Day 1: We got in at midnight, stayed up till 3 eating pizza and watching King of the Hill. There's a show that's just funny enough to stay on the air, and not funny enough to get censored by the FCC. We wake up at 6PM, and marvel at how quickly our sleep cycle changes in one direction but not the other. Day 1 was a punt day.
Day 2: Wake up at noon, eat a lazy breakfast/lunch. Lay by the pool. Go back upstairs and play video games. Tomorrow, my grandfather is coming down to gamble, and he's got us a hotel room at a casino so fancy, the smallest steak they serve is 38oz. We go down to Miami Beach for the night. I take my roommates to a Cuban place called David's, a place I was only vaguely sure even existed until I managed to smack right into it. If only the people of Cuba knew that their food cost 60 dollars for three people in Miami, there would be a second Mariel Boatlift. There's a bowling alley here where the waitresses wear short skirts and high heeled boots. The lanes are half as long as normal, which is why I break 100 for the first time since I was twelve. After ogling/bowling, we stop by a music bar can Base. There's an enthusiastic indie girl behind the counter, the first black hipster I've seen besides Kele Okereke. Just kidding, I forgot about TV on the Radio. There are walkmen superglued to the bar. You ask the bartender for a CD and obliges you for as long as you need. I buy the new Franz Ferdinand album out of obligation, and the new Morrissey album because he's fucking brilliant. My roommates buy techno for the ride home. I'm in a new car, a bright orange Hummer with chrome wheels. I get pulled over for speeding on the way home.
Day3: I got lost on the way to the hotel. Fucking Mapquest. The stupid thing is, I saw the hotel, or what I thought was the hotel. I thought it was the hotel because it was the only nice building we had seen in the entire Indian reservation that we had driven through. It struck me that I had driven straight across the Seminole nation in about ten minutes. How many dead indians do you need to buy an acre of land in Florida? Anyway, I drive by this gigantic white behemoth in the middle of a lush sea of palm trees and limousines. I drive by it and assume that I must be looking for the OTHER billion dollar resort. Their is a cigarette store near the hotel, made of adobe clay and painted such a bright red that I tapped the brakes when I saw it.
My grandparents are happy to see me, the feeling is mutual. My grandpa traded in his walker for Bono shades. Good for him, as long as he doesn't go off and try to solve the AIDS crisis. That guy only used the walker to lull his enemies into a false sense of security. I got my badass genes from him. My roommates and I go to our rooms and change for the pool. There's a water slide here, with a clearly posted weight limit of 200 pounds. 2/3 of our group chose to ignore that rule, and get fun was had by all. Poolside bars charge 9 dollars for a strawberry daiquiri, 6 for a virgin one. They also don't card.
That night, we eat dinner at the most expensive steak house in the universe. The three of us order the prime rib king cut. Its a 42 oz. steak, with a side of Yorkshire Pudding. Yorkshire pudding is dough, mixed with all the juices of a cooking steak, and baked. A beef muffin, if you will.
My grandma gives us each a hundred bucks, tells us to knock ourselves out. As a scientist, I will rarely be able to do something like that. I need to invent a virus that eats garbage and poops Reality TV, then I'll be rich. It was 9, so nothing was open yet. That was kinda funny to me, actually. We waste some time in the room and then go to a Billiards bar. The sign outside the door clearly says, " MUST BE OVER 21 TO ENTER." I am twenty, but cocky. I hand over my ID, which has not been modified in anyway, and get in without a bit of trouble. The lady must've looked at the year I was born, figured I was a few months from 21 and she could say she misread my ID. She needed the tips anyway. We play pool and dance to hip-hop videos. I don't listen to hip-hop unless its playing over a PA in a club. I decide to be Cocky McCockerson and order a Guiness. The waittress gives me a look, but brings me one anyway. Plausible deniability.
We decide that the evening is not complete if we don't go dancing. Going dancing on a monday night is like trying to go scuba diving on Christmas; people look at you funny, and you end up having a less than stellar time. The resort we were at has 3 night clubs, but none of them were open, so we went to an Irish pub that I knew had a band. My roommates and I are the only ones dancing in the entire place. Everyone else is staring at their table with a drink in hand and a cigarette in their mouth. Fun. This was the only band I've ever seen in my life where the drummer was morbidly obese. I thought that by nature of the job, all drummers would be at least somewhat fit. You learn something new every day.
The next day, I win 90 dollars at the slots. That about pays for the drinks, ice cream, and food I splurged on during our little night out on the town.
That about covers Days 1-3. I'll write more on the topic if I feel it'll be interesting.
