Losing the women in my life is getting really expensive.

Whew. Life’s been a whirlwind lately! I’ve been Charter captaining, endlessly scrubbing boat and cleaning, taking Ohana out on the water testing all her shiny new gadgets, and juggling so many boat projects I’m starting to dream in bilge pumps and lithium specs.

Oh, and let’s not forget: I’m also renovating my boys’ kitchen, and studying for my PADI Instructor certification—which, let’s be honest, is like cramming for an underwater SAT while trying not to drown in dive tables.

Despite the madness, I’m still making it to Mass on Sundays. Reflection time? Not so much. I usually bolt out right after communion to go swing a hammer at the boys’ place. Jesus wept—and I probably will too if I hit my thumb one more time.

So why sit down and write today? Honestly? Because my head’s gotten louder than a diesel engine at idle. I needed to untangle a few thoughts—especially one that keeps circling back like a flying rat (what Donna and I called the seagull that circled over our stands) on a french fry: what is it with me and how I react to the women in my life leaving?

So, as I get ready to finally cruise (ahead) —here’s a peek in the rearview porthole (behind.)

I lost Donna, so naturally, I bought a $15,000 X-Mark zero-turn mower and a $130,000 RV. Nothing says “starting over” like perfect grass and hitting the highway solo.

Then I lost Lisa, and my rebound was a $1,000,000 catamaran and a $50,000 5-Series BMW —because nothing soothes a bruised heart like a badass boat or an “old man’s” car.

Most recently, I lost what I’m now calling “The X.” And yes, that’s short for ex-girlfriend—but also a clever nod to her unofficial job title: Nursemaid X. Or just “The Nurse.”

Why the nickname? Well, it’s probably the most accurate way to describe what our relationship turned out to be. I met her right around the time I was diagnosed with MOG—short for Myelin Oligodendrocyte Glycoprotein Antibody Disease (but let’s be honest, that’s a mouthful even sober).

At that point, I hadn’t had any major flares—just some mysterious symptoms like vision loss in my left eye, a bout of clinical depression, all the symptoms of Lyme disease (though I did not have it), and what felt like a rotating cast of Hopkins doctors trying to figure out what the hell was going on how to treat it. I was functional…ish.

It wasn’t until I got back from Florida after buying Ohana (in the middle of the Covid scare) that things really hit the fan. I suddenly couldn’t walk, couldn’t pee, couldn’t stay awake—and once, couldn’t stop puking. That’s when “The Nurse” stepped in—literally. She picked me up, each time getting me to the hospital, and sticking by me through the worst of it.

Each time I was stabilized in the hospital, they wouldn’t discharge me—because I lived on a boat. Ohana may be beautiful, but apparently “floating home” doesn’t check the right boxes on the discharge form.

So, The Nurse gave me a place to live. For the next three years, while doctors searched for a treatment that actually worked, she provided housing, entertainment, and… let’s just say, “full-service care” 🤪. I, in turn, helped her do marketing for her work, fix things around the house, and remodel her new one, and did what therapy I could—hammer in one hand, gratitude in the other.

Eventually, the right treatment came along. I was finally stable—able to take care of myself again, function mostly like a normal human being, and start planning for the future I’d originally envisioned after Donna and before Lisa and The Nurse distracted me from my goal: diving, sailing, and soaking up the Caribbean sun aboard Ohana. BEING THE BEACH BUM I WAS WHEN DONNA AND I FIRST MET… just now a beach bum doing it in style!

So, like any good patient ready for discharge, my nurse basically “discharged me.” And naturally, I celebrated my newfound independence from her by promptly dropping $50,000 to buy my own slip in Piney Narrows… and then another $100,000 upgrading Ohana. New batteries, modern electronics, solar, a full electrical overhaul, and a few other accessories—you name it, she got it.

Because when I move on, I move on big….and she is the woman in my life! 🥰

So what does that say about me? Apparently, I process heartbreak by project-managing and spending money… like a woman on a shopping spree—on steroids.

Either way, welcome to my latest chapter: upgrading Ohana, the boat I sail, live on, and emotionally invest in—literally.

Ohana was already a beautiful boat—but like any good midlife crisis investment, she needed “a few things.” You know, just the basics: a new lithium battery bank, a complete overhaul of the electrical system, upgraded solar, new inverters, a Victron brain transplant, and a tidy rebuild of the entire battery housing. Nothing crazy—just enough to make my bank account cry a little.

It started as a “maybe I’ll just add the Lithium batteries” kind of project. Then, much like the women in my life, it spiraled into something far more complicated and expensive than originally planned.

I’ve started building a dedicated page on my website to document all of the upgrades I’ve made. For the full breakdown—photos, parts, prices, blood, sweat, and (almost) tears—click here to see the full details.

These upgrade basically required rewiring the entire boat. Also, part of the process was a lot of fabrication work for all the new solar panels, and I took care of some rigging work in addition other issues were found and addressed 

Electrical work:

Ohana’s electrical system was overhauled with lithium power, smart solar, and monitoring—supporting A/C at anchor and easier solo use.

Rigging work:

Ohana's screecher sail was re-rigged to fix a stretched line issue, ensuring it now furls tightly and stays secure.

Fabrication work:

Ohana got a new battery center, updated solar arch to handle all the new solar panels and repositioned the Starlink antenna mount — While maintaining visibility to my main sail, providing shade on the aft deck, and allowing for med-mooring.

Other Work:

A hidden wiring fault on Ohana was fixed before it became a fire risk. Rewiring also restored the port fuel gauge.

So what does all this say about me?
Apparently, I process heartbreak the way some women tackle Nordstrom’s clearance rack—with fierce determination, delusional optimism, and absolutely zero impulse control.

Ohana got the full glow-up. She was already turning heads, but now? She’s straight-up flirting with the whole marina. New lithium batteries. Upgraded solar. Victron sorcery. Re-rigged sails. Custom fabrication. Fire-risk wiring? Eliminated. Dead fuel gauge? Brought back to life like Lazarus—with a multimeter.

My wallet, however, is still in ICU.

And because I can’t help myself, liking to be REAL busy, I’ve started chronicling every wire, weld, and "what the hell was I thinking" moment on my website—complete with photos, part lists, sweaty rants, and the occasional desperate prayer to Saint Elmo (patron saint of sailors and probable eye-roller at my Amazon orders).