Day One: So Far So Good

This is the first installment of my captivating and surprise-filled 40th birthday trip. Warning: Contents may cause eyes to turn green. To alleviate, please laugh and be entertained by the retelling of my hijinks! You also may want to start reading here.

My first birthday surprise actually happened the day before we left. I finished washing up supper's pots and pans and walked into the den to see what was up. My three men were huddled together and acting awfully suspicious. "Happy birthday Mommy!" Oh my. My birthday was still a few days away and the whole family was going to celebrate when we got back. I expected a cake and cards, that's about it. The two munchkin men were staring, practically salivating, at a gift bag on the table. "Open it, open it!"OK then. (I really didn't have to open anything or pull out any tissue paper. I was lucky to get a bag that said Happy Birthday. Not that I'm complaining -- just an observation.) I reached into the bag and pulled out an iPad! The boys went crazy, "It's an iPad 2 Mommy! An iPad 2!" Emphasis on the number 2. I didn't know there was a #2 or what the difference was. And the excitement went on, "Can I hold it? Let me hold it!" I was speechless. Yes, I've mentioned that I'd like one but not desperately. I thought when I got around to wanting one that bad, I'd have to buy it myself. How thoughtful . . . and extravagant (didn't CLH remember we're about to embark on a pretty fancy, schmancy trip?)

The morning of the trip I was racing around the Town Center like a chicken with its head cut off trying to find the perfect iPad cover. I was back and forth at all the stores that sold them. I finally settled on a red pleather one from Target. I'll get something snazzier later but I wanted to protect my new favorite gizmo on our trip. I made it back to the house in time for CLH to pick me up for the airport -- I even had the luggage downstairs. A quick plane change in Hotlanta and before we knew it, we're staring down at turquoise water dotted by little green islands. Touchdown in Key West, the southern-most point in the US and home to the smallest airport I've ever been to. We made it into the terminal and walked 12 feet to the rental car kiosk by the front door. "I see your reservation but let me ask you, what kind of car do you like?" A convertible, the words slipped out before I even thought about it. "I can do that!" Wonderful (if it was going to be that easy, maybe I should've asked for an Aston Martin.)

We tooled around the 4-mile island for a while then made our way to the hotel . . . then the hotel's outside bar to watch the sunset. Unfortunately, there was no sunset to be seen because of the white, fluffy clouds in the way but the sky sure lit up a pretty orange and pink. We did, however, witness quite the wedding. CLH was adamant that the long-haired hippy dude in the soccer jersey was the groom especially since it seemed the bride was the only one close to his age. On the other hand, me with the super sleuth eye, I had it all figured out. Soccer jersey guy was the officiant and the bride was robbing the cradle with the foreign hottie. They kissed; bingo, I was right (as if I wasn't!) Green card, anyone? That is so judgmental and presumptuous of me. Well, isn't that what you would think?!

I'm hungry. Duval Street, here we come. Oh, what a sight. We ate at Caroline's at a long high top that faced the street. Good people watching! Lots and lots and lots and lots of good looking college-type guys. They looked like typical frat boys. Stop! I need my glasses. Are they really holding hands? Did that one just grab that other one's ass? If you weren't with a woman, you were gay. Even if someone wasn't really gay, everyone thought they were so they might as well have been. All in all, I've had better Cuban sandwiches, better mojitos. But hey, it was still good. We had to stop in Sloppy Joe's for a beer and I must say, we look pretty sloppy ourselves.

Then the Irish pub's noise pulled us in. We were in for a treat tonight! A bachelorette party was going on. The entertainer on stage pulled one of the girls up - must've been the bride. That girl had been drinking HEV-A-LEE! With her tube top dress barely holding up her HEV-A-LEE weighted boobs (nothing fake either,) she kept trying to grab the guy's mike. Having none of that and jokingly insinuating that he was going to have her thrown out if she kept that up (like his voice even registered in her sloshed brain,) he egged her on with his made up song to the tune of "Livin' On a Prayer" to drop her top. You guessed it - while fanning disbelief, she happily obliged but . . . she kept up the shenanigans even after the song was over. The sad thing is -- it really wasn't much of a dare since it was like being in a roomful of girlfriends who could care less what your boobs look like. And the way she would bend over like she was showing us a peek when she was really giving us an eyeful . . .

The homies (as in homeboys!) next to us decided to lit up their cigars. With no room to move, the smell started to make me feel a little queasy so we hiked it back to the hotel and went nighty night. Wait to you hear about our breakfast the next morning! Stay tuned . . . here's a hint: