You're a sailer when...

You know you're a sailor when...

Your blood test shows you have salt water in your veins.

You continue to fold your skivvies as you were instructed in boot camp.

You have a Bluejacket's Manual on the shelf of your personal library.

You tell the waitress at Denny's you'll have the s--- on a shingle.

You also ask for the speed line.

You're haze gray and underway.

You don't know how to tell civilian time.

The ships you served on are now war memorials or tourist attractions.

You have pictures of ships in your wallet.

The only pens you own have "Property U.S. Government" printed on
them.

You can name at least 15 bars in Hong Kong but know that the best bars
are across the bay in Kowloon.

You have a pool party and nobody believes you can float with dungarees,
so you put on a pair and demonstrate.

You end every sentence with "aye."

You put hot sauce on everything you eat, whether it needs it or not.

You carry your house and car keys on a key ring hooked to a belt loop
on your blue jeans.

You go out for breakfast on Saturday morning and order beans and
cornbread.

Your children tell you to "make a hole" as they tear through the
house.

You call your wife a sonar tech or water buffalo for taking too long in
the shower.

You call your rack a coffin.

You can call your profession a canoe club.

You refer to fibrous foods as "colon blow."

They wake you out of a sound sleep to help look for some guy named
"Oscar."

You give directions like: Take the ladder by the MAA's office down to
the second deck head aft to frame 134 and go through the deck scuttle.
DC central is at the bottom of the ladder.

You can swear for five minutes straight without repeating yourself.

You refer to your family as your "boat crew."

You get up at 2340, drink a cold cup of old coffee, put on your PJs,
grab your binoculars, go out on the porch and count cars for four
hours.

You still roll your socks and hospital-corner your sheets.

You fill your pool at home with salt water.

You put out a plan of the day at home.

You pack a seabag instead of a suitcase for a family vacation.

You paint your vehicle haze gray and your car reads "Haze Gray and
Underway."

You have tattoos for every port you've visited and cruise you went
on, and when you tell the story of how you got it, it begins with
"Well, we started drinking at this bar and ..."

You make your family qualify to operate each appliance in the house -
dishwasher operator, blender technician, etc.

You raised the thresholds and lowered the headers of your front and
back doors so you either trip or bang your head every time you pass
through them.

You sleep on a shelf in your closet and replaced the door with a
curtain. Have your spouse whip open the curtain about three hours after
you go to sleep, shine a light in your eyes, and say, "Sorry, wrong
rack."

You make coffee using 18 scoops of budget-priced coffee grounds per
pot, and allow the pot to simmer for five hours before drinking.

You bring your lawn mower into the living room and run it all day long.

You buy a Dumpster, paint it gray, and live in it for six months.

You run all of the piping and wires inside your house on the outside of
the walls and label all the piping so you can identify what you just
hit your head on.

Every couple of weeks, you dress up in your best clothes and go to the
scummiest part of town, find the most run-down, trashy bar you can, pay
$10 per beer until you're hammered, then walk home in the freezing
cold.

You perform a weekly disassembly and inspection of your lawn mower.

You raise your bed to within six inches of the ceiling.

You sit in your car and let it run for four hours before going anywhere
to ensure that your engine is properly "lit off."

You periodically shut off power at the main circuit breaker and run
around shouting "fire, fire, fire" and "restore power."

Every so often, you throw the cat in the pool and shout "man
overboard, starboard side," then run into the kitchen and sweep all
the pans and dishes off the counter, and yell at the wife and kids for
not "securing for sea."

You stand at the end of your walkway behind a podium with a stick, when
your little sister's friends come over, and ask to see their
driver's licenses. Harass those who can't produce a valid ID, but
let them by anyway.

You tag out your lamp to change the light bulb.

You draw and test a daily lube oil sample from your car.

You yell "attention on deck" every time your wife enters the room
you are in.

You have fire drills at 3 a.m. in your home and you live alone!

Your kindergartener asks her teacher if she can "go to the head."

Your kids ask for an advance on their allowance and you tell them to
"run a chit through their chain of command."

Most of your vocabulary consists of abbreviations and acronyms.

Friends and family have to request permission to come aboard when they
enter your living room.

You're assigned to Hawaii, but own vacation homes in San Diego,
Norfolk and Naples, Italy.

You've been to Hong Kong and purchased a set of tailor-made gabardine
dress blues, bell-bottom, 13-button, silk-lined trousers, and a jumper
with left-side zipper and dragons inside the cuffs and dragons and
lions on the silk lining.

You call out "swabbie" when your kids spill something on the deck.

Your kids can identify the smell of diesel engine exhaust a mile away.

Your wife asks you what you would like with your dinner and you reply
white rice and brown gravy.

You start comparing the creamed chipped beef served in the chow hall to
the commercial brands sold in the frozen foods section of the
commissary.

You can clear 13 buttons before your wife has her shoes off.

They refuse you as a blood donor because of the high salt content.

Both your e-mail address and license plate begin with "IM4NAVY."

Your wife introduces you as her shipmate.

Your family refers to the "plan of the day" on the fridge.

Your kids ask if they have to hold field day on the weekend.

You hear "bong, bong, e-mail arriving" when you get e-mail at work.


Your Windows start-up music is "Anchors Aweigh" and the shut-down
music is the "Navy Hymn."

You ask your kids to pass the "bug juice."

You ask your wife when "liberty" expires.

When you tell your kids "you're restricted" instead of grounded.

You get your hair cut before going on leave because you can't stand the
nonregulation haircuts they give back home.

You say "aye-aye" when your wife gives you a honey-do list.

Your limited civilian attire wardrobe is all navy blue or khaki.

You issue liberty cards to your teenage children.