Monday, October 08, 2007

Key West Day 3: Dive For a Fistfull of Dollars

It was a dark and stormy morning.

Rain fell.

Thunder roared.

Talk show hosts stated blandly funny things. As a Monday morning commute to the office in a downpour could sour most people’s spirits for the entire day.

Not me.

I’m still waking up from last week’s visit to Key West as the final day at the southern most point in the U.S. was my time to mellow out and just melt into any sitting apparatus that was within reach.

After shaking off the previous day’s jello shots (foreshadow to ending), bull riding (OWWWWW!), and all-day bar crawl across Duval Street, the first order of business in the morning was to find some eats that didn’t suck. Thanks to keen a set of keen ears and a nose for good pizza, BG lead me and StB down to “The Upper Crust”.

Heaven, with sprinkles of parmesan clouds on top.

After weighing ourselves down with mozzarella, it was time for some relaxation time at the ACH compound. The beach house was the center of the laid back attitude one should have while visiting this party-centric city before the night life heats up. Plush couches and recliners, TV big enough to read the lips of the Michigan State quarterback barking out plays, and a deck complete with bar, mini-pool, and Jacuzzi.

When Kyra wouldn’t sleep, Wyatt wouldn’t settle down, and my wife decided yesterday to point out every little thing I was doing wrong… that beach house is where I went in my mind with a chilled OJ drink that Pauly whipped up, and some of BG’s fabulous bacon wrapped fillet with potatoes that left the taste buds wondering why I neglected them up to that point.

After the marathon poker game that lasted all-day and up to the time DonkeyPuncher dusted himself off the cowboy bar’s floor from doing the worm, the final group of person’s at the ACH compound headed out to “the dive bar” for the last bit of debauchery.

Say what you will about “fancy” strip clubs, but in my extremely limited view as two of them visited in the last five or so years, the dive bar totally outshone the “classy place”. The women gave you the fantasy of making you feel attractive and wanted versus going through the motions as one would while banging out TPS reports at your cubical on a dreary Monday morning. Hell, I got quizzed for five minutes about my marriage with the fishnet (and only a fishnet) clothed exotic dancer who would catch my eye for a dance. “Are you faithful to your wife?” asked the lady in a creamy voice that could be mistaken for verbal Viagra. I almost said I don’t have enough money to be unfaithful tonight, but I must admit to enjoy actual conversations, even if that conversation carried a price tag.

(as a disclaimer, I got a high five from the stripper after telling her “I’m just here for the fun, and you’re providing as much as I wanted” as she revealed she was married too, how I got that out of her is beyond me)

Many shots were consumed, questionable fabrics of clothing were flying about (of the male variety), and I left around three a.m. not with the defeat most persons many feel after leaving a den of friendships that cost twenty dollars for 2 minutes and 10 seconds, but with a Cheshire Cat smile that I got what I came to do.

I was relaxed, I had the slow buzz that started Friday night and would allow me to sleep comfortably, and I’d go home with a memory that would I save for anytime I felt I couldn’t keep my shit together anymore.

Thanks for dropping by, now this video from Pauly allows the viewer to step inside to madness that is Bobby Bracelet downing jello shots from the saucy Cuban waitress (or it could have been the one who smelled like strawberries). How he stays vertical the rest of the night despite the walking stick/pool cue is beyond me.

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