can. I have lost between five and ten pounds. Please note that this only applies to men and all the weight lost will be muscle, not fat.

The base of the food is ugali which is boiled corn flour. It has the consistency of play dough and tastes like what you would imagine. It is served for most meals aside from breakfast. To eat ugali you break a ball off with your RIGHT HAND.  This is very important cause your left is the hand you wipe your butt with, also they don’t use toilet paper and normally no soap… You then take this ball of vaguely corn flavored dough and  try to pick up beans and greens that have been cooked until they loose their ability to be solid. You might get lucky and have some additional protein for dinner which could be one of a few things:

I did a google image search for Ugali and every picture pretty much looked like this.  Looks like a giant ball of masa.  YUM!

I did a google image search for Ugali and every picture pretty much looked like this. Looks like a giant ball of masa. YUM!

First we have daga which are little dried fish that are salted. They are about the length of your pinky.  If you walk within 40 ft of a pile of daga at the market you will know recognize it quite steadily. Daga, as I have seen it are usually served in a tomato based sauce.  You could have fried fish. These aren’t battered and fried pieces of cod or other nice white fish, it is river fish that have been fried whole until the  thing is crispy, even the meat. Tanzanians eat the whole thing, scales, bones, fins, guts and all.

A pile of Daga at a Tanzania market.

A pile of Daga at a Tanzania market.

In the world of poultry we have the ever present chicken. It is as fresh as you can get it right out of the back yard. these are gnarly chickens they are not the fat happy ones you might see over the fence of your neighborhood hipster. These chickens are fighting each while sifting through cow shit in search of worms or running like hell to not get raped by a rooster. They are also fried until thoroughly crisped. The head and liver are usually reserved for guest.

Next we have red meat. I have had beef for the first time in my life over here and those of you who say I don’t know what I am missing, now I know, and I don’t regret not eating it for 25 years. Goat is delicious. Half the joy I get out of watching baby goats romp and play is knowing they are going to be dinner one day and it will be amazing. The cuts of meat Tanzanians like are the gristly ones. The other day I got the sirloin of a cow and the butcher looked at me like I was crazy. Ribs, joints, and gristle are the prime cuts over here. Karibu is choice meat. Goat and beef are usually stewed in a garlic and tomato broth and it is quite tasty, if not reminiscent of chewing on a tire with bits of bone it.

Breakfast usually is either vitambu which is rice cooked down until a paste and then fried. The other option is mandazi, which are like over cooked triangular doughnuts.   These are not really drained out of the fat very well and are very greasy. They are typically served with delicious piping hot tea that has enough sugar in it to make a donkey walk out of it’s hooves.

Mandazi

Mandazi

They also love soda. America might be the second fattest nation, (thanks mexico for taking that torch) but Tanzanians diets are about on par with an American fast food diet nutritionally speaking.

If you wish to try a delicacy from the Tanga region where I was living, I am giving you the recipe for tambi, their version of pasta.

you will need:
1 package spaghetti
1/2 cup sunflower oil
1/2 cup sugar.

boil the pasta until it is just past al dente.
then add the oil and sugar.

bon appetite

Tambi

Tambi

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No blogs, just surf

No blogs, just surf

June came and went with not a piece of writing here on SurfingRuinedMyLife.net.  For that I must say I am sorry.  I thought I would take a moment to explain myself a little bit.  First off things have been a bit on the crazy side.  Alright, when isn’t my life on the crazy or hectic side?  Normally by July I have hit my stride of chilling on Uncle Sam’s nickel.  That was exactly where I saw myself by now.  Unfortunately my superiors at Westmont had other plans for my summer.  While I would usually find myself living on the dole of unemployment with a little hustle and flow on the side I found myself stuck in the kitchen four days a week.

The Westmont Grind

Back in April I had been asked if I wanted to work May term hours.  May term is a one month micro semester Westmont runs for it’s students.  Like any institution of higher learning this means they compress classes into a short time period but still charge students the same amount of money per credit for the normal semester.  The motherfucking business of education.  “Hey come spend all your money and go into debt, then graduate with a useless degree and have to go work for minimum wage for some idiot like me”.  The only difference is I too am a well educated idiot working way outside of my degree or education for way less money then I should.  I think I just summed up every American from 22-35 at the moment.  Ain’t this country grand.  America land of the free only if your rich while the rest of us have become the in debt slave laborer. Sorry for the rant but it has been a while.

I did the math and realized if I worked all of May and saved the bulk of that money I could kick it on unemployment for the remainder of the summer and still have my “extravagant” or lack there of life style with out any change, unlike my usual summers where by August I am eating out of the trash and basically sucking dick for crack.  Well maybe not that last part, but you get what I am saying.   The fuckers stuck me on the morning shift meaning I had to get up at pretty much 5:30 every morning and leaving me forced to surf windy blown out shit in the afternoons.  It was only temporary…or at least that is what I thought.

May term came and went and I began getting even more hours as an influx of camp and convention groups came in.  Apparently Westmont whores out its campus to anyone willing to pay for it all summer long.  This sort of makes me a prostitute for the institute I suppose.  Whatever, dollar bills!   I have been working about 25-40 hours a week, work depending since May.   My schedule changes week to week which is certainly a pain in the ass.  I still manage a surf everyday and am stacking some mean paper while flipping burgers.

Reaping the fruits of my labor.  Your looking at a bacon double cheese burger for yours truly.  You think I would feed the customer this well, as if.  Yes that is a plastic plate on top a 350 degree F flat top grill.  Safety as always is my number one concern.

Reaping the fruits of my labor. Your looking at a bacon double cheese burger for yours truly. You think I would feed the customer this well, as if. Yes that is a plastic plate on top of a 350 degree F flat top grill. Safety as always is my number one concern.

Also it looks like I may actually become the full blown sous chef this fall considering that our old sous chef and my fellow friend in suffering Geoffrey is taking off a few months for hand surgery due to old age.  The guy is like 62 and been a war horse in the kitchen for over 40 years.  I am bummed to see him go as I have been able to learn so much from him and he over the past  six months has become sort of a mentor to me not to mention a great friend.  Honestly I don’t really want his job.  If I get impressed into it I am looking at twice the head ache, three times the responsibility, 100% more bull shit for if I am lucky $2 more an hour.  Whooooooooooooooot!!!!!!!!!  I am actually going to have a sit down with my general manager this week to see what is going on with the fall semester.

Catering

This was close to 150 salads for a wedding at some Hollywood directors 30 million dollar estate in Montecito.

This was close to 150 salads for a wedding at some Hollywood directors 30 million dollar estate in Montecito.

Those of you who frequently read the surflog know all about most of everything I have written and will write in this blog.  Basically I may not write blogs everyday or even monthly these days, but I do however write in my surflog, my online journal, daily.  So if you have not discovered it yet give it a peruse every now and again.  My boy Trevor recently became Executive Chef for a local catering company here in Santa Barbara.   I will not disclose the company so as to not cause any problems that this blog so often does in my life when I name, names.

He asked me if I would help a brother out for a bit while he got on his feet there.  At the moment I am currently his sous chef.  I am a double sous.  Always a fucking a bridesmaid and never a bride!  On my days off I am stuck either at an event busting my ass or in his kitchen prepping for an event.  Its a good learning experience and even more paper to stack.  At this point I am doing the best I have monetarily in about eight years or so.  Last night I took Heather out to dinner, where I proceeded to get sloshed and told her “MONEY IS NO OBJECT”.  And you know what?  It wasn’t…

Here we are at the Palace toasting to Trevor's new found success

Here we are at the Palace toasting to Trevor’s new found success

And we cooked up a surf and turf feast for the occasion.  That is grilled tri tip, Grilled fresh local prawns, orzo and roasted vegetables, and goat cheese horse radish bruschetta

And we cooked up a surf and turf feast for the occasion. That is grilled tri tip, Grilled fresh local prawns, orzo and roasted vegetables, and goat cheese horse radish bruschetta

DING REPAIR

Look at the ghetto set up I have going here.  My board is propped up by a cooler in the ally way on the side of my building.  I like to call what I do no guerrilla surf board repair.

Look at the ghetto set up I have going here. My board is propped up by a cooler in the ally on the side of my building. I like to call what I do now guerrilla surf board repair.

It never fucking ends. Just when I think I am out I am always sucked back in.  I don’t even have a space to repair boards.  I literally glass boards in my bathroom and then sand them in the ally next to my building.  Its a fucking pain in the ass and I hate it.  Yet for some reason surf boards keep showing up at my house to be repaired.  It’s true that  I am always breaking my own boards and needing to fix those.  I have four spares meaning I only really need to fix boards a few times a year when I have destroyed all four.  Usually in that time period I end up getting a new one anyhow.  My quiver is in reality a bunch of destroyed boards with one or two good ones.

People still show up at my house with dings.  They hit me up on Facebook.  “Hey so my boy said you fix dings…ummm can you help me out bro?”  My own friends are constantly hitting me up to repair their boards.  “Please Chris, don’t make me go to a surf shop, your the man”.  I am the man who hates fixing surf boards.  I even get phone calls on occasion from people in New Jersey who need a board fixed.  WTF.  It will never end will it?

Just in case you thought I was exaggerating.  That is a surfboard about to be glassed IN MY MOTHER FUCKING BATHROOM!!!!!!

Just in case you thought I was exaggerating. That is a surfboard about to be glassed IN MY MOTHER FUCKING BATHROOM!!!!!!

Surfing

I have actually been surfing up a storm.  Jalama has been the best it has been in ten years.  The kelp is good, the sand is decent and there have been waves thus I have been staying wet.  A normal day for me goes like this.  I wake up a 5:30am, go to work and make food for about eight hours.  Then I get off at around 3 pm, meet whomever hit me up first at my apartment to go up north with me.  I only take one person and its first come first serve, no nepotism.  Read The Rule of Two blog for more on my philosophy on that.
Jalama7314-173

I change out of my work clothes, load up the car and shove off on the hour or so drive to Jalama.  When we get there its not over, oh no.  There is about another 25 minutes of walking on the beach to get to the spot, maybe further, swell and crowd depending.  Then we surf for two hours, make the walk back, followed by the drive.  If I am with Trevor we always stop at Denny’s in Goleta for a post surf dinner.  If it is a party night then my day is not over.  I come home, take shower, suit up and cruise to the Wild Cat.  As you can see by this account of my day to day there is not very much time for blogging.
SpringSurf14-524I managed a perfect month back in May surfing every single day of the month 31 sessions in 31 days and a few doubles as well.  I don’t think I have accomplished such a feat since I lived in New Zealand.  It was fucking exhausting and I surfed all sorts of garbage in all sorts of dumb crowds.  You can read the May surflog to find out all about that one.  Basically I have found a renewed love for surfing and my performance is off the charts. I may be surfing better right now then I have ever surfed in my life.  Maybe I will write something about the perfect month here if I ever find some time.
Jalama61214
I guess that pretty much should bring everyone up to speed on what has been happening in Lisanti Land.  Heather and I are still together.  Even I don’t understand how or why that is.  At the moment it is actually going along at steady calm.  Whether or not I am doing the right thing for me or her is yet to be seen.  Just as I felt at the beginning I still feel now completely uncertain and confused.  Then again who really gives a fuck anyway cause at least I am surfing every day.

My cooking partner in crime Calvin finally moved back out to Santa Barbara and is currently living on the couch here at the Palace.  Where would I be with out a guy on the couch?  Him and I are in the process of the early stages of planning that Italian restaurant I always talk about opening.  He moved here with the intention of getting this place off the ground with me.   With any luck our goal is the try and open it by July of next year.  Lets keep our fingers crossed.  Expect to hear more on this from time to time as it begins to consume my life.

Here is some homemade potato gnocchi in a meat sauce to get your mouth watering.  This is just a taste of what I will be serving up at my restaurant.

Here is some homemade potato gnocchi in a meat sauce to get your mouth watering. This is just a taste of what I will be serving up at my restaurant.

What can you look forward to here on SurfingRuinedMyLife.net?  Kooky actually wrote a Kooky’s Korner for me to publish.  Of course this happened about a month ago or so, but my lazy ass never got around to publish it.  Since I have not heard from him since he may be dead in Tanzania right now, though he will live on here on the blog.  Nick the Kook was nice enough to write some of his recent adventures in Chile.  He wrote these like two months ago and I never posted it.  I am sure at some point I will rant about some bull shit like how I got a pimple on my right ass cheek and now it hurts every time I sit down to take a shit (that has not happened).  There you have it,  the last 45 days or so in my life.  Glad you still decide to read the trash I put out here.  Bye bye for now…

Calvin, Mark and I doing some R & D for the restaurant at the Wild Cat.

Calvin, Mark and I doing some R & D for the restaurant at the Wild Cat.

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BatteredFingerSmI woke up this morning with a penis on my finger and a throbbing sensation.  No my finger was not getting a hard on.  In fact it was just all swollen and pissed off after the trauma it had been through in the course of the last twenty four hours.  If you read the Surflog then you know I was off the past week for spring break and that up until today I was on a pretty decent surf streak this month.  I guess that streak has come to an annoying halt.

Friday (3-14) was my first day back at work in about a week.  In theory it should have been an “easy money” day as we like to call them at the kitchen.  My projected number of diners was around 50 to 100 at best and I had another cook at my disposal for the shift.  Like I said “easy money”.  The menu was decent enough, white vegetable lasagna, BBQ chicken, turkey pot pie along with the usual sides.  I took the slower day as an excuse to make the best damn lasagnas I possibly could. I love the less intense days so I can go that extra mile, which can be near to impossible on the days when your feeding 1,200, keeping tabs on six stations and eight cooks. None the less I always try to obtain the highest level quality possible.

By 3:30 we were pretty much solid on all the preparations and had nothing really to accomplish till four.  I noticed the dishwasher had failed to put away a number of pots, pans, cutting boards and other kitchen related items. Being the nice helpful guy I am I decided to go into the dish pit and finish the job thus avoiding aggravation to my night dish washers who always have shit dumped on them.  As I was stacking a group of 10 gallon pots above my head (a weight of over 30 lbs) I some how managed to get my finger caught between the bottom pot an the other three.  A finger guillotine was instantly created and carried out.
Finger guillotineYou know when you know you just do something really fucked up to yourself, but at that moment while in denial you look at it and think “fuck, that ain’t so bad”.  While intently looking at my finger, or what bludgeoned mess now resembled it I though maybe I could put it back together with a little crazy glue and a band aid.  As I watched the tip of my finger flap in and out of position and saw that the nail was cut clean through I came to the realization that professional medical care was in need.  Fuck it, it happened on the job thus I didn’t have to pay for it anyway.

I walked up to my boss, let him behold the bloody mess that was a finger and nonchalantly stated “I think I need to fill out an incident report”.  He got rather pale in the face, handed me a towel and took me to the local urgent care.  My own personal assessment of the injury and previous dealings with such had me almost certain the ER was not a necessity.  Yes I do tend to find myself in these situations quite regularly.  Its always amusing to me when I walk into a waiting room with a bloody towel wrapped around me and the horrified looks on all the other patients.  All of a sudden their minor complaints of back pain and a sore throat seem rather minuscule as they think “shit, at least I’m not that guy”.  Its ok cause I am always that guy.

Whenever I approach the check in counter the nurses are always thinking “Fuck, I don’t want to deal with this shit, especially at 4:30 on a Friday”.  Meanwhile I always just try and laugh it off as I do with most problems that are thrown at me.  Situations always are more fun when everyone is laughing even in an emergency.  Not wanting to deal with my mess I was sent across town to an occupational health center set up by the town to deal with worker compensation related issues.  Fucked up hand withstanding I was handed a clip board full of questions to answer.

The first few were apropos medical questions.  When I got to the third page, yes THE THIRD MOTHER FUCKING PAGE!!! Mind you I am bleeding all over the place, the form, the chair, my clothes.  I started reading questions like “What hobbies do you enjoy”, “what sports do you participate in”, “what music do you like”.  I said to the nurse behind the desk “what are you writing a book? or am I filling out a dating profile?,  or maybe your looking to sell my information to a mass marketing company, I don’t care which but I AM FUCKING BLEEDING ALL OVER MYSELF HERE!!!!!”  Another funny thing about when you are bleeding all over the waiting room is how all the other patients immediately get up and move to as far away to the other side  of the room as they can.  As if the aids I am not carrying is going to jump into them.

I finally get in to see the doctor, who also consequently wants to go home cause its now 4:50pm on a Friday and his office closes at 5pm.  All his nurses went home already leaving me with him, the x-ray technician and one of the receptionists, none of whom had ever assisted in such a procedure.  Everyone was rather eager to learn and I figured what the hell, why not be a guinea pig.  The operation got under way and I am not going to lie it was a pretty messy ass wound, all jagged and on a weird ass angle.  The doctor decided to go right through the nail with the stitches, a technique I had never really seen used before.  When he was all done he called the entire office in to see his handy work.  I don’t know if he was really proud of the job or he just wanted to show  how fucked up it was.  Either way it was most amusing.  When all was said and done I was left with a penis finger.
Four fingers and a Penis, lucky me. I guess it is better then the four fingers and bloody vagina I had prior to this photo.

Four fingers and a Penis, lucky me. I guess it is better then the four fingers and bloody vagina I had prior to this photo.

That leaves us at this present moment as I finish painstakingly typing this blog for your enjoyment with a hand and a half.  Looks like I am going to be side lined for a few days, maybe a week.  I am not really looking to get in the water until the stitches come out next Tuesday 3/25.  I asked the doc when he thought I could surf again and he said a few days if I duct tape it and keep it dry.  With a solid looking WNW coming in for early this week I may have to take such drastic matters.  Then again is it worth risking an infection and the possibility of losing the finger altogether?  Time will tell my friends.

Flawless Rincon Cove, enough to make the reward out weigh the risk?

Flawless Rincon Cove, enough to make the reward out weigh the risk?

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