Friday, February 17, 2012

So it's tourist season again. The good news is that we can now catch 5 full-grown ones each this year!

For those of you lucky bastards who are stuck somewhere freezing cold and miserable, this is probably not something that you're going to have to worry about for a good four months. Or if you live in Ohio, never. But for us Floridians, it's that time of year again. We're in season. Tourist season. 

Where is my orange t-back bikini again?

Sure, it's the down side of living in a vacation destination. And yes, for the last six months it has been like living in paradise. But that doesn't mean I want to share! It's not my fault you chose to live in New Jersey and now you need to escape your pathetic reality TV show life. You know what I heard is nice? Alabama. They've And part of it even touches Florida so it has to be good! Go see for yourself!

Ooh, it's waterfront too!

I have NEVAH seem my hair this frizzy, oh my gawd!
I actually like the ones from Canada. They are so nice, eh? And old people? Don't get me started. I love those old motherf'rs. The ones that really bug me are the ones from states with annoying accents and really bad taste in clothes. I don't think velvet jumpsuits are really supposed to have that much diamante. Oh, and in case you're wondering, lovely tourist, we DON'T actually enjoy listening to your conversation that you're having on your cell in line at Publix. We seriously don't care how 'wicked humid' you think it is. That is not an excuse for that hair anyway. Seriously, it's wicked awful.

One of my favorite pastimes during tourist season was what I liked to call 'dream killing'. It went kinda like this: 

I was living in Key Largo and taking one of my leisurely strolls around the neighborhood with my always well-behaved dogs when I would sense a car slowing down behind me. I'd try to look straight ahead and sometimes, in desperation, pretend that I took up jogging and break out into what appeared to be a drunken stumble. I was only pretending to jog, not be drunk. That part was a given. But alas, the car would speed up to catch up to me, a full ten feet ahead by now, and I'd hear the electric whir of a window rolling down.

"Excuse me, hi! Excuse me!" I'd turn to find a youngish couple full of excitement beaming at me. I'd soon squash that. "Can you tell me where the closest beach is?"

Heh heh heh. Then I'd deliver my favorite line. "Beach? Oh, we don't have any beaches!" I'd try to mirror their enthusiasm because it'd confuse them. And it was fun. They'd look back at me, quizzically, thinking that I'm joking around. I wasn't.

"What? What are you talking about? There is water everywhere! How can there be no beaches?" The disappointment is starting to set in at this point but they're still holding out hope. Then I cheerily tell them that because of the reef, we have no sandy beaches and the best they can hope for are a few of the man-made beaches behind some of the bars or they can enjoy the fifty feet of fun at Founder's Park in Islamorada, a short 25 miles south. 

Hey look, there's an empty spot over......oh, wait, never mind. Try back tomorrow?

The great part about any of these beaches is that you can wade out for a hundred yards (but wear your tennis shoes, there are sharp rocks) and you'll still only be up to your shins in lukewarm water that is the opposite of refreshing since it is actually HOTTER than the air. But hey, have fun! Good luck you guys! Then I'd walk away with a new jaunt in my step, that was not alcohol related (for now). 

I'd see the poor saps driving up and down the streets a few more times, clearly in denial, before eventually returning to Overseas Highway to go and do what the rest of us do to get through the days. Get drunk and stay that way. But that's pretty much my only good memory of tourists. The rest of the time they are just a pain in our collective ass, taking up the good parking spots and blinding us with their tacky gold watches glinting in the sunlight. 

What, you like my watch? My brother sells them out of his trunk. I'll get you a good deal.

At least do us a favor, oh Jersey Shore cast-offs: buy a bathing suit that fits this year! And by fits, I mean covers more than 3% of your brink-of-obesity day glo pale body. While it is sexy in some places, mainly WhoAreYouKiddingville, it's really taking away from our favorite beach pastime 'Fat or Pregnant?' since the answer is, inevitably, just fat. Leave something to the imagination this season! Make us really work for it!

I'm pretty sure pregnancy doesn't give you a saggy bikini muffin top

But, if for some reason you really must insist on visiting Florida this year, make sure you make it down to Keys. My friend Kathleen said her pool is supposed to only fit 12 but she's sure she can squeeze in an extra fifty or so! Just give me a buzz and I'll text you her address. 

I know it looks crowded, but she can always squeeze in one more! Just FYI, do not accidentally swallow the water. You will die or choke on a band-aid.

Well see, I was waxing the floor in the nude...
Or you can just visit the health department and stock up on the antibiotics to treat the gonorrhea that you caught from 'the toilet seat' last week. I heard it's nice, like the Appalachian Emergency Room! But I don't want to get you too excited- you're just gonna have to go check it out for yourself. Happy birthday Kathleen- Love ya woman! Here's to 50 more!

Looks like you've got 50 years to perfect lighting your cigarette from a candle- get crackin'!