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Finally - Floridian Fun: Part 1

2004-05-02 - 9:48 a.m.

Things I Wish I Wouldn't Do While Drunk On Vacation: Write Entries

Listening To: Flaming Lips, Supertramp, TH

Quote: "Hot Dog!" - Peter, imitating a dog in a zoot suit. Yeah, don't ask.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't want to hear it. I know it's been 314 moons since I last updated. I guess I was too busy reading everyone else's online journals. Ohhh, broad based buuuurrrrrnnnn! Yeah. So . . . you're looking well. Alright, alright. ALRIGHT already. I won't waste time on a preamble. Well, maybe a quick short one!

We the people, known as my family, got together for Easter at my mom's. But Sabby was being a big baby and threatening not to go. And apparently it was a package deal with Brad and Conner too. Or maybe it wasn't. I don't know. The result was that I called Brad and met with him at Applebee's and we, for the most part, smoothed things out. And then every thing was grood. I mean good. And great. Great and good. And I convinced him and his brother to come to Easter. Even though they still might've been coming anyway. I don't know. It was all very murky (and lurky). Sabby still didn't come though. She was the winner. The winner of the biggest Easter baby contest. Whatever. But there were lots of people there and I even managed to convince my father to come. Briefly. And we didn't really talk much. And he kept saying how he couldn't believe how much taller my cousins had gotten. Whatever. Yeah, this preamble is just gonna devolve into venomous venom so I'm just gonna stop now. Nanny had a good time and I'm glad that she got to see so much family. And then, two days after Easter: We left for Florida!!! Hooray!!!!!

Well . . . at least we tried to . . .


The following is taken from a notebook journal I kept on the first day we traveled, Tuesday, April 13th. The plan was to leave from Manchester Airport, fly to Cincinnati, and then to West Palm Beach. Yeah. That was the plan . . .

4/13/04 - 8:30 p.m.

Yeah. Remember that time we were flying to Florida?

Yeah. Flying sucks. Specifically with Delta (and not with you Coop). It's now 8:30 and we are finally leaving Boston. Boston?! Yup - that's right. After being humiliated by Ben about stupid I was for thinking we were leaving from Boston, opposed to Manchester (which we were "really" leaving from. And by "really" I mean "not really") we find out, or I should say Ben "realizes" as we're sitting in Chad & Mack's driveway in Manchester - waiting for Mackenzie to arrive and bring us to the airport that the flight is out of Boston/Logan. After. All. This is found out at 3:47. Our flight is at 5:30 with a check-in of 4:30.


So we fuckin' high-tailed it to Boston in the blinding rain and actually made it to Logan on time - after a marathon sprint from one end of the airport (luggage in tow) to the other. But since we got there after check-in we weren't allowed on the flight. So now, roughly around the time we should be in Cincinnati we're flying probably somewhere over Rhode Island and are bound for Atlanta. You know, home of the . . . "Atlanta Falcons". [Guys will get that joke]

We're suuposed to catch our flight in Atlanta for 11:00/11:15, but because of our late departure (in itself due to the rain) we have a good chance of missing our connecting flight. Which is weird you know, seeing as how the day had been going so well thus far.

Plus, it's the last flight of the night from Atlanta to West Palm Beach. So we'd have to stay overnight in Atlanta. And then I quietly weep. And then I not-so-quietly carve Ben's heart out with a fountain pen and feed his bones to rabid dogs. You know . . . that old chesnut.

Or(!) as the gentleman seated in front of me has just suggested, after hearing me state my case to the person sitting next to me (Ben's several seats away), we could "just make an adventure out of it and rent a car in Atlanta and drive all night to West Palm Beach!" Oh . . . and what an adventure t'would be!

But yeah . . . no.


My hand is already fucking cramping. Rusty Lange was right again. I should have learned how to hold my pencil right way back then.

Oh fucking score! The guy next to me, I'll call him "Vegetable Lasagna", just gave me his snack mix! We only get these small snack mix packs (1 per person) and I'm drinking from an 8 oz. Dasani bottle. So when he offered me an extra bag of snacks the power of this plane totally shifted. Zach TwoSnacks runs Zone 9 of Delta Flight 1868 now bitches!


Oh man, I've got sesame seeds and pretzel bits all over my sweatshirt and I'm drunk with power! It's cool and all, but not half as fun as being drunk with alcohol.

I wish this was an international flight. Free cocktails! I'd be singing the hits of Kenny Rogers a little too loudly while Ben would no doubt be defecating in the complimentary Delta puke bag.

Which reminds me: Ben ordered an apple juice from the stewardess, people!! Fucking apple juice?! He be a far braver man than me to drink 100% real apple juice tens of thousands of feet in the air. The boy must have bowels of iron, he must! Also, Ben is so trying to get into the pants of the lady sitting on his left. She may be over 70 and it looks like the left side of her face is melting off - but you gotta give Ben credit - he's got gumption! And with proper treatment, that gumption should clear up in about 4 to 6 weeks.


What's airplane fun without some good natured turbulence?! No fun at all - that's what!

Oh for the love of . . . someone just farted and Vegetable Lasagna is pissed! (Can you blame him?) He just turned the A/C nozle blower thing on full blast! Momma Vegetable Lasagna didn't raise no fool!

Oh fuck - seriously, the turbulence is getting pretty bad. I need to stop writing before I puke on Vegetable Lasagna. (And knowing him, you just know he'd get in a big ol' snit about it!)

Ok . . . the turbulence just died down and the pilot announced, I think, that we're flying over Philidelphia. I say, "I think", 'cause it was kind of hard to understand what the fuck he was saying. It didn't matter anyway since only the peeps on the left side of the plane could see it. The left side, also known as "Ben's side" or the "gay side" thought it was pretty impressive, whatever it was.

Speaking of parts of the plane that think they're so much better than Zone 9 (which they're not!) - I can see 1st Class from where I'm sitting. This fuckers've got it all! Hot opened-face turkey sandwiches, canolis, beautiful Asian women massaging their upper thighs . . . oh don't be gross! All I meant was that they're getting handjobs!

I just heard Ben and his potential Mile-High partner laughing about something. Probably about how they're dumb. And how Ben promised to crochet her a scarf with "Still Sexy At 70!" on it. That sounds like a sexually sggestive scarf that Ben would crochet!


Ok. I'm ready to get off this fucking plane now. I'm so cramped and my head hurts and Vegetable Lasagna keeps trying to spoon. I can't wait to get to Atlanta and finally get off this plane.

You know . . . just so i can get on another plane. I'm cranky. Can you tell? I convinced Ben this afternoon that the town motto for Somersworth is "Somersworth is for Lovers." He said, "I thought that was Virginia?" "It is," I said. "but Somersworth came up with it first."


Whoop - dozed off there for a bit. I know my friends back home are watching those San Diego scamps on Real World about now.

I think my back is broken. No. I'd be in less pain if my back was broken. Oh man, I think our ol' friend V.L. is pissed that I turned the light back on. The pilot just said we're 80 miles outside of Spartanburg. Yes!!!! Whatever the fuck that means.


No doubt Frankie's already cut herself 2 or 3 times by now! For shame. The pilot, or captain, whoever, just said we'd be in Atlanta in 30 minutes. God damn are we gonna be cutting it close. I think Ben and I must be allergic to doing things "the easy way". They announced that it's "heavy rain and 33 degrees" in Atlanta right now. Jeeze, I'm so glad we got out of the shitty weather of the Northeast to be greeted by the shittier weather of the Southeast!

Seriously. We better not get fucking stuck in Atlanta.


Yeah. So kinda jinxed us there, didn't I? Oh we got stuck in Atlanta. Oh did we ever. And it sucked. It sucked just about as much as you'd expect Atlanta to suck. Hard. It was fucking freezing and was snowing in northern Georgia in mid-April for the first time in years. Yeah. That's not a bad omen or anything.

We had missed our connecting flight to West Palm by 5 measly fucking pissant minutes and the next flight wasn't until 8:30 the next morning. So Delta put us up in a Ramada not too far away. And by "put us up" I mean "they gave us a whopping 17% off the room rate." Oh Delta! You came and you baked me a brownie! When we got on the shuttle to the hotel I noticed Ben had developed a new birthmark on the back of his neck during the flight. It was "666". That's not a bad omen or anything. The Ramada was to be found right next to a Waffle House. Now, excuse me for being naive but this was my first time ever laying my peepers on a Waffle House. Despite it being past midnight and in not so jubilant a mood, I was positively giddy over the prospect of going to a Waffle House! Ben? Not so much. Apparently, way back when, when he, Jeff, Tim and Marshall drove to Spring Break in Florida they passed Waffle Houses all the live long day. He said there was so many of them that they treated them like punch buggies, but in reality it was just an excuse to hit Marshall more. I buy that. Anyway, the moral of the story was that I didn't get any waffles. Instead, we settled for dining at the nearby BP (a gas station) on Peach Crush ( a travesty) and freeze-dried chef salad with a spork (a little slice of heaven).

'Twas not to be . . .

Did I mention the part about Atlanta sucking? Because it did. We had a 6am wake-up call and you can imagine how rested and refreshed we were. We got into West Palm Beach around ten in the morning. In reality, we only missed sleeping at Peter's for one night. But it seemed like we had been traveling for over 20 hours. Probably because we had. Though, it should be noted, Jimbo had caught a late-night flight from San Diego to NEW JERSEY to West Palm Beach and had yet to go to sleep. And he wouldn't for about another 24 hours either. Jimbo had landed right before us and we met him, Peter and TC at baggage claim. Jeff called while we were waiting for a luggage. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to drive down from Coco Beach that night for the Bachelor Party, but he'd keep us posted. We got our luggage, crammed into Peter's car and it was off for fun fun fun. If only any of us could keep our eyes open . . .

It's been real,

B.L. Stryker

ps - Things to look forward to in Part 2: A new poll, a visit to the Burt Reynolds & Friends Museum, a bunch of pictures from Florida, grouper, grouper and more grouper, bachelor party hi-jinx, wedding hi-jinx, well . . . just hi-jinx in general I guess.

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