And yet, in there they are not. Damn it. I loved my key chains.
When I came back from lunch, there was a little baby lizard hanging out on my desk. After I had a heart attack (I�m not afraid of them, but it startled the hell out of me), I just looked at the little guy and thought, �How very Florida.�
I�m tired and don�t feel well. My sister arrived Tuesday, and two days of partying and fun are catching up with me today, in the form of a freaking out stomach and a sharp headache. Definitely nap time after work.
Despite the Key-Losing Saga of Friday, I managed to eke out a good weekend with a most excellent Saturday night.
Shawn and I were invited to my friend Jand�s birthday party.
On Millionaire Row.
We came, we saw, we played in and out of the most amazing house I�ve ever been inside. Jand and one of his friends took us sailing at about 1 a.m. Our destination was a little mound of land called Shell Island. Neither Shawn nor I had realized it would be necessary to bring sailing clothes to the swanky party, so we borrowed some shorts and T-shirts from the guys and just went barefoot.
This created some problems once we arrived on Shell Island, because it�s not just a clever name - the Island is coated in broken shell bits.
Sharp broken shell bits.
I couldn�t let it go. I�m all,
Me: �Hey, Jand.�
Jand: �Yeah?�
Me: �This trip to Shell Island was nice.�
Jand: �Yep.�
Me: �But you know what sucks about Shell Island?�
Jand: �No, what?�
Me: �All the damn shells.�
Later rinse and repeat to Shawn and Jand�s friend. He got to have the hysterically funny (to me) Shell Island discussion twice. Lucky guy.
I want a T-Shirt that says, �Shell Island RULES, except for all the fucking shells.�
Or maybe, �I went to Shell Island, and all I got were these bloody stumps where my feet used to be.�
So, my sister and our friend SS are here for RACE WEEK! I don�t know much about it because racing to me is like watching a bunch of cars just drive around in a circle over and over, but there�s apparently some sort of big NASCAR/Busch/Redneck thing going on at the tip of the mainland.
And as we all know, I gots connections. So I hooked the ladies and myself up with some free tickets and press passes and stuff.
So I guess this weekend, it�s off to the races, where SS will have to be pulled off after draping herself on the roof of some Tony Stewart fellow�s car, and my sister and I will enjoy nice cold beers while sitting in the stands and trying to ignore all the damn RACING.
