Well, the penultimate leg of the trip found me back in the humid environs of the Emerald Coast. You’d think after 15+ years of the town that I’d be inured to the sub tropical climate. I certainly did. But it seems that a half a year in normal, sane, logical weather has completely deprogrammed my inner climate control.
It was actually quite lovely while I was there, and it was still Hot as Fuck All. I walked out one morning in jeans, turned right around and walked back in and put on a dress. I had to be as nekkid as possible to deal with that turrible humidity, hurney.
A dress. My tolerance is shit. The West Coast has ruint me. Over three decades of 150% summertime humidity, and all for naught.
Anyhoodle, my trip was a brief three days. Day One found me driving out to my place of former employ, where a very dear friend and ex-coworker had thrown together a lunch for me. Schneids, you da man! I also got to visit with a special friend of mine, Joni. Joni is the office paper shredder, and got placed in the position through Schneids and the company’s work with the local special needs school. I had the challenging, sometimes cringe inducing, task of managing Joni over the years. I love that girl, but she def gave me and Schneids a few extra grey hairs.
After lunch I ended up wandering the halls of my old office for quite a while. It’s amazing how many people you know when you’ve worked there for almost six years. Everyone seemed to be in the middle of proposal work (my old schtick), and I got asked several times if I was planning to come back anytime soon. Sweet. But no dice.
After being craftily tricked into making bar plans for Friday night, I jumped back in the loaner car and raced to pick up the mom for a family dinner out.
Let me take a moment to say that I hadn’t realized how spoiled my new car has made me. (2008, but new as in “not used”). Driving around that beater, futzing with the a/c, having to carefully judge the distances required to pull out into traffic, reaching the “Shimmy Speed” and having to let off the gas. Damn. I love you, my precious Meowzda. I love you so much.
Dinner with the fam was all that it could be and more. Much to my mother’s mortification, we managed to bring bodily functions into the conversation. It rounded itself out with us deciding that certain events would be categorized by numbers 1-9 on the “Rectum Scale.” Oh yeah. We rock the intellectual discourse.
I pause again to say that throughout this whole trip, I was plagued by a lack of appetite and a general feeling of malaise and exhaustion. I think I have malaria.
The next day was running around with my leetle seester, having lunch with the Bef, and looking at the makes-ups. We made back to town just in time to hit the bar.
Friends trickled in. Animals perched on heads. The Group W bench was reclaimed. Pretty normal stuff.
While I was being very good (and feeling very bad) nursing my drink, I thought I had a short, but pleasant night ahead of me. Well, turns out some folks couldn’t make it out till later, and it would be rude to have them drive all that way and then not hang for a bit, and one drink leads to eleven or whatever. So, you know.
Useless censor bars added to protect the very guilty. You probably can't make it out, but that gentleman's shirt reads "Cool Place, Shady People." And how.
Yeah, we are so cool the waitresses like to hang out with us. That’s her on the left, foreground, sitting on the bench. We’re that table.
Well, brilliant ideas started sprining up all over, and so we naturally ended up at the skeeziest sailor bar by the bay, spending a small fortune on the jukebox and playing pool. Badly. Among other things.
But we never worry about our environs. Cuz we are shady, sharky people ourselves.
The next day say the arrival of Tim-Tim and My Hangover. Tim-Tim awoke me at 6 am with a text. I am just now beginning to forgive him for that.
I staggered out to a bbq some pals had orchestrated, and it was grand. The weather was amazing, a ton of people I love showed up, and I got to chill for the first time the entire trip.
Though, I must say, there was a preponderance of shifty looking, short people there. Check it.
I don’t trust those little suckers. They are beginning to outnumber the big ones.
Failing miserably at bean bag toss, but really enjoying the lamb burger my sister made for me, I retreated back to my apartment (now my sister and brother’s apartment) to sleep on my couch (still technically my couch I guess). I wanted to hang with my bro, since I hadn’t seen him much. We shot the shit for a while, and I finally got to see what all the hubbub is about HD television. Holy shitballs, that stuff is insane! We were watching a Sidney Lumet film from the 60s or 70s and there were moments when it was like watching someone move through the actual room we were in.
I awoke the next morning and the lovely and perennial Bef chauffeured my sorry ass out to the incredible (and now very far away) Bay County Airport. Which is just as big as the old airport. Just an hour north now. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant.
My first time flying Southwest, which has an interesting first come, first serve policy on seating. And I ended up having to pay for one of my suitcases b/c of weight restriction. Damnit. The counter lady is all like, “Would you like to transfer some items from one case to the other?” And I’m thinking, “How many pieces of lingerie did I use to wrap the breakables in this case?”
So, yeah. Those suitcases stayed shut.
There’s a final, small part to this tale, but I’m just about typed out. I’m sure, gentle readers, that you can wait a little longer. I imagine it’s of no signifigance to anyone but me.
