Back back back back!
Miami Beach? Lovely. Totally going to get wiped off the face of the earth this weekend by hurricanes, but for the days we were there? Just lovely and sunny and pretty and nice.
I'm tan, except for my scalp, which is totally red, and totally going to peel. Also pretty and nice.
(The ratio of complete-sentences-typed-to-appearances-of-the-word-totally is off the charts already. Totally off the charts.)
So Miami was great. Yes, there are pictures. No, I don't have them today. Although if you scour the Internet you might find one of a topless girl in a blue-and-white-striped bikini who looks just like me, but who totally isn't, because Amy would never go topless in Miami, because Amy would know that the instant her top is off she would have the rotten luck of getting photographed by some perv with a really nice camera. So yes. Or no. I'm confused now.
Tomorrow: Pictures. Today: Barely coherant random thoughts and ramblings that only sort of tell you about our trip. Lucky you!
Take comfort in the fact that I am the sort of person who gets seated in the emergency exit row on planes. Don't you feel safe now? I am totally in control of the situation, people, just as soon as I emerge from the fetal position in the overhead compartment.
You know how you always leave on trips feeling like you've forgotten something? But you just shrug it off because you ALWAYS feel like you've forgotten something, even if you haven't. And if you have? It usually ends up being something silly like lip balm with SPF in it, which you always forget, which is why you own approximately 243 tubes of it.
I remembered the SPF lip balm.
Scene: Miami airport, seconds after getting off the plane
Jason: Max was so mad at us this morning.
Amy: Yeah, he's been mad since he saw the suitcase.
Jason: Poor guy. I wonder if he'll hiss at the neighbors when they stop by to feed him.
Amy: So which key did you give the neighbors?
Amy: Oh fuck.
Jason: Well, we knew we were forgetting SOMETHING.
(Max is fine, by the way. One of the benefits of condo living means somebody out there has a key to your house at all times. It's like Stupidity Insurance. Stupid people should be required to live in condos. You should have to take a test before you can buy a house.)
I will refrain from making some lame South Beach Diet joke in regards to how we ate while in South Beach. Mostly because I can't really think of one.
I ate a lot of French fries. And lobster. Even though it was Maine lobster and we were technically further away from Maine than we are at home, lobster seems like the thing to eat on vacation.
We also ate at Emeril's restaurant. Shut up. I was kind of giddy when we were there. Shut up again. I did not, however, pick up the salt and pepper and yell "BAM!" over and over. Although I totally would have if I thought of it at the time, because that would have been HILARIOUS.
The waiter at our hotel? Looked so much like Jack Nicholson I was a little frightened. He was nice though. And yet scary.
Scary: Men in thongs.
Scarier: Women in thongs. Because while frankly, most of the men had the buns for the thongs. The women? Not so much.
Scarier II: Topless women. It's never the ones you want to see.
Scariest: Topless women in thongs playing paddleball. Bad naked! BAD NAKED!
Scariest II: Scare and Scarier: Did I seriously just use the word "buns?"
Totally Not Scary: Cute boys making out with each other. My marriage was in no way threatened. The family unit remains intact! Jason did not catch the gay germs! The natural order and balance of the universe is maintained! Humans continue to procreate at an adequate rate! The earth is still spinning on its axis!
Honestly. Also, gay bars have the nicest bathrooms. So there.