We got another handicapped room, which had a peephole at crotch height, presumably for folks in whee

Sorry, gang, I kept attempting to write this, but I had so many other things to avoid work on I got sidetracked. Then yesterday I edited pics for my FB album. I'd made a rough list before we left of what we had done, otherwise it was going to be all a sort of blur with palm trees. Like a Jimmy Buffett concert. And don't think we didn't have to listen to a lot of poor bastards singing "Margaritaville" in the ensuing audio virtual tours days.
We flew out of Newark, NJ to Tampa airport on Thursday night, December 13th. As always with planes, I was drugged out of my mind on xanax and some kind of anti-psychotic. I react very badly to anti-psychotics. audio virtual tours This one caused "heavy audio virtual tours sedation". BINGO! I don't remember a damn thing, although I'm told that while waiting for the plane we ate pizza and cheesecake. I actually bought a coat specifically to go to and from the airport! It was 50% off, dammit. Long, cobalt blue, with a fake fur collar and cuffs. I felt like Ginger Rogers until I took the pills.
It's on Treasure Island, an island part of the city of St. Petersburg. The area is mostly a long strip of hotels and bars. We didn't care, because our main goal was to do lots of lovely nothing. We achieved our goal. The hotel faced the Gulf of Mexico, and there was the biggest public beach I have seen in years. It was about half a mile to the water!
We got another handicapped room, which had a peephole at crotch height, presumably for folks in wheelchairs. Remember, my crotch is higher audio virtual tours than most peoples'. It was on the first floor at the quiet end of the hotel, and had a back glass sliding door onto a little "porch." Also a screen door, so we could open the door in the morning and let the breeze in.
Every morning this guy had to rake the sand between audio virtual tours our hotel walk and the slight rise to the palm trees. Every single morning, he came out with a rake, raked the sand sideways, and then in perfect lines perpendicular to the walkway. After five minutes people would come out of their rooms and wreck it. One morning Jeff gave the raker $10. The man was flabbergasted.
Honestly, we were both exhausted audio virtual tours and emotionally spent. The temperature was in the 70s, not as hot as Jeff wanted. But back home it was 21 degrees and stormy, which made him feel better. It was so wonderfully luxurious to lounge in those white sheets, no deadlines, no animals, no anything. We'd agreed not to talk about anything. And I do mean anything. Just be in the moment and enjoy ourselves. This worked beautifully. The trip was more romantic than I could have dreamt, but if you think you're getting any details, don't worry.
We had bought breakfast food to eat in the room, but Jeff had a craving for Waffle House. It always hits him when we go anywhere near down South. We walked through an uber-touristy area called Johns Pass. Every other store had a name like Tiki Surf Shop, Seashell Jewels by Nyota, or Shore Clothtique (I kid you not). The bars were often either tiki or mariner themed. One nearby was named It's Five O' Clock Somewhere!.
Most nights we ate at the hotel restaurant, audio virtual tours Sloppy Joes, where we watched the other patrons get sloppy drunk. The food was excellent. Almost audio virtual tours all of the fish was fresh. I will never like fish tacos--they are a food abomination--but Jeff loved them and ordered them at almost every meal. Sloppy audio virtual tours Joe was represented by a picture audio virtual tours of Ernest Hemingway, which I never understood. The patrons were probably all too illiterate to know who Hemingway is. ("Is that the guy with a million cats around his house or something?")
We spent all of Saturday around the hotel. This time there were two poor bastards singing Jimmy Buffett, one at Bazzie's, the breakfast restaurant at the other end of the hotel (and later in the evening, a sad deserted bar), and another guy at the next hotel
New Yorker born and bred. Professional writer. Author of "The Abortionist's Daughter," a historical novel with more than 15 5-star reviews on Amazon Kindle. Sit in front of my computer and obsess about anything and everything. On Twitter: @madfashionista