Category Archives: More Interesting than the Most Interesting Man in the World

Week-long entries are always the hardest to write. There is so much detail that needs to be encapsulated its worrisome that something might easily be forgotten. There are too many pictures that need explanation and too many memories that will probably be lost. With that said, I will begin this story as many of my stories begin. A headache from the night before…

So I’m sitting on the plane just wanting to get some rest and an attractive older lady sits next to me and says she is going to Louisville. Interesting as this is the first leg of my flight. So as a fellow Kentuckian, I act as a gentleman and entertain conversation. She begins to tell me that she is recently divorced so I start to emphasize with the woman. My friendliness eventually leads me down a path I don’t want to go down. The woman starts to become dissociative and even seriously considers me as a potential future roommate. Sleep is not found on the first flight nor the second due to the excessively large lady sitting next to me, the obnoxiously loud man snoring and the screaming baby. Typical

So the plane lands, I do my typical Kentucky routine: Ale8, Mingua Brothers Jerky, Franks Produce shop and then stop at Marty’s. Marty’s, my former roommate, house is the rendezvous point for the immediate Nashville trip. As soon as Chris arrives we head to Tennessee to do it right.

We meet up with some friends before we go out and get some food. The thing about Nashville is that in the few hours I was there, I had three offers to crash at someone’s house. In the state of Florida, which I have lived in for two years, I have only had one person offer me a place to crash. Now you tell me, is Florida The South?

So we go to this bar after dinner called Broadway Brewhouse. The special is the Bushwacker. Now if your like me, your immediate thought is of the best tag team wrestling duo of all time but instead you get a heavily alcoholic drink that tastes like a Frosty.

At some point I decide I need more cash. So I head to the ATM. Withdraw $100. What does the ATM do? It recognizes my significant appearance and gives me $120 instead. #Winning.

My adventures in Nashville are already reaching a top notch high so I am not sure what could compete. I am content with the night but a karaoke bar on the outside of the main drag keeps getting brought up. What is this bar you ask? They call it Santa’s Pub. What’s so special about it?

It is a Christmas themed bar in a double wide trailer. I am going to be honest with you. This is 100% the best business model of all time. No overhead. What’s so special about the place. For one, the owner actually looks like Santa Claus. For two, if it’s your first time there, the first beer is free. Thirdly, I am not sure thridly is actually a word. Fourth, its a double wide trailer with 200+ people raging harder than any club you’ve ever been. Seriously.

Karaoke got out of hand.

The decor got out of hand.

And partying got out of hand.

The next morning we get brunch at The Stone Fox.

Ok so enough for Nashville. Lets get on to the second day of my nine day vacation. Back to wrestling. It just so happens that tonight is the 2013 Survivor Series Pay Per View. My buddy Jager is the one guy I can always count on to see every wrestling pay per view at a moment’s notice with me. So what do I do. I fucking drive to CinciNasty from Nastyville and watch the thing with him!

I crash at his parents place with him for the second time. The last time was also wrestling related. No big deal. Somehow I convinced Chris to go along with this epic road trip and he’s all in. The bad part about this, I have to drop him off in Louisville in the am the next day and I had previously made plans with his ex girlfriend that same day. I can’t help it that I am friends with both and it was like being in a custody battle between the two. Even worse, the plan with her and I was to go on a hiking trail in Cincinnati. So I have to drive an hour and a half one way, then another hour and half back in the same direction. FML. At least the second time I take the back roads.

So my hidden agenda that Lyndsey was unaware of was the fact that I was also working on my collection of State Road Signs. So we took a 15 minute pitstop at the Ohio state border to get a picture(see my other categories for the photo). The shitty part was that the Chrysler 200 had a curved hood and I couldn’t accurately sit my camera on it for a time photo. So I Macgyver the hell out of the situation. I found a broken mirror on the ground and set my camera up appropriately. It’s funny because I think of Ohio being one of the most depressing states in the union and the photo with the grey skies that I took accurately portrays that ideology.

Ok so the actual hiking trail. I knew this was something Lynds would for sure be into. Plus I am all about whatever adventure comes my way. The place was called Shawnee Lookout and it is located between the Miami River and the Ohio River. Better yet, the views the park offers allows you to look into Indiana and Ohio simultaneously. If only a man could live once, how could he pass up looking into the best two states simultaneously.

Ok so we do the hiking things. Paths diverge. When I jog daily I always veer right. Today I felt liberal so we went left. It’s all the same shit however you look at it. It is beautiful seeing the Ohio Valley Region in the winter time, but I was already starting to miss the 80+ degree weather of Florida.

We tried to take an awesome picture overlooking the rivers and the states but the timer messed up.

Afterwards, the adventure still feels fresh and the day is young? What should we do? So we head to CinciNasty. There’s a local beer place on the river next to the Reds stadium called the Moerlien. We get some awesome dinner and a brewski. Head back to Louisville. Drop Lynds off. Then drive for another hour to my moms house in Georgetown. By this point I am completely ready for bed.

Ok so its Tuesday, my mom’s a teacher so she still has to go to work on Thanksgiving week. I sleep for 14 hours but by afternoon I am bored with the lack of activities in Georgetown, Kentucky. So I head to Lexington to see some old friends.

I meet up with my buddy Gornto and we go vinyl shopping. I shouldn’t be vinyl shopping as I have packed all of my outdoor hunting gear in my carry on and have no room left to travel back. Regardless, I buy a vinyl chronologizing the blues sounds of Cincinnati in the 1920’s(I ended up leaving this at my mom’s house. Pretty upset about not having it now). Afterwards we head to the local non starbucks coffee place in Lexington and catchup on life. Good times. I head home and crash early again as all of the traveling is starting to catch up with me.

Wednesday a snow storm hits, of course, haven’t seen snow in two years and we are going to get it one of the nine days I’m in Kentucky. It’s actually quite beautiful and doesn’t get to cold or turn to ice like it normally does so I don’t mind.

So now it’s time to go to Indiana to see my dad. First time seeing him since April 2012. I haven’t been to his house in even longer than that. But he promised me that if we went out on Thanksgiving that I would see a deer. The photo above is his statement to prove this.

I am not sure how Indiana doesn’t suffer that grey sky syndrome that Kentucky suffers but I promise you that once you cross that Mason Dixon line the skies instantly become blue. It is a phenomenon I don’t understand.

So I go out for several hours on Thanksgiving day and don’t even see a damn squirrel. Not only that, but its fucking 14 degrees with a windchill of 8. Yeah. Florida boy don’t like that. And to suffer through it and not see a damn thing. It was very disappointing. Disappointing to the fact that only a 1.75 of turkey could only take care of it.

So we go home and have ham instead of deer. I show my dad new technologies like Spotify and pass out. Then it’s Friday. Time to sleep in a little and then drive back to Kentucky for my final day of vaca. When  I get back I meet up with my former roommate, get some dinner and then meet up with several old friends at some of the local watering holes.

Before too long its time to head to the Houndmouth homecoming show at Headliners. Fortunately, I am good friends with the band and the manager so I was able to get into the sold out show. It was amazing to say the least.

Afterwards, we head to a local bar that is a private party for the band only and things got wild. My last day in Kentucky was a day to remember and it makes me homesick to think of all of those good times. But fuck that 14 degree weather.

Woke up at 7AM to go golfing.

Then proceeded to run a 5K.

Finally, capped the day off with a Tampa Bay Rowdies soccer game.

There were smoke bombs.

As I mentioned in a previous post, the girl and I had a disagreement. The disagreement was about what we were going to do for the 4th weekend. The original plan was to hit up Pensacola but there were some prior commitments that derailed this plan. We resolved the disagreement(she owes me a vacation day for my choosing) but now I had free plans for the 4th.

My friend Lyndsey had been begging me to come visit Chicago for quite some time and she only had a month left before she moved back to Louisville. I kept hearing rumors of this barcade that was destined for me in Chicago from her and other friends which would become my top destination for the trip. My jeep got fixed in less than a day once I was back from OBX so things were starting to go my way.

I got Leslie to drop me off at the airport and I was bound for Chi~town.

Lyndsey picked me up from the airport and we headed to her apartment in Evanston. To make the weekend better I had two other friends coming up, Chris and Brett to make the weekend the weekend to end all weekends.

The thing about Lyndsey’s apartment is that if more than two electronics were plugged in simultaneously, the circuit breaker would flip. Unlike any apartment I have ever been in, this apartment’s breaker box was in this creepy basement.

In the basement, there was also this creepy painting on the wall that I thought would be blog~worthy.

There was also a public restroom in the basement. I still haven’t figured this out. I don’t want to give the impression that this apartment was rundown. It was actually really nice and in a great neighborhood.

Anyways, we get there late Wednesday night and do some catching up before we hit the hay. Thursday morning, Lyndsey wakes me up with the nightly report of how many shootings occured in Chicago over the night. The nights total, 15.

After we get our coffee, its time to head to the beach. Lyndsey leads the way through some creepy tunnels and then suddenly we find ourselves on the lake’s beach right outside the city.

The beach is in full force for ‘Murica day and it looks amazing. Brett spent the night with another friend and we had planned on meeting him and other friends at the beach. Strategically he was set up right on the corner of the beach and was easily located.

Not only that but he was wearing the most amazing Louisville player’s jersey of all time.

I told them I had another buddy who just moved to Chicago that wanted to join us for the festivities. I described him as very hipster. As we are waiting for him to come find us, we get a call from him saying he is on the beach. At precisely that moment, Brett, who has never met this friend, points him out and says, “There he is.” I asked him how he knew, and Brett said he was the most hip guy on the beach using a phone.

The festivities were fun and games until a cop approached us and told us that beer was not allowed on the beach. We were forced to pour it all out but at least we didn’t get any trouble from the cop.

We used this as a good opportunity to bail on the beach and get some grub. We went to this place called the Pour House where they had amazing entrees.

I decided on the lobster corn dogs.

We decided to head back to the beach for the fireworks show but when we back through the creepy tunnels a heard of hundreds of people came running back towards us in the opposite direction.

Apparently there was a gun shooting on the beach so we followed our instinct and ran with the masses. We ended up at a bar to finish out the night where hilarity ensued.

The next was going to be used for record store hunting(and maybe some video game shops if we were lucky),

First we found the most amazing retro video game store of all time.

The store was ran by a gay guy who refered to himself as ‘R.Kelly’. After I made some pickups for my NES collection he pointed us in the direction of a Korean-Chicken Stir Fry restaurant called Crisp.

We also found some amazing thrift shops in our excursions.

After the shopping, we headed towards Wrigley. The Cubs were playing the Pirates and the sun was shining to the full affect.

Brett and I were hell bent on going to the game but the others did not want to pay the scalpers the sold out price.

After the game we met back up with the rest of the party and decided it was time for dinner.

Deep dish pizza was the decision and it was only a few blocks from Wrigley so we started walking.

On our travels we also passed ‘HQ’. The amazing barcade where our travels would end that night.

We ate our pizza and discussed starting businesses on Kickstarter before it was time to head back to HQ.

On our journey we discovered a falled road sign perfect for amazing pics.

And then it was time for awesomeness.

The menus were made from old comic books.

There was a Kool Aide man sighting.

The bar didn’t disappoint with the selection of games on free play.

Better yet, instead of just playing Sportscenter on all the TV’s in the bar, monitors were playing old school wrestling matches and re-runs of American Gladiator.

When we left I snapped a picture of the glowing neon sign for HQ. Pure awesomeness.

The bar was definitely everything that I hoped it would be but now the trip was finally winding down. We caught a cab back Northwestern land. I was caught in the front seat with the cab driver. He was from Africa and somehow we engaged in a conversation about wars in Ethiopia. A topic I wouldn’t say I’m well versed in, but I winged it.

The next morning everyone had to leave early besides me. My flight didn’t leave until 2:30 PM. So Lyndsey and I decided to go and walk around her neighborhood(See I told you it was nice).

There just so happened to be some sort of local art show going on and it had all of the streets closed off. Lynds and I went off the beaten path and found this hidden gem, a book store in an alley.

The book store was decked out and we spent like an hour in there. Afterwards we headed to a Vegetarian restaurant.

I chose the verde enchiladas. They were excellent. But I was quite saddened as I ate it because I knew my trip was over upon the completion of this meal. We paid up and Lynds took me to the airport. Overall, this was a fantastic trip to Chicago. Much better then my previous few trips where disaster happened in every aspect. I’ve seen Chicago now though, don’t really have any need to go back.

This is a story that begins with a disagreement. Just a disagreement between Leslie and I that continued into a Saturday night. We haven’t really had any disagreements in our 6 months together so I guess we were eventually due. It wasn’t even that big of a deal honestly. And it has minimal impact on this story to be honest. Just know that we had a disagreement that led to Shad and I enjoying ourselves on a Saturday night. Consequently, this led to me needing to go to the Village Inn on Sunday morning to help absorb the Saturday night leisures.

Everything was fine and dandy until I paid and walked out of the door. The greese was even absorbing my Saturday night. Then I get in the Jeep and turn the key in the ignition. No dice. Maybe I left the key in battery mode position when I pulled it out? Battery must be dead. Since the Village Inn is only a few blocks away from our apartment it was easy to convince Shad to come and help give me a jump. After all, I wasn’t about to ask some Pinellas County crazy to jump me. What?!? This isn’t Kentucky.

Shad comes. Jump doesn’t work. Shad takes me home and I reconsider all of my options. I am on the verge of panic mode as my timeline for vacation is rapidly approaching. Fortunately I have a girlfriend that manages to always come through in the clutch and is able to put disagreements aside. She helps get me a tow even though she is out at sea. On a side note, Shad and I wait at the Village Inn drinking glasses of ice water as we wait on the tow truck to come. The waitress notifies us that some charity event is going on and someone is about to get “pied”. After all, Village Inn is known for their famous pies. We follow the waitress around to the back of the building and some guy is ready to recieve a full pie to the face for charity. I’m still quite perplexed by this idea. We might be the only culture that does something for charity by wasting food. Are there not starving children somewhere that could use this food?

Anyways, Shad and I pull out our phone to get a quick pic for my blog and the asshole getting the pie stops everything. “WHOA WHOA WHOA guys! I know that I am getting a pie to the face and everything and I know that its funny. But guys, this is for charity. No pictures please. This is for charity and I just don’t appreciate the pictures. Please guys not pictures. I know you want to take pictures and laugh about it and post it on the internet but this is for charity guys. No pictures…” He kept going on in asshole fashion. Like jeeze dude. Seriously, stop being an asshole and get to your point. It will help you out in life. All you had to do was say “No pictures please.” But instead you acted like an ass and now I have no respect for you. Had we not been in Pinellas County and I fear for my life around every citizen I encounter, I would have definitely taken your picture and posted it all over the internet as “Asshole Gets Pied.” However, you seemed just crazy enough to pull out a pistol that I didn’t want risk it. So I settled for a picture of the Village Inn instead.

Anyways, I am fortunate enough that the car shop is still open and we determine that all I need is a replacement starter. My girlfriend Leslie was leaving for the OBX vacation the next day while I wasn’t leaving until Wednesday. Fortunately she was kind enough to let me borrow her whip on Monday and my Jeep was to be ready on Tuesday afternoon. I park her car back in her garage and get Dave to take me to the shop. Pay, grab my keys, and walk to the Jeep and turn the ignition. No start. Same problem as before. The technician comes out and tries to start it. No dice. Finally the manager comes out and tries to start it. He has the same problem. Then he turns the key 110% and the engine cuts on. He lets me know that it is my ignition in the column that is the problem and if I leave my jeep with him another day for $200 he can fix that too. What the hell did I pay them for? That was probably the original problem instead of the $450 starter replace I just paid for. Since the engine was already running I decided I was just going to take it home and take it to the Chrysler shop that I actually trust when I get back from vacation. Especially since I was already skeptical and questioning the shadyness of the Midas shop in Saint Pete.

I get a ride to work from a coworker on Wednesday and ask another coworker, John to drive me to the airport after work. I had a terrible day at work and as we are crossing the Howard Franklin the weather only worsens to match my thus far horrible week. I show my appreciation to John for the ride and go to self standing Kiosk to print my tickets. My connection flight to DCA has been cancelled. Great. The system wont even let me continue. The desk clerk tells me my best chance of getting to ORF on this particular night is through PHL. Makes no sense to me but I go along with it.

I now have an extra hour to waste in the airport so I decide now is a perfect time to get some Popeye’s chicken to make my day a little better. So I go stand in line to give my order. And I stand in line. And I stand in line. 30 mintues later(And only 6 orders later) I finally get to give my order for two pieces of chicken and an order of mashed potatoes. Piece number one ends up having absolutely no meat on it whatsoever. Oh well, I still have a huge thigh that will make up for it. I take a bite into the thigh. And it is frozen through. If I take another bite I know sickness will overtake me for the rest of the night. It wasn’t worth it to me to wait another 30 minutes to talk to incompetent Popeye’s staff members so I conceded and went to my terminal. What do I find out at my terminal? That my flight has been delayed an hour.

Assuming that my flight leaves precisely an hour from this point in time, I will have about a 15 minute connection window in PHL. I already know my options are not looking good so I hit panic mode and become frantic. I call Leslie in this frantic panic. She doesnt answer the first two calls because she is in a car with her family. She finally calls me back 20 minutes later and I am trying to figure out what I am going to do. I am hopeful that I can find a near airport to fly to instead but the connections she suggested the desk clerk had already ruled out on me. I become agrivated with the lack of options and distance between the Leslie and I and lose my head. She gets off the phone. Great! Now I am going to miss a flight and have another disagreement between my girlfriend and myself.

The plane evntually takes off with my anxiety at an all time high of whether or not I am going to make the connection. The plane lands in PHL a good 20 minutes after the departure of my connection flight. I already know I am going to be spending the night in Philly, a state I never thought I would be resting my head in when I started this day. A text message comes into my phone from Leslie. Apparently she was already on her way to ORF airport to pick me up, an hour drive for her. I call her immediately. She had been on the road for 20 minutes and here I am still in Pennsylvania. I told her to go home and I would call her when I had something more informative to tell her.

I finally get off the plane and make my way to the terminal where there is already a line of people at the desk. Knowing that I have no chance of going anywhere I go to the back of the line and wait patiently. “If you missed your connection stand in this line and talk to me.” The clerk announces. Sure. As I said before, no chance of going anywhere so I stand and wait patiently. Another group from acrouss the gate grabs her attention when I am next and she forgets all about me.

At this precise moment an early 20 something stoner comes down the walkway from the plane anoucing “Norfolk? Anyone going to Norfolk?”

“Right here!” I say, so he comes over in his tye dye Dead Head shirt and acts as if I am his best friend. This other emotional bitch comes walking down the gate path following him. I use the term bitch lightly as there is a noun starting with the letter ‘C’ that would better describe her with her following actions.

She’s already crying and normally I would ask her what is wrong but seeing as we are all stuck in PHL for the night I know what is wrong. I am a man who doesn’t like to waste words so I don’t have much to say to the girl. I decide to ignore her emotions and let her stand there and sulk in her sorrows. She’s ranting about how she doesn’t know where her luggage is. Big freaking whoop-dee-do. If you checked it, then they put it an airport code on it and it will end up at that airport. End of story. Chill out. I say these things in my head obviously as I want to have no interactions with this tempermental chick. She continues. “They made me check my bags…” So what? I’ve been forced to check my carry on bags before it’s not a big deal. “They made me check my bags because assholes like this…” She reaches out and grabs my carry-on suit case and shakes it, “take up all the overhead space on the plane.”

I have had a horrible day and snap my head back at this chick ready to give her a piece of my mind. Her long term mental stability is probably grateful because at this very exact moment the shitty desk clerk walks over and asks “Who is next?” As I have been standing here the longest it is obviously me but I get boxed out by tempermental bitch and she intercepts the question. At this point I am ready to give her a piece of my mind but she is so lost in her emotions that the clerk ignores her half put together attempts at spoken language. She comes to us and simply gives up a boarding pass with a piece of paper stapled to it and turns her head. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I demand. She looks back at me and states that I should “Call the number.” She turns her head. I read everything in my hand fully now. It is a boarding pass for 7AM and a paper with a hotel hotline. “Are you going to give me a discount for a hotel?” I demand. She turns back again and says “Call the number.” She turns away from me again. Seriously. This is the customer service that US Airways gives. That was the entire conversation I had with US Airways. I fly probably once a month and I have never had this sort of trouble. Whenever I have problems with Delta or anyother line, they offer me a free hotel or get me where I need to be one way or another. US Airways wont even tell me what the hell is going on.

At about this moment, the Dead Head comes back into my life. He is apparently on the phone with his mom who has just told him that our ORF outbound flight is still in PHL at gate A2. He asks the clerk to verify and she says “Just go!” I look at her and ask her “Can you just call the gate and tell them we are coming?” She responds “Just go!” At this point adrenaline is running through my body but I am also contemplationg who is more deserving of a title that starts with the letter ‘C’, the clerk or the emotional bitch.

The stoner, who fortunately checked all of his bags, takes off way in front of me. Meanwhile I am struggling running from Gate F to Gate A as I never check any bags. I have about 30 extra lbs worth of traveling gear on me and I am so out of shape. It was quite disheartening to see a stoner outrun me. But whatever. So we make it all the way to Gate A2 and theres no one there. WTF?!? So we run back to gate A8, the gate where the flight was supposed to leave from. An employee there tells us to go to Terminal B and catch the shuttle. So we sprint back down the A Terminal and then down to the B Terminal. We ride this random hidden escalator and a guard tries to stop us. We tell him that we are trying to catch our plane so we end up on one of those annoying airport golf cart thingys and he drives us to the next shuttle stop but the door is locked. “Sorry about your luck” he says and gives up on us. We are stuck in PHL for sure now. I am covered in sweat and close to a heart attack. I go to buy a water bottle and separate from the stoner.

I ask a police officer in the terminal what the hell I am supposed to do. I suppose he is used to the shitty customer service from US Airways so he actually is helpful and lets me know how to handle the situation. After about 20 minutes I find myself at a Clarion Inn about 5 miles from the PHL airport. You will be happy to know that if you have troubles flying with US Airways you are still expected to pay $100+ in cities that your connections fail to connect in.

I get checked in and finally make it to my room. I called the girl and let her know what the hell is up while I check out the sweet view from my hotel balcony that over looks a Denny’s and a strip club. Its 1 AM and I have a 7AM outbound flight. Last time I flew out of PHL I was in a TSA security line for 2+ hours. This meant I would need to be at PHL by 5AM which meant I would have to be up by 4:30 AM at the absolute latest. This would be the first time, and hopefully the only time in my life where I would request a wakeup call for 4AM. I needed a shower as I felt terribly disgusting but there was something dirty about this hotel room that grossed me out. The room wasn’t a bed bugs kind of dirty. It was more of a… someones drilled a hole in the room and has a camera set up for a peep show kind of dirty. I was mortified. But I showered and got ready for sleep. I can’t carry on with toothpaste and didn’t anticipate being in this situation. My toothbrush head was nearing death so I asked the front desk for tooth paste and a toothbruth.The toothbrush was so flemsy I legitamately was concerned that it was going to break apart in my mouth. This toothbrush was the kind of toothbrush that should only be used for cleaning dirty grout in bathroom tiles, not teeth. And the toothpaste was go pasty it was gross. It felt like I was brushing my teeth with Play-Doh.

Sleep wasn’t easy so I put on the TV to try and rest my spirits to help sleep come. All I could find on the television was Craig Ferguson with his horrible British humor. It is also important to know that on this particular day the Supreme Court made some sort of ruling about Gay Marriage. While it is finally about time, I must admit I am quite upset that I can no longer use the famous joke, “Well why don’t we let the gay’s get married. They are the only ones who still actually want to be married…” lolzzzz.

The next morning is terrible. So early. The lack of sleep to recover from a horrible week was setting the precedent for the vacation to be horrible and I was honestly quite worried that everything was going to go horribly. But after a coffee and a Diet Mountain Dew at the airport I was finally able to get my act together. Once my act was actually together and I was able to comprehend what was going on I was actually disappointed with how shitty US Airways was. The gate I was in didn’t even have a digital board. No shit. They just had a board on the wall where the slid in a tab with a city name on it. Departure times were specified by individual numbers slid into this board. It was at this very moment I decided I would never fly US Airways again.

Did I mention the plane I was going to fly on was a prop plane that was having trouble getting one of the propellers to start. I was so frustrated and underwhelmed with US Airways. But eventually, 20 minutes after we were supposed to depart, I boarded the plane and readied myself to be in ORF.

As the plane started to land we had a beautiful view of houses along the Atlantic coast. So beautiful I decided I wanted to take a picture of them with my camera. I reach into my pocket and pull out my camera to take the picture but I can get it to properly function. I just continously get “Camera Malfunction” messages. I was having problems with it the previous week but I guess I was now willing to accept that it had bit the dust. Fantastic. Just another thing to bring this perfect week together.

Leslie was there at 9 AM promptly to pick me up at the ORF airport wearing a very attractive black dress. I said some stupid joke but we both smiled. It was then I knew we were able to put our disagreements behind us and go about a merry way. The plan was to take us back to her parents house in Poquoson, Virginia. This was of course after the emergency stop in a Best Buy I requested to buy a replacement camera.

The house was amazing. Surrounded on three sides by ocean water and had a sweet southern charm to it. We spent some time chatting on the veranda/Florida room/sun room/lanai/whatever you want to call it before her mom saw my tiredness and offered that I go catch some sleep in the guest room. We caught some dinner with her family afterwards then set forth for the outerbanks.

Before reaching our final destination, Leslie suggested we stop in the Food Lion(yeah that’s right, I said Food Lion. I didn’t know they were still in business) and pick up some snacks for the beach. I can now blame my desire to try local craft beers on Chris from his visit a few weeks prior. After taking me to Cigar City Brewhouse I was convinced that local beers were the way to go. So while in the grocery store we stopped in the beer aisle and I found a beauty. The Southern Pale Ale.

We make it to the beach cottage and it is already dark. Les’ family is the complete opposite from me. They were all ready to go to bed and here I am fresh to the beach in my prime time to shine. I settled for a long walk on the beach with Les though.

The next day was slated for pure beach chillin. Remember, I am not a beach guy but I was ready to make the most of it. I was able to finish my current read ‘Bright Lights Big City.’ The book was fantastic. A second person narrative of a twenty something living in the city during the 80’s. Nothing else really needs to be said about it, if that doesnt appeal to you, then you have no soul.

I even tried an attempt at paddle boarding but the waves of the Atlantic Ocean bested me and left me bruised and bloody(literally). After soaking up the rays on the beach for a few hours we decided to go check out what else Outer Banks had to offer me. Unfortunately, this was going to be my only day on the Outer Banks so I had to do as much as I could. Leslie wouldn’t take me to the Grave Digger museum(little does she know next time we are going for sure) so I decided to settle for other sights.

The first thing that came to mind wass Jennette’s Pier. It was your typical run of the mill pier complete with aquariums and fishing but it did have one unique aspect, windmills. I am not really sure what the energy’s final application would be but it was definitely a sight to see. After messing around in the gift shop I learned that the Outer Banks had a rich history of shipwrecks and pirates but I didn’t buy any book to further my education on this topic. I have too much book debt as it is right now.

For dinner, the entire family decided to go to the Black Pelican Restaurant The Black Pelican originally served as Lifesaving Station #6 and was later converted to the restaurant. More importantly however, the site was also the location of the telegraph system used to inform the world that the Wright Brothers had made thier first successful flight. For dinner I had snow crab legs and I struggled greatly with them. Maybe it was due to the pressure of being surrounded by so many family members, who knows, but I was the last to finish my dinner.

After dinner, Leslie, her little sister and myself went to a set of gift shops and what nots that I believe were called the Kitty Hawk Surf Co. The stores consisted mostly of gag gifts or beach gear that I really didn’t need but there was one noteworthy item. The mechanical shark. Unfortunately the landing pad wasn’t inflated so my attempts to convince Les’ sister to get on were halted.

Leslie found a set of old school piloting attire.

This really concluded my trip for the Outer Banks as Leslie had scheduled a hair appointment at 10AM on Saturday morning in Norfolk. This meant I was going to have to get up at 7AM so I went ahead and called it a night.

Fortunately for me, across the street from the haircutting place was the Virginia War Museum.

I decide this is where I will spend the next couple of hours of my life as Les estimated her hair appointment would take in the ballpark of an hour to and hour and thirty minutes.

So I go in, pay, turn down the first hall way, and Leslie calls my phone. “Hair’s done” she claims non-schlantly. I had just paid $6 dollars for this museum visit and I wasn’t going to waste. I explain to the admissions guy that I have to go pick my girlfriend up and that I will be back in 5 minutes. He agrees that it is no big deal. Leslie of course gets in for only $5. It never ceases to amaze me where her discount works.

This marks the second time in the last few months that I visited a war museum so my philosophical brain started ticking. First of all, it is amazing that we still have them. We are to a point in time where we wont have new war museums due to are ongoing military presence in other countries and the lack of new American battlefields. Casuality counts are down and I believe that most non-military citizens view military life today as just another thing. As we continue to technically progress, I feel that world history will be altered by things like Twitter and renewable energies instead.

This is not to say I don’t respect our history, I just see our world peacefully changing for the better. I was also amazed by the fact that no visitor were in the museum. I am not sure how places like this continue to exist with no revenue. It just seems that our generation today has no concern with military history.

Some other thoughts that left me rattled came to me during the visit as well. There was a picture of an unidentified soldier that was killed during the civil war. It is a shame that a man gave his life for his country yet the country has no recollection of who this citizen was. There was a framed letter written to the parents of a fallen soldier that left me mortified. It was so cold and emotionless. There were ground spikes from the Vietnam War that send sharp pains through my legs just looking at them.

I made the comment that all of the equipment, guns, and uniforms from the wars presented in the museum looked so barbaric to me. I think Leslie was actually offended by this comment, as she defended her opposing view passionately and informed me that it is much the same today. This left me dumbfounded. How can our military be so far behind technically? But they always say that US government/military is the last to adopt new technologies. I suppose this is due to the fear of computer viruses and trojans and whatnot. Maybe the idea of was is just too barbaric for me. Who knows.

After the museum, we headed to Richmond. Leslie really wanted me to meet her newly married older sister and brother in-law. They had a very beautiful house that met every standard I expect a house in Richmond, Virginia to have.

There were no plans for the day other then steaks for dinner so I wanted to hit up this area called Carytown. It is the hipster spot of Richmond. Much like the Bardstown Rd. of Louisville, it was packed full of thrift stores, record stores, comic books stores, etc… AKA my paradise.

We visited all the stores but there was nothing I needed to have to add to my collections. We decided to hit the Galaxy Diner for a few appetizers to hold us over until dinner.

The diner was a futuristic inter-galactic looking diner where hipsters congregate to consume food. I was inpressed. This diner might do well as a chain. But isn’t that everything against what hipsters stand for?

We enjoyed our mini-meal and headed back to house. On the way I got a drive by tour of Richmond. The city really reminded me of Louisville. The beauty was very similar. I started to miss Kentucky a little on the drive. Florida is just not the same. And on that note, the trip was pretty much over, and I was headed back to the Sunshine state the next morning.

This entry is meant to capture the pictures and the interesting things the Chris, Lyndsey and I did when Chris and Lyndsey visited me this summer.

As I was climbing in the massive tree downtown Saint Petersburg I couldn’t help but notice all of the names carved in the tree. It was at this point I asked a deep philisophical question: Why do humans always have to carve their names into something beautiful. This is a very deep question that truly reflects humanity. Throughout time, humanity has felt the need to carve its presence into nature and make itself known. It is truly a shame.

 

 

 

Friday afternoon. Its 3PM. Memorial Day weekend. My company has decided to close its doors early for the holiday weekend.

And the time is finally upon us. It is my best bachelor party weekend and I was the one responsible for setting it up. So to be a great groomsman I decided to take the whole crew to Chattanooga Tennessee to go hanggliding in the mountains.

Being as the drive from Saint Petersburg to Chattanooga is quite a doozy, I knew the Jeep would provide nothing short of an uncomfortable bumpy weekend. Instead I go with a rental car.

After work, my roommate and I head to the Saint Peterburg Airport to pick up our weekend warrior but since short term parking must be less than 10 minutes to be free, we decide its best if he heads back to the apartment as I pick up the new whip.

I walk in the airport’s automatic doors and navigate myself towards the Enterprise vendor and moments later I am walking out the door towards spot 5 in the Enterprise lot. And low and behold what awaits me in spot 5 is is something majestic….

A little red Mini Cooper. Mixed emotions run through my entire soul for a moment but part of me is excited to see what the sport capability all of the fuss is all about. I get in the vehicle and fanagle around with the keys and the push to start ignition for a few moments before I finally figure out how to start the engine. Then Jay-Z’s Big Pimpin’ comes blaring through the speakers and I justify in myself that this car is gonna be alright.

I swing back by the apartment and pick up my roommate and our already packed luggage. He has the same initial reaction of mixed emotions but eventually concludes that the trip will be fun even if all of the other guys end up questioning our sexuality by the end of the trip.

Of course our timing was perfect for getting stuck in rush hour traffic on the Howard Franklin bridge. After an hour of stop and go traffic we finally get to go full speed and my analysis of the coop started to decline. It feels like nothing more than a toy that could break and the get-up-and-go is horrible. I do not see what the fuss is all about. About that same time the song Unbelievable comes on the radio. Shad, my roommate, looks over at me and says “This is mini-coop music.”

Near the Florida Georgia line we decide its time for dinner so we pull off in some po-dunk town called Lake City. Mainly fast food options, so we decide on Burger King. We park and go in and hit the pisser. The restroom emitted a smell that I could only imagine being created as if someone had urinated into a paint roller tray and then proceeded to lather the walls with it. There was some guy that looked similar to Morgan Freeman in there as well. But now I’m just ranting… So we walk out of the restroom and Lake City’s finest have now decided to all congregate in the line at Burger King. There is only one chcik working the register and since we were in a hurry to get to Tennessee we decided we should go somewhere else.

Shad is ready to drive. So I give him the keys and he takes the wheel. Our options are limited. Taco Bell, Arby’s and McDonalds. The decision was that we didn’t want our colons to explode somewhere in Georgia so McDonald’s it was. It pained me. I haven’t been in a McDonalds in years. Shad decided it was a good idea to take a left turn into the McDonalds thru an intersection without a green arrow accross three lanes of traffic while oncoming traffic continued to approach. Remember that get-up-and-go I was talking about? Well it had slipped Shad’s mind and he quickly remembered as the brakes were slammed as we were about to go thru the intersection. It didn’t have enough power to even make it thru the interestion in time. Car Sucks. But back to McDonald’s… I wasn’t ready for what was about to hit me.

McDonald’s has commercialized the hell out of itself since I have last been in one. The menus were digital. Credit Card processing takes place in less than a second. Millions of employees were staffed behind the counter and decor of the restaurant was much more glamourous than I had expected. The play place was a hundred times nicer than anything I ever remember playing on as a kid and the store also had red box machine built in.

While I am on the topic of Red Box I want to get something off of my chest. As I have lived in Florida for a year, I try to capture all of the little differences between KEntucky and Florida. And Red Box is definitely one of them. In Kentucky, if there is someone at a Red Box machine, you do not go up to it and wait in line behind the person operating the machine. If it is an outdoor machine, you patiently wait in your car until the operator is finished so that you don’t rush them. It is a simple common courtesy thing. I don’t know what it is about Florida though. Either the common courtesty of Southern Hospitality doesn’t exist or it can be blamed on the overpopulation of the Sunshine state. Or maybe its the overpopulation that has led to the deterioration of common courtesty. Whatever the case maybe, people will stand in a line of 5 or 6 people waiting to operate a red box. That’s too much stress for me. Maybe I just don’t like to displease people. Regardless, I try not to frequent the Red Box.

But I digress. The McDonalds was super nice and super commercialized. I ordered a 10-Piece chicken nugget. The only thing I have been sure of on a McDonalds menu for years. I was shocked to learn that it is now the number 15 combo meal. Jeeze, how many items can a fast food place possibly have on the menu?

You will be happy to know though, while the restaurant can up its game, the clientele will always remain the same. Obese low income Americans. Oh and some creeper sitting alone a table capitalizing off of the free wi-fi looking at god knows what. All of these things running through my mind while eating dinner my mind was overwhelmed. I couldn’t help but to look over at the super-sized play place. There were tons of kids in there. Why? How has our society established it as a norm to pick up fast food and let your kids play while you enjoy a quarter pound of shitty hamburger meat. Don’t get me wrong, I remember wanting to play on the play place as a kid, but this shit has just gotten out of hand. And hell, I remember even as a kid my mom wouldn’t let me play in the ball pits because she read in the paper that heorin needles were found in the ball pits. Do people even do heorin these days, or is this problem no longer a concern?

Anyways, after my shitty dinner it was time to hit the road again. The rest of the drive was your typical drive through Georgia at night: contemplating the meaning of your soul and other existential crises, road sides promoting Jesus’ return and questioning the birth certificate of our president, and trucker stop bathroom with “Fuck Obama” carved into them.

During the nocturnal drive, a phone call from my buddy Dicarlo comes in. The only thing I can make from the call full of laughter is how shitty the cabin I rented us is. We finally get to the small town that the hanggliding cabin resides in, take a wrong turn and end up spending an additional 45 mintues navigating our way to the 3am drunk sausage fest cabin.

The delusion laughter recieved through my cell phone was justified I quickly learned after taking two steps in the cabin. Immediately I see a couch that has been through 5 decades of drunken shenanigans and random hookups, cheap wooden furniture bought from thrift shops and hanging curtains that should hosted mold. I was in love.

The 16 or so guys I had invited were making the most of it though. At least 200 beer cans were already formed into the perfect base of a beer-rymid that would never be completed during the weekend(not because of the lack of resources but because of the apathetic engineering skills that beer can produce).

The guys gave me a tour of the cabin. It was immediately described to me as reminiscent of a concentration camp. This analogy could be due to the fact that one of the weekend residents was German foregien exchange student that my next door neighbor hosted when we were in highschool. It could also very well be due to the fact that the cabin was very reminiscent of a ghetto housing unit in World War 2 Germany. The bunks were lined 16 deep in a straight line with little to no breathing room whatsoever. Being as Shad and I arrived at 3 AM we had the choice between the bunk with no sheets at all, or the bunk with only a piss cover. Delightful. Oh yeah, there was also the random queen sized bedroom sitting alone with no sheets full of piss stains in front of the cabin. That room was dubbed the bang room incase any of the 16 guys decided to bring back a toothless girl from the northern hills of Georgia back to the cabin for a night. An interesting note, of all of the guys I invited, all but 2 had girlfriends. An even more interesting note, all fo the guys I invited didn’t smoke. To be fair though most, if not all of the guys dipped/chewed. Maybe I forsee a new trend for our generation? Maybe we are just all from Kentucky?

After the tour of the sleeping chambers I was introduced to the pisser. A bathroom with two showers so dirty I would never consider batheing in them. In fact, I hypothesize you might end up more filthy after a shower in these showers than before you started. The best part about the lavatory though was the shitter. The porcelian god was separated by old school western style saloon dars. Awesome. The best part… the doors were mounted just high enough so that you couldnt see the perpatrators face, only everything else.

Everyone seems to be riding out the end of this 200 can beer buzz but I had just arrived. Sure we had to be up at 7AM to hangglide but a few beers, grizzly wintergreens and a few more beers wouldnt hurt. I ended up finally hitting thr hay at 5:45AM cuddled up in a towel that I had the foresight to bring. I am pretty sure the towel might have been the only layer of protection I had that night between evasive bed bugs looking for a victim to pray upon. I tried to not to sulk in my mind too much about this thought but it was all I could do to close my eyes minimally before we hit the top of that hill on Saturday morning.

For some weird reason, when you go hanggliding at Lookout Mountain you have to check in at the lodge on the top of the mountain before you drive 20 minutes back down to the bottom of the mountain to start the actual hanggliding. I had been here before so I was accustomed to process but the rest of the guys were not. The best part though was the hanggliding launch ramp at the top of the mountain. It orginally freaked the guys out as they suspected we might actually jump off of a top of the mountain to go hanggliding.

To all logical reasoning they quickly accepted and were partially somewhat upset when we ended up going back down to the bottom of the mountain to hit the bunny hill. After 30 minutes of standing around at the supply station putting on the saftey gear and listening to the proper protocols we start walking to the bunny hill. Somehow everyone but my friend Lokovich, myself and the ginger instructor get separated. The gingervitus patient quickly decides now is as good of time as ever to tell Lokovich and myself about his life. First he tells us that he quit his job, spent all his money on a nice hangglider, and now lives in a tent. Then he tells us he loves to jump off the top of the mountain with his hangglider in the nude. Fucking weird or just free spirit? I’m not sure but Lokovich and I looked at eachother with eyes that could only express one thing “Did he just say that shit?”

We get separated into two groups when we get to the bunny hill. One with the crazy ginger and one with this lady in her 40’s. Lokovich and I instantly go towards the female instructor with two of our other buddies. This portion of the day ended up being super boring. Just simple techniques and practices of hanggliding. No actualy fun stuff. But to be fair I am pretty sure our female instructor was coming on to me.

At the end of the techniques and practices portions of the hanggliding training package you are supposed to get 5 free jumps off the bunny hills where you launch yourself. And of course the wind was to extreme for us on this particular Saturday to enjoy that luxury. It was noon at this point and we were starved. I made the comment aloud of my hunger instictively when the sexual predator and souless weirdo quickly tried to invite themselves to join us for lunch at the local Bar-B-Que restaurant in the town of Trenton. Everyone pretty much used every lie in the book to avoid uninvited guests until we were able to quickly escape. They did however let us know that their would be a kegger with all you could eat food for $10 within walking distance from our cabin in the evening. We went ahead and RSVP’ed for the entire group.

The next few hours were less than noteworthy. We went to the BBQ place where our server had the sweetest of sweet Georgia peaches drawl and the BBQ is everything you would expect it to be in the south. Afterwards, I immediately went to a Dollar General and picked up a $10 set of sheets. I thought everything in the Dollar General Store was supposed to be a dollar? Then we went on the beer run cause apparently you can’t buy beer in Trenton Georgia on a Sunday. Nap. Time for the 2000 ft hangglide experience.

This was it. That was the big part of the Bachelor party I had set up for everyone. We drank a couple of beers and walked a few hundred yards from our cabin. We were fortunate our cabin overlooked the hanggliding runway. Long story short, you put on some saftey gear, strap yourselves into the glider, tie a rope to a plane, the plane takes off and you fly a hangglider from 2000ft in the mountains outside of Chattanooga. Somehow, I’m not quite sure as the weekend is now a meere blur, I was the one deemed the organizer of the group and so I had to gather everyone’s release forms. I checked some boxes and made the patrons sign on a dotted line. By this point everyone had managed to fanagle their way into the hanggliding line in front of me. I went last but it didn’t matter.

I managed to get the same flight instructor that the Bachelor had. Did I mention this was a tandum flight? It was. Obviously they wouldn’t let a bunch of drunkards fly hanggliders solo in the Smokey Mountains(Is this even considered the Smokies? Not really sure. Not the point). We had the awesome instructor. I mentioned prior to the flight that I had done this previously and his initial response was “Awesome, so you should know whats up. We are going to have some fun!”. After you get to 2000ft the plane drops the line and you free fall/fly for a wonderful 20 minutes. I told my instructor that previously I had had the strict and stern instructor who let me have no fun during the flight. He was distraught at this thought and I could tell he was a free spirit much like the ginger so he decided that he couldn’t let me have a similar experience. Once the plane disconnected I was in control 100% of the hangglider for the entire flight(minus the landing and lets be honest, I don’t want any part of that).

Hangglider lands. We regroup. Head back to the cabin. Shotgun some beers. And then its time for the so called kegger. I am pretty sure this small hippy commune of free spirited hanggliders had no idea what to expect when they invited a group of frat boys to an all you can drink/eat Memorial Day festival. Especially when we are on a Bachelor Party. Basically we brought our Game 7 performance. Sumter, one of my closest friend and former Fraternity president definitely brought his A-Game performance. He was MVP status before the sun even set. Someone suggested to me that I go sign him up for Kaeroke at the party. That right, this kegger had kaeroke. Sure, sounds like a good idea. And I know him so well that I know he want refuse when his name is called.

I walk to the booth. I try to muster some words together and the women operating the both says to me “We already got you.” “Huh?” I respond. “You’re with the Bachelor party right? Someone already signed you all up as a group.”

“Oh,” I respond. “Yes I am with the group but I actually came to sign my buddy up. He’s already gone and it will be hilarious.”

“Sumter you mean?” She responds. “Someones already signed him up. He’s about to sing Halo by Beyonce.” I was left speechless. Maybe because the song was perfect. Or possibly because I said less than 20 words and this woman read deep into my soul like a gypsy in a Cher song.

Sumter sings his song and while at the moment I thought the moment could not get better, little did I know the night was going to become one of those nights I would never forget. Next up was a special performance from some random Tennessee/Georgia snaggletooth natives. He decided to dedicate a special song to the Bachelor boy. While I will never be sure what song he sang (Maybe an Al Green song) I will never forget the actions that ensued. He was dancing around Ben(the bachelor, I don’t think I have identified a name with the Bachelor and how deep into this blog entry are we?) as Ben sat in a chair. I am not sure he was removing clothing or Ben removed clothing but it got weird quick. The weirder it got the more the crowd laughed. Finally Ben stood up and the snaggletooth drooped Ben. I have never seen my best friend blush so much. His boxers remained on and noone saw anything special but he was so embarassed. Honestly I was happy because this moment would end up being the only time during his bachelor party he would become uncomfortable so I considered it a success.

Moonshine happened.

The sexual predator that was our hanggliding instructor from that morning eventually showed up. She started dancing on my fellow fraternity brothers. Memories started fading. The keg floated. I spend 20 minutes talking to a magician… A former marine tells Sumter he will gauge his eyeball out and he has killed lesser men… We end up back at the cabin and hilarity happens.

Everyone is still in Beast Mode. Everything is destroyed. Havoc has been reaked. And then the hanggliding instructor shows up. She proceeds to hit on everyguy their and subjects herself to drunken male comments. If anything her performance might have set the female rights movement back 10 years. I was hopeful that one of my comrads might use the denoted “Bang Room” for something but she managed to hold her dignity together and leave gracefully. She did enlighten us that we were the only Bachelor party to ever come hanggliding as Lookout Mountain. So maybe I am being unfair. Maybe this was the most attention she has recieved in years. Who am I to judge?
Sunday. Wake up late. Some guys have already gone golfing but it is a hot sticky Georgia summer day so sleep in a cabin can only last so long. I need to absorb alcohol from within system. What’s the solution? Obviously Cracker Barrel. I use this opportunity to escape the chaos that is a Bachelor party in the mountains of Georgia and try and somewhat explore my surroundings. After all, I am on vacation. On my way out Josh lets me know I should pick up a plunger for the toilet. I pass it off for now…

As I am sitting there eating my Country Ham enjoying it thorougly, my roommate looks at me with eyes redder than the devil and says “The blueberry muphins are getting to me”.

One of the guys who joined me suggested going to the civil war museum at the top of the mountain. My eyes opened up and excitement flowed through me. This was exactly what I needed to make it through this three day weekend of absurdity. We finish our plates and drive the mini-coop through miles and miles of curvy roads until we finally reach one of the most beautiful places in America, The Battles of Chattanooga war museum.

The fort on the top of this mountain was strategically placed with excellence. Once you see the vantage point that was had from this fort you will be absolutely amazed. Cannons were aligned along the side of the mountain with the perfect shot to river down below and thus protecting the city of Chattanooga.

In the fields on the mountaintop, beautiful monuments were standing basking in the sun. It sadened me to see all of the names carved into these pieces of beauty.

After reading some plaques about the war that I will likely forget by the time I even finish writing this piece we headed towards a trail we spotted near the edge of the mountain. Apparently there are hiking trails to the bottom of the mountain. We start to head down one but haste must be made as we only had a few quarters for the parking meter.

We spot a sign that says restricted access and of course my renegade roommate does his renegade thing and disobeys.

We continue down the trail and the path starts to narrow. After 15 minutes of hiking, my roommate looks to me and says, “Imagine carrying the cannon balls up this mountain.” I was blown away. This might have been the most beautiful thing I heard the entire trip. It never occured to me all luxuries I took for granted to view this beautiful war sight, such as driving to the top of the mountain. I can not fathom carrying hundreds if not thousands of cannon balls up this mountain. It would be horrendous. A new respect for the civil war soldiers was found(Not that it didn’t already exist).

We start heading back to the car and I get a call from Sumter. “Dude, the toilet is flooding. Theres water everywhere on everything.” He hangs up. He doesn’t pick up the phone when I call back. No one does. I start thinking that my friends are fucking with me. But this jovial thought is quickly replaced with a feeling of distraught urgency.

We speed back to the cabin picking up mops, paper towels, and a plunger on the way. Havoc has been reaked upon our cabin yet again.

Fortunately, someone besides me assumes the responsibility and starts cleaning that shit up. The others are in drinking rage mode or have already passed out.

I quickly assume my future role of designated driver for the night. Jamie and I decide to head to Chattanooga to check out the bar scene/Gentleman’s clubs for the night’s festivities. Prior to the trip when I Googled “Bars in Chattanooga” I found what looked like an epic club call the Electric Cowboy. It was either going to be a gay club or a sweet bar with chicks in cowboy boots. We scouted it out and found a suprise that we were going to keep a secret from the guys until we all arrived later in the evening.

Anyways, its back to the cabin to round the troops to get them ready for a group dinner. The dinner on a Bachelor party was the obvious choice… Hooters.

We played Big Buck Hunter, ate chicken wings, drank beers and made lewd comments at the girls. Ben was forced to eat a raw wiener and be danced around. Only slightly embarassing.

Afterwards we rounded the herd and headed to the Electric Cowboy. The surprise I was mentioning… The club was in an old outlet mall. Think JCPennies building. Ha! There were sliding glass doors for an entrance.

We get in and my buddy Gornto asks me if I would like for him to be the DD for me. Hell Yes I Do! Partying ensued. But the chess player I am I was already on the next move. That next move was to find when the Gentleman’s Clubs closed in Chattanooga.

I approach what I think at the time was the most normal looking dude in the place with a simple question about the Gentleman’s clubs. “Excuse me sir, are you from around here?” I ask. He hesitates for a second eyes me up and down from head to toe in what I still hope was not an eye-banging manner. Pauses for a second. Replies “Is that a come on?” What the fuck. Either this guy was just waiting to be picked up by another dude in this bar or his bigoted Tennessee ways were thorougly impressed with my flamboyount purple button down. Either way, douche bag needs to get overhimself and not assume people who come up to him in a bar are trying to pick him up.

At this point I decide its time to ask the only people who I know will know a thing or two about the Gentleman’s clubs in the area, the bouncers. What do I find out. Gentleman’s Clubs in Chattanooga are closed on Sundays! NOooooOooooOOOo (in Darth Vader Star Wars Episode 3 Fashion). I failed. What is a Bachelor party without a stripper. The bride to be, who I am sure is reading this post, will be happy to know, against my best efforts I failed in taking her groom to a strip club on his bachelor party.

This left only one option. Make the night at the Electric Cowboy as memorable as possible. Gornto and I seek out the manager. We eventually convince her to let Ben be the judge of the weekly Sunday Night Bikini contest. She needs two judges so I find myself in the other seat. My how some of the most funny memorable times in your life come and go. I remember barely anything from this moment other than it was a blast.

Everyone slowly starts to filter out and Ben and I catch the last train home. We end up staying up until 5 AM talking about life just like the good ole days. Just looking at the stars. I went to bed knowing it was a weekend well worth it.

I woke up at 8AM and started the drive back to Florida. My best friend’s Bachelor party weekend was over but it was well worth it. I can only hope mine is a fraction of the fun.

2012 was the first year I hadn’t been at Churchill Downs on Derby Day in 6 years. I was ok with it though because I was in Key West (My other favorite place on Earth). But this year, 2013, I didn’t want to fall to same fate. I was sure I was going to be in Louisville for Derby Day… But then life happened and I couldn’t make it. But at least there was a good excuse for 2013. That excuse… the Louisville Cardinals won the 2013 National Championship in basketball and I spent all my money and vacation days to see that glory!

So since I didn’t have the money or vacation days to make it home this year for Derby Day what was I to do? Have a Derby Party at my house of course!

I convinced my girlfriend it was imperative that she wore a big hat to party and while she was originally against it she eventually conceded to my persuasive ways. Not only that, I was eventaully able to persuade her the necessity of her bringing a Derby pie. She wont admit that enjoyed it, but the dish was definitely the hit of the party and I hope she makes it again in the future.

In addition to the miraculous derby pie the kept our sugar-teeth pleased for the entire night, I took it upon myself to orchestrate a Hot-Brown dish for the party. The Hot-Brown is another Louisville recipe that must be experienced atleast once in a lifetime. While it is probably the least healthy dish you will ever consume, it is definitely on of the most delicious. Apparently the story has something to do with late night vagrant travelers requiring anything to eat. The chef of the famous hotel in Louisville, The Brown, took his kitchen’s left of ingrediatnts, scraped something together, and created a masterpiece known as the Hot-Brown.

So long story short, I knew I had to make one for my derby party. I start cooking it before anyone shows up. While the bacon is frying, the grease splatters up and destroys my brand new, unworn, Brooks Brothers suit. But hey, its mint julep day right? I can make that unpleasant go away right?

Now for all of you non-Kentuckians who don’t know how a derby party works, I will have to enlighten you. Everybody brings $5 for the bidding. You pay the “bookie” $5 bucks and you draw a number out of hat. The hat contains all the numbers of all of the horses in the Kentucky Derby. If that number horse wins the Derby, you win the pot of all the people’s $5. They say its the most exciting 2 minutes in sports. I have to agree with this. You can host an Indy 500 party. The reason is that people lose interest after 2 minutes. They stop caring. But I feel 2 minutes is just long enough to gather everybody’s attention around the tv and cheer for some arbitray number. It’s fantastic.

Now let me tell you my sob story. At first, we didn’t think we had enough people at the party willing to throw up five dollars to take all of the horses in the field. So I bought two horses. As the clock drew nearer and neared to post time, more and more people at my party were wanting to get in the pot. The spots were filling up. Then they all filled up. But more people wanted in the pot. So as a nice host, I decide to sell one of my two horses. I don’t know if it was the mint juleps kicking in or what, but i decided it was a good idea to sell my number 16 horse. For some reason my brain told me I couldnt remember the last time that horse with such a high starting number won the Derby. Easy, sold that 16 horse.

Race happens. 16 Horse wins. FML. But hey, you can’t win the Derby pot at your own derby party. So I am glad I sold it.

After the race, the Mint Julep’s flowed freely. I lost count. Apparently I had 13. I call it a success!

I suppose I will begin this entry with a warning of how picture heavy it will be. So you probably should save this glory of an article for when you can enjoy it in its full optimal experience on a PC if you are reading from a phone. But what can you expect when the Louisville Cardinals win the national championship?

This story begins the week before when I was still recovering from the excitement of knowing that we would be attending the final four for a second year in a row. Except this time we were favored to win it all. I knew this was my best opportunity in life to see the Cards win it all so I didn’t hesitate to book my flight to Atlanta. Actually, I even requested off from work when the Cards were still in the Sweet 16. That’s how confident I was this season. But after the plans were arranged and the plane tickets were bought, I knew I needed some sweet attire for the big game. So I went to eBay and this badass vintage trucker hat is what I ended up with. Somehow it made it via USPS from Kentucky to Saint Pete in a day in a half. Thank God! My trip would have been incomplete without.

The plane lands and because coordinating things is my forte, three of my fraternity brothers are in a car waiting to pick me up. I hop in the car and we head to the hotel room I reserved for a single night. We ended up having six dudes stay in a one bed hotel room. Reminds me of college already. And from that point on the shenanigans rolled for the next four days nonstop.

At some point in the first night we decided we wanted to checkout the bar in the hotel. Little did we know that there was no bar in the hotel. Just some common area which could be used for a bar if the hotel chose. We asked the receptionist if we could use it and they had no problem. We then drank coffee at a vacant hotel bar room until 4AM.

Saturday. Wake up and its time to get our game faces on. First we had to check out of my hotel room. We would be transferring into another buddy’s room. The total amount of frat guys in one room would total up to 10. But hey, at least the cost would only be $140 per person.

Its Final Four game day against Wichita State. All I know is one thing, there has got to be an abundance of Cards fan somewhere and I am going to find them. We hop on the MARTA, walk through some hipster college area and somehow end up at Centennial Park. This is where the festivities were.

I was starting to run into old friends and became lost in a sea of red. Finally after hours of searching, I found my buddy Shawn. Shawn was who I purchased tickets to the games with. It was imperative that I find him and I was so relieved once I found him and the people he came with.

Anyways we partied in Centennial for a while and eventually made our way to the Georgia Dome.

As we approached we were with my comrade’s brother and his wife. His wife stumbled upon a passed out fan in the lawn in front of the Dome and decided an L was much needed.

Before we entered I asked a very vital question and probably took my favorite picture of the entire trip. What exactly is a shocker?

We get into the dome and make it to our final resting place. The $300 nosebleed section.

The dome was bigger than I could have imagined but more importantly, Card~nation was repping more than I could have imagined.

One other funny thing about this night. Guess who my seats in the nose bleed section just happened to be beside? An ex-girlfriend from high school  Life is funny sometimes. Good thing we have always been on good terms! More importantly, we both were there for one thing…To see the Cards take it home.

Anyways, I don’t remember a lot about the final four game. Just that my blood pressure was through the roof and I might have been closer to a heart attack that night than I have ever been. After the game Shawn and I headed towards Peachtree to find a random restaurant to get some grub before we caught the last MARTA ride back to the hotel.

Sunday. Big day here. I didn’t even realize it until the day was over. We woke and everyone went their separate ways. My old roommate Scar wanted to check out the free concerts in Centennial Park. While my body was exhausted, I didn’t want to waste my vacation days in the hotel room doing nothing. Apparently Dave Matthews was the headlining band for Sunday and while I’m not necessarily the biggest fan in the world, I wont turn down a free concert. When we arrived at Centennial Park we were surprised to see the mile long line to get in.

After sitting in line for an hour and not getting the front row my former roommate and I took the opportunity to grab some merchandise, drinks and pictures. Then somehow, unbeknownst to me, Scar managed to get us to the very front of the crowd. Some indie band played first. I can’t say I was really impressed.

Afterwards, my mind became blown. A new rock goddess graced me with her musical presence. Grace Potter rocked and rolled. I will be purchasing her record on vinyl in the near present future.

There was also a Charles Barkley sighting.

It is important to note that on this particular Sunday a very big event is held. That event…is Wrestlemania. There were a lot of wrestling fans in the crew but most preferred the concerts over wrestling. I on the other hand was still wanting to watch Wrestlemania. When my buddy Ilya texted me to let me know he was down, we rendezvoused back at the hotel and watched with excitement.

To even further the excitement for the night, the Louisville Lady Cards were also in the Final Four and playing for an opportunity to compete for the National Championship. So what did we do? We set up two screen and watched both events simultaneously.

Sunday. Game Day. I crashed not to long after mania(which was subpar this year but whatever). When I woke up everyone was full of excitement and adrenaline. It was going to be a day long marathon of partying and celebrating late into the night.

We pregamed at Dairy Queen and then took the Marta back to the action. This time we ended up at the bars and food court in the mall next to the Georgia dome.

My one buddy Steve made a cleverly witty sign simply labeled “Gorgui Dome”. So many Cards Fans took pictures with us all day long due to the hilarity of the sign.

Finally it was game time and there was a universal flock of the masses towards the dome. This was the moment we as Cards fans have been waiting on for twenty some years. Longer than I have even been alive. But the wait was worth it.

Before we got in, Steve was flagged by security for his sign. Not sure what words of magic he spoke to them but they eventually let him pass. And from that point on it was game on.

I would like to note that the NCAA doesn’t allow alcohol sales at it’s sporting events which is super lame. I don’t know what they are thinking. But the Turkey might have made an appearance.

It was a hard fought battle. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. The game was probably one of the best championship games ever played. But my Cardinals proved to the world that they were the Champions.

I was overwhelmed with excitement.

From this point on partying would ensue until five in the morning. At one point we even decided that we were going to party so late into the night that we would wait it out until the MARTA reopened at 6AM.

We settled on an all-night diner instead.

Eventually we gave up on the idea of waiting the subway out and instead caught a cab. This only gave me a few hours to rest, get cleaned up and get out of the hotel by the noon checkout time. We said our goodbyes, cried our tears, shared our love for the Cardinals and parted ways. I headed for the airports and had hours to kill. So I decided to find some grub.

The cancerous smoke rose up into my nose as I sat in the Budweiser Sports Bar and Grill. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since the small meal I had the day before at DQ. That is of course if you don’t count the drunk diner food I partially threw up the previous night.

The Budweiser Smokers Lounge was not my first choice by far. But why was I here? I pondered this question for a minute while I waited on my food to arrive. The silverware the waitress brought me was plastic yet it had a silver coating on it so that it would appear as if it was real. How classy! And then it came to me. The airports and major food chains must do heavy research on what areas of the nation are the biggest income providers. From this data, they can do research on what terminals go to what part of the country. With this combined knowledge they can place they locations in particular terminals where they might profit slightly more. Far fetched? Maybe. But its all about saving a few dimes each quarter and I know McDonalds will go to whatever lengths it must to to be in the black at the end of a quarter. So because of this greedy CEO culture we live in I am forced to either inhale smoke and die of cancer or eat cholesterol filled Big Macs when I am in the Atlanta airport heading toward Tampa.

Regardless, my Cardinals won the National Championship and now it was time for me to head home and watch the Lady Cards try and win the Women’s National Championship. Unfortunately their dream run would be cut short by the ladies of UConn. While I am upset I cannot be too upset because two National Championships in what was already one of the best weekends in my life might have been too much for me to handle.

For only a few months have I been working with my new company, but it was already time for a vacation. Ha, thats just a little melodramatic. But I did already have a vacation planned for the last week of archery in Colorado. The outdoorsy get away would set me back all of my 2012 vacation days but it would prove worth it.

The base for this trip took place in the campgrounds of Arapaho National Forest. A week away from cell phone service, 3G and any other technological burden of today’s society. While the campground doesn’t look like much, by the end of the week it started to feel like home. The only problem was that I am a Floridian, and it gets pretty damned cold in Colorado in September.

After getting camp set up, we decided to take it easy for the day and hit up the grocery as well as eating out for dinner. My partner in crime was more fascinated with the state of Colorado than me, and was even hoping to move there soon. As such, he had visited the state a month previously and raved about this great pizza place.

Now I’m sure you’ve heard of Chicago style pizza and New York style pizza, but Beau Jo’s of Idaho Springs, Colorado is known for serving its famous Colorado style pizza. The secret ingredient  honey. I will let the pictures speak for themselves.

After resting up the first night, we slept in a little and got ready for fun packed day of mountain climbing and elk hunting. My bag weighed too much for mountain climbing, I was wearing too many layers of clothes, and didn’t have a good strap for my bow. We walked over 10 miles and climbed probably 2000 feet in elevation. Needless to say, I slept like a baby that night.

The second day, we used our brains to find the elk honey hole. We used the State of Colorado’s Fish and Wildlife Department’s elk migration pattern charts, a Jeep Wrangler and a GPS system to get us where we needed to be.

We pulled off the road, climbed up the mountain and set up shop. And as with most of my hunting endeavors, the place ended up being a dud. We were confident this was the honey hole though, so we stuck with the same location all week. No dice.

As we drove back at dusk each night, we kept passing the same group of Moose in the road. Moose are a creature of habit and do not give a shit about nothing. These Moose would walk in front of the jeep for several hundred yards with no haste or concern whatsoever. They only cared about getting where they wanted to be. These creatures demolish whatever might be in their path to get to where they want to be. The takeaway lesson from this is that if you see a path of fallen trees, you’ll know a moose didn’t want to walk around that tree. So I got bold, and snapped a picture with one.

As we tried to sleep in our camper each night, the sounds of an annoying beaver kept us awake. I didn’t think beaver’s were nocturnal. They might not be. I don’t really care to look it up. I just know they are annoying. I didn’t respect the beaver until daybreak. When the light was fully up, I could see the engineering work of an intelligent creature.

It was after having a beer, the epiphany then came to me. I finally understood why it was Rocky and Bullwinkle. Why would there be a cartoon about a moose and beaver? Its because they are tag team champions of nature. They are the legion of doom. The moose demolished trees over a body of water, and then the beaver comes in for a finishing doomsday device masterpiece.

OK, enough wrestling jibber jabber for you haters out there. Back to the hunting. So I did finally see a female elk at about 50 yards. So I drew my bow, and released… Gut shot. She took off running. I finally found her bleeding out at the bottom of the hill, but as I approached she took off sprinting into the never never land of Colorado’s equivalent Mirkwood.

I did feel bad about killing the creature for a few hours. Mainly because I felt the death was meaningless. My hunting partner assured me that either a bear or a coyote would be much appreciative that night so I began to let it go.

I actually flew into the Kansas City airport for this trip as my friend didn’t want to drive the entire journey from Kentucky alone. I wish I would have realized how boring the drive from Denver to Kansas City was beforehand because I never would have agreed to such terms. But on the return trek, we stopped at one of the only exits in the entire state. The signs labeled the exit “The Oasis”.  As we pulled in for gas we were sure if we were actually seeing mirages at the Kansas Oasis or not. But after rubbing our eyes as if there were sand in them, it was clear as day. Palm trees in Kansas. I knew my journey was complete.

After several months of job hunting in the Tampa Bay area I finally landed the perfect gig. I am very happy with the opportunity, the career path, the company and my team members. Not to mention the wonderful views from the office.

After being there only since July 19, I’ve finally been moved up to an office with an ocean view of the bay. I’ve come a long way if I say so myself.

I thought I would highlight some of the views this office provides. To the east we are granted views of the Tampa Bay, the Tampa skyline, the St. Pete pier, and the Tampa Bay Rowdies minor league soccer team field. To the southeast we can also see the St. Petersburg airport.

Another great thing about the city of Saint Petersburg is Indy car race that runs through the streets of downtown and along the cost. The lap ends with a straightaway on a runway of the airport. Our office provides great views of the entire track. I am super excited for the race next March. The above picture shows part of turn four of the track.

To the west we are provided with views of the Tampa Bay Rays baseball field. To the north the views are of Downtown St. Petersburg.

How does one acquire such great views you might be asking yourself? Spending lots of time on the elevator riding to one of the top floors. The building has four elevators. They are all working now but for the last month only two of them were working.

I don’t know what it is about riding in an elevator that truly brings out the lack of social skills people have. But this last month really has reiterated that thought into my head. I don’t know how many elevator rides I shared where the conversation was 100% identical. Verbatim. Just venting about the lack of four elevators. “When are they going to have this fixed?” Its like people are trying to force conversation just because by pure entropy and chaos two humans ended up sharing an elevator ride together. I don’t know why these people dig so deep. How about a conversation about the nice views we get to see everyday riding up this elevator.

During my job hunt I had an online interview with a company I really liked. The interview was done using Google’s video chat. I prepared very well for the interview and thought I might have a chance. The job posting stated that there would be some Ruby on Rails work but Ruby on Rails was not a requirement. I get into the interview and the interviewer says that the position is for the Senior Ruby on Rails Lead Development Position. I immediately knew I had no chance. Why do I mention this you ask? Because unbeknownst to me, this company is in the same building as my new company. And one morning I had the pleasure of sharing an awkwardly quiet tandem elevator ride with the guy who interviewed me. It was for the better though, because I really enjoy the company I am with.

Everyday in the Tampa Bay area we get quick 30 minute rain showers. Today the rainstorm cast the most beautiful rainbow over the bay. These were the best two pictures I could capture.