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I've been told that I possess the foul mouth of a sailor, with curse words spilling out of my face like lukewarm beer. I admit that I enjoying cussing and don't see anything wrong with dropping the F-Bomb whether I'm talking about a good piece of pie or to a SUV-load of drunken frat boys riding inches from me on my bike.
But since my return, I've been referred to as a sailor for another reason- the sailor at port. It isn't inaccurate, except for the fact that I'm not spending nights in brothels or wearing maritime garb. But I am enjoying myself.
There has been a few occasions where I've drunkenly scrawled my phone number for someone, and not content with just leaving my name and digits, I also jot down directives like “I think you ought to call me” or “Call Me & Shit.”
It's amazing how well that works.
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