Dolphins, Manatees, and Frogs -- Oh My!

When planning our trip to Key West, my Unit and I decided that we should rent mopeds to tool around the city.  Key West itself is only seven square miles, so many people use a variety of bikes and things to get around.  Given my love of motorcycles (but inability to drive them), I thought mopeds would be pretty damn awesome.

We asked our delightful front desk attendant where to rent bikes, where to find the cool places to eat, and where Hemingway's House was, and she gave us the 4-1-1.  Seriously, she was very helpful and even gave us some coupons for some places.

The first day, though, we walked.  We walked to Duval Street, which was already crowded and blaring music at 11 a.m.  We walked around the block to get the lay of the land.  We walked to the wharf to see what there was to see.  We started to walk back to own hotel that evening, glancing at some of the famous houses and B&B's (including places I had wanted to stay, like the Artist House, but it was already booked up).  During our sight-seeing, right after sunset, I realized something was itchy and sharp on my foot.  We stopped in doorway, and I inspected my foot.

Somehow, my pinkie toe was digging into the toe right next to it; so much so, that the pinkie toenail had cut open the neighboring toe.  What the hell?  I was not wearing my usual high heels, just sandals.  Okay, sandals with like a 1/2" platform.

After I took off my sandal and the Key West night air hit my piggies, I realized that more things hurt.  Where the thong of my sandal fit into between my big toe and the rest were giant blisters.  On both feet.  Putting the shoes back on again was like pouring grain alcohol over my feet and then lighting them on fire.  I begged my Unit to even call a taxi cab (it didn't even have to be a pink one), but she pointed out we were only a few more blocks from "home."

As soon as we reached the hotel, we made a mutual decision:  tomorrow we ride!

But then the discussion came of mopeds or bicycles.  The pros and cons are as follows:

• Pro:  mopeds are infinitely cooler
• Con:  mopeds are loud
• Pro:  bicycles make it easier to communicate with each other while riding
• Pro:  bicycles are cheaper to rent
• Pro:  mopeds are faster
• Con:  faster speeds means more likelihood of one of us (read:  "me") hurting ourselves

After much debate, we decided to rent bicycles.  My Unit pointed out that we could rent them for a day and always change to mopeds later if we wanted.  We were going to be in Key West for seven days; we had plenty of time.

Oh, bike-riding!

I was very, very nervous.  I had not ridden a bike (that wasn't stationary) in about two decades.  We immediately came up with a disaster plan:  should one of us fall off, fall down, fall behind, hit something, be hit by something, we were to yell loudly "DOO-DOO DOWN!"

It is legal in Key West to ride your bike on the sidewalk, except on Duval Street (as it's simply too busy); when riding in the streets, one must follow the regular rules of traffic.  We stuck to the sidewalks for that first half hour, with my Unit in the lead.  To watch us was probably like a comedy of errors.

I couldn't seem to steer my bike; I whipped the handle bars back and forth, correcting and overcorrecting.  I swerved and squealed and tried to avoid telephone posts, fences, overgrowth from yards, and, of course, pedestrians.

My Unit took us down lesser-known paths (fewer pedestrians), past a graveyard (not exactly inspiring), and finally down to Key West's (and the United States') Southernmost Point (which isn't even the southernmost point, but let's not split hairs).  After Southernmost Point we found ourselves in a quiet, tree-lined street with wide roads.  We actually started heading back north, putting me in the lead.  My Unit was finally able to see my ride a bike.

First, amid the laughter, she had to take a picture so there was photographic evidence that I was both outside AND on a bike:

Also keep in mind that I have excellent posture.  Okay, maybe not "excellent," but certainly better than average (thanks, Mom!).  So, when riding a bike, I don't hunch over the handlebars.  I sit up straight like a lady should -- shoulders back, tits out.  For some reason, this made my Unit declare that I look like Kermit the Frog when I ride a bike.  You decide:

 

We rode and rode and rode.  We hit the beach at Fort Zachary Taylor as we did not want to hit the beach covered in Spring Breakers.  It wasn't what either of us expected.  My Unit, for one, thought the waves would have been bigger.  I thought the size was fine, but she's also been to the beaches on Hawaii, and I haven't.  I thought, frankly, it'd be warmer.  You'll notice in the bike picture I'm wearing jeans.  It didn't get above 76 degrees for the entire week we were there.  Very unseasonably cool weather.  I don't get out of jeans or pants until it's at least 80 or 85.  A couple of mornings our redheaded front desk girl was wearing a turtleneck under her uniform shirt.  70-some degrees is cold to the islanders!
So we didn't swim in the ocean, but we did snap another picture to prove that I was actually outside.

 We also stopped for lunch at a restaurant off one of the docks.  I wish I could remember the name so I could tell you not to go there.  Neither the food nor the service was very good.  Thankfully, I was really only interested in one thing:

My Unit's tattoos make an appearance in every one of these pictures.

We stopped at another dock later on during the day.  Here's something I've learned working with animals:  any time there's a group of people crowded around, something interesting is happening.  Lo and behold, there was a small crowd gathered near the edge of the dock.  Naturally, I elbowed my way into their midst so I could see what was happening.

The sea cow!

It was a manatee!  This fisherman was hosing him down.  Here are more not-very-good pictures, all taken with my phone (as my Unit cried, "Don't drop it into the ocean!!")

You can see his wee flippers in this one.

Just to the left of all this was a lone pelican, posing but being completely upstaged by the manatee.  I felt bad for him, so I took his picture, too.

"I'm watching YOU, Mr. Manatee.  Just you wait."

At this point my Unit dragged me away so "other people can see," and so I wouldn't drop my phone into the water.  And then we headed home.  I was getting tired and cranky.  Then I realized we had been biking for over four hours!  That's a big deal for someone who leads a mostly sedentary life.  It was naptime.

But the manatee-sighting had inspired our next big ticket item:  a dolphin tour.  Coming up next:  dolphins swimming, dolphins having sex, and gratuitous food pictures!

Cloud Vaginas and Elvis: Key West Adventures Part 2

The first flight was 2.5 hours long and very crowded; lots of small children.  I am thankful for things like iPods and sitting at the back of the plane.  We both slept most of the flight.  The flight from Orlando to Key West was much shorter (approximately 45 minutes) and much smaller.

A friend had asked me to "wave to Harry Potter" when we flew over Orlando (Universal Studios' "Wizarding World").  I did better than that!  I took a picture in the Orlando airport:

It was pouring down rain in Orlando, which didn't bode well for our week-long Florida vacation.

My Unit and I eventually each took window seats (me in front of her) where we could communicate through a series of ridiculous hand signals, including one that simply means "SPRING BREAK!  2013!  WOOHOO!" screamed like a frat boy.

The pilot warned us that the runways in Key West "are kind of short," so basically not to expect a soft landing.  With my forehead pressed against the window, I started watching the clouds streaming by.

Then the turbulence starts.  I have to sit back lest I forcibly knock my head against said window, and I really don't want to start the vacation off with a concussion (no concussions in 2013!).  It gets bad enough that I grip the armrests and practice some deep breathing.

Finally, it passes.  I start to let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding when a hand reaches around the seat and grabs my arms, scaring the crap out of me.  At which point I press my face into the crack between the seats and say (over the airplane engines) "You scared the crap out of me!"
And my Unit snickers.  And then she flashes our "gang sign" -- SPRING BREAK!  2013!  WOOHOO!

We attempt to "whisper" to each other -- which is really stylized shouting over the airplane engines.
Her:  "Did you like the turbulence?"
Me:  "It scared me.  I may have peed on myself a little."
Her:  "What?"
Me:  "I PEED ON MYSELF!"
More snickering.

I pointed out to her that I was watching the cloud shapes roll by.  "That cloud looks like a vagina."
"What?"
"That CLOUD is a VAGINA!"
"You mean a 'clagina'?"
"Eww.  Sounds like a disease."
"Yeah.  'I'm sorry.  It looks like you have clagina.'"
"Feels like burning!!!"

We flew over the Keys, and it took a moment for me to realize that I wasn't watching more sky, but blue-green ocean.  I have never flown over ocean before.  We could see boats below, and my Unit pointed out that "you can ride on those boats around the islands."
Me:  "...."
Her:  "They usually serve cocktails."
Me:  "Let's go on a boat!!"

As promised, the landing was short and abrupt; my seat belt served its purpose excellently, keeping me from flying into the seat in front of me (no concussions in 2013!).  And then we stopped.  And they opened the door.

There was no "tunnel" or walkway leading into the airport proper.  In Key West, one deplanes directly on the tarmac, just like Elvis or the President!  I had never done that before.  It was a novel experience; I felt like a celebrity, just as the other hundred people felt, too, I'm sure.  And then we were smacked in the face with Key West's humidity, and I started to strip off as many layers (having just left 30 degree weather) as I could while not getting arrested.

We stood in line for a taxi, and got a PINK ONE!  I was so excited that we got the PINK TAXI that I shouted, "Woohoo!"  The cop in charge of assigning people to taxis said it made his day that I was so excited.  So I gave another "Woohoo!" just for him.

(In Key West, many taxis are pink, but only special people get to ride in them.)

We got to our adorable hotel room, and it came complete with a painting that looks like exactly one of my Unit's niece's pieces!

We felt very much at home.  We unpacked, changed into cooler clothes, and made our way to Duval Street.  It was 11 a.m. Key West time, and I was starving.

This is how we do lunch Spring Break-style.

Coming up:  dolphins, manatees, and Kermit the Frog!

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Key West Adventures Part One: 
My Unit and I had very different experiences going through airport security when we left for Key West at the ass-crack of dawn.  She was in line in front of me; while I was putting my shoes, coat, hoodie, and backpack in the grey plastic bins, I saw the security guard have her step to one side.  I didn't know what for, except maybe to wait her turn to go through the metal detector.

Oh, but wait.

It's not a regular metal detector, I realize as I step up.  It's two huge black walls, and the TSA agent is instructing me to "assume the position":  stand to one side facing one black wall with hands on my head, elbows out.  It's the back scatter x-ray that's not been completely tested, the one that give semi-nude scans to the agents running it, y'know, the thing that could potentially cause cancer.

My Unit is watching me.  She mouths, "Yeah, I'm not doing that."
I say back to her, "I didn't realize we had to," but my eyes are saying why the fuck did you let me walk into this thing??  And then the TSA agent tells me to stand still.

I seriously didn't realize that's what I was stepping up to.  One of the hazards of arriving at the airport at 5:30 a.m., I guess; my brain is still trying to process my surroundings.  If I had realized what was going on about five seconds earlier, I would have opted out, like my Unit did.

Speaking of my Unit, she was watching me get scanned.  She later said, "Oh my God, your boobs looked HUGE!"
Well, I was due to start my period in another day or so (yes, while on vacation), so they were extra big and swollen.
"Okay, Catwoman," she said.  "I bet the TSA guys watching were happy."

Then I stepped out of the scanner.  The gentleman in front of me still got a small pat-down even after being scanned.  The TSA agent took one look at me and said, "You're fine."  Apparently they didn't think I could fit anything else in my T-shirt and jeans.*
What?  They're not that tight!

I quickly tried to grab all of my stuff out of the plastic bins so I could catch up with my Unit as it had finally dawned on me what was happening:  her own personal pat-down.

A surly female TSA agent began patting her down under my watchful eye.  I saw that she used the back of her hand in places (like they're supposed to so as not to "grope").  It was hard to understand her instructions, though, between the airport noise and her (surly) lack of inflection.  My Unit had to say, "What?" or "I'm sorry?" at least twice, which just seemed to irritate the agent.

When we compared our two very different security experiences, my Unit said the female TSA agent had handled her quite roughly.  It didn't look rough from where I was standing, but I missed the very beginning when she said the lady grabbed her by the scruff of her neck.  Perhaps checking the neck is standard operating procedure, but my Unit's bleach blonde hair is cropped very short; there's no place to hide anything.  She also said that at least twice the woman nearly knocked her over/off-balance while pressing on her back and legs.  Neither of us could imagine being a handicapped or elderly person going through this process if that's the "regular" amount of force they use (my Unit is not a frail, slip of a thing).

Nothing else interesting happened until we after we changed planes.  Join us for the next Key West Adventure in "Cloud Vaginas and Elvis."




*The only other time that has happened to me was going into a concert.  I was wearing leather pants and a halter top.  It was the first concert after 9/11; the big burly security guard took one look at me (and my outfit) and said, "You're fine," and waved me through.  
Perhaps it is time to buy new jeans...