Florid
When I went to pick up my dog from the kennel we boarded her at, I couldn't find anyone to help me right away. Since her pen was close to the office, I went and said hello. I scratched her nose with one finger though the chain-link. I hadn't paid yet, so I went off to find someone who worked there. As I was walking away, I saw my dog get so off-the-chart frantic that she actually tried to gnaw her way through the metal chain link fence to get to me before I disappeared again, this time (from her perspective) for God knows how long.

It is that kind of enthusiasm, that kind of bestial admixture of ecstasy, panic and rage up to and including self-injuring mania that I imagine all of you, my deprived readers, will experience when you see this new post, the first in nearly four days. I can assure you that this is no furtive, fleeting nose-scratch through chain link. Feel free to re-light the pilot lights on your ovens; I'm here to stay.

I am back from Florida. I am battered, beaten-down, the light of life in my eyes may be dimmed slightly now and forever, but I am back.

As for what I said about Florida and what I expected of it Friday's post, I can say that none of my preconceptions were proven true.

This is not any kind of admission that I was wrong about the state and what a disappointment it must be in comparison to California; I'm sure that all stands. It's just that I didn't actually get to see any of Florida to make any kind of judgment, even the blinkered, uninformed, bigoted, pre-formed kind that I am so famous for.

If you're wondering why this is, let me just say that if you don't know anyone in the military, change that ASAP. I had no idea what a racket that whole business is. I'm not tempted to try it out myself, but there are some perks that go along with service that I hadn't anticipated.

See, a member of my family got married on Saturday to a US Navy pilot. It sounds awful in a post-9/11 Bush Administration kind of climate I know--lots of danger and uncertainty--but think about this: I totally didn't have to pay a lot for my hotel room.

Did you know that on US military bases they sometimes have hotels? And these hotels are clean and safe and in excellent locations and don't cost a lot of money?

The Navy Lodge we stayed at was right on the beach. And by "right on the beach" I don't mean "within comfortable walking distance." I mean that the ground around the hotel was half paved-over parking lot and half fine, powdery Florida coast sand.

The downside to this kind of living is that they have just about everything you could ever want on a big enough installation, which meant I can only tell you about the Florida I saw within the confines of the base we stayed on and the highway between it and the airport.

I was totally right about the no-mountains thing, though. That I can say definitively.

Many of the rooms at this hotel had balconies that were quite literally over the beach. The between the view and the breeze (plus the FREE CABLE!), there was little reason ever to leave the room.

Here was the view from my room:


Some of us had spectacular all-inclusive panoramic views of the pool changing rooms and maintenance house. Laugh if you want, but it was still $55 a night. I'll walk a little for an ocean view at that rate. You can't find a room for that little in Florida. Well, OK, you can, but only if you already have herpes and thus don't mind contracting them from the bedspread.

The wedding was fine. It's always spectacular when two until-very-recently white-trash families get together and throw a party honoring themselves. The drinking started sometime early Friday morning and went right on through the reception Saturday night and into Sunday. As annoying as drunk people can be, you can't argue with the entertainment value provided by a spilled-drink-slick dance-floor populated entirely by people with compromised senses of equilibrium. There was more than one spectacular pile-up. It was like the end of The Blues Brothers except instead of police cars it was drunk white people not quite getting through "The Electric Slide." Awesome.

We were in the northern half of Florida, which means this was my first trip to the South. I knew I was there when I saw this:

(we did eat at one, by the way... we came for the cultural kitsch value and stayed for the waffles, which were actually pretty good)

and this:

This was in the airport. A place to pray. And/or brush up on your blowjob technique. Hard to say. Either way, I knew I was no longer in California. Not only do we not pray, but none of us have any need of a separate place to practice our blowjob technique. That's what 8th grade is for.

Lovely to be back.

If you find yourself overstimulated reading this, breathe into a paper bag. Preferably after you've filled it with some model glue or aerosol propellant. That should fix you right up.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 10.0


Pops
- posted by Pops @ 11:39 AM