Blogging holds absolutely no interest in my life right now. I don't know how people do this for a living. I mean, true, I'd probably have a lot easier time if I was being paid for this nonsense. But I'm not.

In other news:

So I got back from Florida last week. I was there like 5 days, right? I went with my family and some friends of the family. And I honestly cannot believe that it happened at all. I can't remember quite a bit. But here's what I do remember.

Firstly, the hotel we stayed at was on da gulf a mexico, right? It had like fucking epic greek statues and a life-size chess set that I kicked ass at. There was an ice cream parlor AND PIZZA HUT in our hotel. It was very convenient because it was better than regular room service. And one of the skanks working there gave me free shit. I slept on the worst pull-out couch bed in the history of man. The huge metal bar running down the middle bruised my tailbone somehow, and it hurt to sit upright. But that's pretty irrelevent, because I was not about to let some nonsense injury put me on the fun DL.

So the first night we got there was already hilarious. We went to this place called Crabby Bill's. And apparently everyone there is a douchebag. My entire family was wasted from their first day at the Swigwam. Is that not the coolest name for a seaside bar? Anyway, i ate some pretty awful crab cakes and talked shit to the funny looking tourists and college dropouts in TapouT shirts while insisting that my mom buy me pina coladas. She did. It was awesome. Then I slept like a baby. With a fork in its ass. Gagged and bound. Held upside down by its toes. I can't sleep outside my own house. I just cant. So needless to say, sleep was scarce on this magical seaside adventure.

The next day I sat on the beach drinking Landsharks (shitty Jimmy Buffet beer that's a mix of corona and bud light, but worse) and getting my tan on. I got really tan by the end of the trip. Free of the fabled farmer's tan too. Either way. I got bored after my extended family thought it was a grand idea to sit on wooden chairs for 5 hours, so I walked around for a couple hours and a few miles. I got a sweet straw hat. Some beer coozies. (I started collecting beer coozies for some reason. I have like 20 now. I don't even use them because I don't like my beer freezing cold. Just another of life's paradoxes I imagine. But that is another tale for another time.) So anyway, I was of course rocking a muscle shirt to show off my newly-sculpted, newly-tanned guns, and the register girl went through the common human interactions that go with buying stupid shit in a stupid store. When I was getting out my money, she saw my tattoo and said "that's such a cool tat. I see so many stupid tattoos working in a beach resort town." She asked me what it meant and I explained it and she must have been completely awe-struck by my deep thoughts and beautiful ink, because she was smiling like jesus just sucked her dick. It was fun. I sat and talked to her for a while. Her dad was in real estate down there (every real estate building [there was seriousy dozens] had at least 2 mercedes and a jaguar parked in the front, btw) but she's from some Chicago suburb that i can't remember because I was kinda drunk and only half-interested in what she had to say. But she was cute. Like, vacation-in-florida-babe cute. In retrospect, I don't even remember her name. God damn. Bad person of the year I guess. I ended up seeing her on the beach the next day too. We went to the swigwam and they didn't card me because they knew her. Totally cool. I learned to do waterfall shots. What's a waterfall shot, you say?

Ppsh. Take two shots, hold them in one hand, and let the upper shot pour into the bottom shot while you're drinking both simultaneously. I did a double waterfall, and everyone was super impressed. And that's when I met Sally. Sally was like 46. Her tits, on the other hand, were still toddlers. She bought me a lot of drinks. Total cougar. She moved down there with her old as dirt husband, and figured if you're going to live on the beach you need to get a tit job. So she did. I don't understand why girls get tit jobs. Totally not the same. No one is impressed by your spending half a dozen grand on boobs. Either way. It was hilarious. I got a rum runner, a pina colada with strawberry liquor or something and a handful of beers and margeritas. This was at 11 Am. I was trashed by 3, and I felt like a real man for the first time in my life. Sally and unknown beach girl were good company, and took my $100 bar tab down significantly. I'll never see or know you again, but I love you anyway.

After saying farewell to girl, I went back to my room and watched American Gladiator episodes from 1990. We went to the dog track in Tampa. It was so rad. I bet on 10 races and won $100. I won really big at the start, and it was all downhill from there. I bought some big cigars and put all my betting slips in my straw hat. I felt like Charles Bukowski. Or more like Matt Dillon in that movie about Bukowski. Factotum maybe? Yeah. Afterwards we played beer pong. So weird. I've never played beer pong with my family before.

Anyway. I'm bored with this. And I hurt my back and i've been sitting too long to be comfortable.

Until next time.