An Ankle in Hand is Worth a Puke in the Bush

It's 4am - what the hell am I doing awake?

There has been a lot going on lately; time neither stands still, nor passes quickly. It just seems to be a never ending day that lasts for weeks.

I finished out my summer 1 session of school. I am so happy to rid myself of math homework. Now granted if you know you, this will come of no surprise to you. I do not like math. Never have- probably never will. I do not understand it. There is nothing within math that can "move" a person... I mean unless you can refer to "moving" as "annoying the SHIT out of someone"... I guess a bowel movement can be considered a movement... but in my case- not movement enough. I am mathematically constipated I guess. I don't mind solving for "x"- actually I sometimes like that... but don't ask me to find the damn equation... ummm, hello- this is math not Jeopardy, you're supposed to teach me how to find the answer... if you already know the answer, than we don't need to work out the problem... YOU HAVE THE ANSWER- why the hell do you need to know the question? None-the-less, I am so extremely happy that is over with!

Now my first English class on the other hand. I am very sad to leave. Not just because I had an awesome professor who really made me challenge myself in my essays, but because the class itself was really fun. We had a very interesting mix of students- as you probably previously read about Ronald McDonald and Strung Out Little Orphan Annie's love child- Ronald McDonald for short.

Side Note: Before I forget- I saw her today while waiting on my second English class to start. I was sitting in the hallway, and another girl from my previous class (who is taking the same English II as me) was standing in front of me chatting. Ronald McDonald walked by and looked at me- said nothing, and then said "Hi" to the other girl. I mean granted I didn't expect her to go out of her way to be nice to me... I mean I did pseudo-accuse her of being a prostitute after she said that she expected if she was giving a man her time at dinner that he would pay for it. Sorry! Isn't that what a prostitute expects... She gives you her time, you give her the dollars!! - General rules of "Pimpin and Ho-in." Anyways- back to my regular blabbing....

The point is I really enjoyed that English class.

After I finished out the summer 1 session- I had about a week of before I started session 2. What to do? Why not have an adventure? Why not immerse myself in something cultural? Why not do something I have never done before? Why not go to the Daytona Races..... Adventure- yes, cultural... well... that depends if you consider the race culture, which I would like to talk about for a minute.

When I think of culture... I think of... well... something more in depth than camouflage; more than an overweight, toothless, stringy-haired women in a tube top with a cigarette hanging out her mouth and a "youngen" on her side. When I think of culture, I don't think about a guy in cowboy boots, frayed cut-off jean shorts, a mullet with a permed top, and a shirt from the local flea market that was air-brushed "Dale Earnhardt Fan Forever" - as culture. However- it is amusing to say the least!

I am leaving out a minor event that happened before I embarked on this journey. Two days before I left for Florida- I twisted my ankle. True Myke style. Clumsy as all get out! I was going out to check on my garden- missed the bottom step of my deck- came down on the ground (which was soft) and rolled my ankle. I couldn't have hit it any harder. I hit the ground- and after I heard the POP, all I could do was cuss. I am surprised that the neighbors didn't have a prayer circle that night for me- simply because of the words that were coming out of my mouth. I never knew that I knew so many cuss words in so many languages... hell I think I even invented some. So- during this adventure- please keep my ankle in mind.

Back to Florida. We depart Philly. Flying on my least favourite airline in the world. Air-Trash as I like to refer to it. The airline with no seats, no room. And even though the planes have 2 classes - business, and economy- the truth is the airline itself has NO class. We have a stop in Atlanta... of course because these days you can't go to hell first without stopping off in Atlanta. I have learned that between my aviation 'career' and just my experience in traveling- that Atlanta is aviation's purgatory. No problems on that leg. The flight attendants were friendly. Ghetto, but friendly. "Um exshooze me ma'am... yea, um-arr-aa, I know'd that you jus' got on the plane all late and stuff.. but Ima ax do NOT turn on yo phone... thank you!" Yes, that is what one said. I loved it!

Atlanta to Orlando... now that is another story. We circle Orlando, and can't land because of weather- then we get low on fuel... redirected to Tampa. MOTHA FUCKA!!

Then once we get to Tampa- the weather there gets bad...so we can't leave there.

We finally arrive in Orlando after they release and blah blah all that garbage- about 3 hours late.

I will skip the "welcome back/ birthday party" at Red Coconut... only because I really don't remember too much of it. I learned quickly that pain medication and Jack Daniels do help you forget that you may have a fractured, or sprain ankle and allow you to dance; however, they do NOT mix well.

I do want to apologize publicly however, to Perkins, for passing out in my breakfast, telling the waitress "it is ok you fucked up my order, I feel sorry for you because you are white", and puking in their bushes. Apparently this is what happens when I hang out with my West Indian crew. God I miss them!!

The following day- I was hurting. I looked ROUGH. I mean bad. I am talking like I rolled down a mountain of shit and landed in a sea of stank! My eyes were red, my head hurt, my stomach... lets not even go there... and did I mention my ankle? I looked so rough, that the devil himself would have taken pity on me. If I were a dog, you would have put me to sleep- kinda rough!

Our group drove to Daytona from Orlando.

On the way- we had to stop to get pickles for the tailgate party. When we pulled into the Publix (God how I miss Publix) parking lot- I had to abandon ship. I jumped out and ran- rather walked extremely fast- into the store. Every step I took my mouth filled more and more with saliva. That feeling that tells you- WARNING WARNING- YOU ARE ABOUT TO PUKE! Of course this is the ONE damn Publix where the restrooms are NOT in the front of the store. Oh no... "lets put them in the back of the store. Let's put them there so that the people who think they are still 21 and go out partying the night before will have to come in, and panic with they see they are not in the usual spot. Let's make it so that they have to pass all the vendors that are trying to give you a free sample of their greasy food that smells up the entire aisle. Let's put it in the back so that when said person finally makes it to the back of the store, where the restrooms are hidden in a far corner, they can puke in a bathroom that is so private, no one will notice that there is already a couple in the stall next to them having sex." ...... yes..... I said it, and I meant it.

I get into the bathroom, bust into the only open stall. Bend over the toilet (there is no way I am going to kneel down and put my knees on that nasty floor), and I hear moans in the stall to my right. Now either the person next to me had the same kind of night I did, and miraculously grew an extra set of feet (I eventually noticed 4 feet), or they were fucking! So while I was saying "oh god" begging for mercy... the other stall was saying "oh god" bawling out in ecstasy. I was bending over puking.. and the other was.... well, you get the picture. Why does this shit only happen to me?

The races were better than I thought- a little long- but I won't bore you with details- other than there were a lot of mullets, a lot of camo, and not that many teeth. The excitement of the race was when they started the engines, when they crashed, and the last 3 laps. I can sum it up : vroom, boom, yay!

The flight back- SUCKED. I was delayed 2 hours; they made me check my carry-on because there was no room because the bastards coming out of Orlando had all their Disney shit crammed into the overheads like sardines. ONE CARRY ON AND ONE PERSONAL ITEM you selfish fucks!! 4 Disney bags is not ONE personal item. THEN- I got to sit next to a heavy-set lady with constant flatulence. I mean CONSTANT. I think the only way that ho could have passed more gas is if a Chevron tanker sailed out her ass. NASTY. And to top it off... she would occasionally reach down and fan her skirt... NO HEFFA, NO!!! No one wants to smell your stank-ness... Don't be fanning it out so everyone else can bask in its glory- that's YOUR funk- keep it to yourself.

I get back to Philly- there is a delay getting my checked bag. I finally get it. The shuttle to go pick up the car.... late. I get to the parking lot. I forgot where the car was parked (big surprise). Finally find it. Get to the exits to pay. The gate won't go up. So I have to wait for them to raise the gate. It was HELL. I just wanted to be home!

I finally get home.

Finally.

Praise Geebus....

I get to sleep. Wake up early- and go to my first day of class for Summer Session II.... that adventure, will be another blog!

"Etiquette tip: More people will get out of your way if you say "I'm gonna puke!" than if you say "Excuse me." ~Unknown