Spring Break: Day Eight: South Beach

7:23 pm

Today is our last full day in Florida. We woke up at about 1. I was only slightly hung over. After our final covertly prepared meal, we got ready to go down to South Beach. I wore pants, planning to change later. The reason for this is that I had to rinse my swim trunks and didn’t want to wear them for the half-hour drive while they were wet. Why did I have to rinse them, you ask? Well, you see, something very strange is happening. I don’t know what it is, but all of my swim trunks are taking on an almost unbelievably bad smell. They smell as if they’ve been inside a rotting cow (emu?) corpse. I have no idea what the fuck is going on. No one else’s clothes is smelling this bad, and I don’t think that I smell that bad... I guess it must be some fucked up combination of sea water and my unique body chemistry. That’s good to know: anything I’m wearing while in the ocean becomes permeated with a smell so bad, English doesn’t have a word to describe it.

We drove down A1A, and the concentration of hot girls increased dramatically, as did the ratio of super-luxury cars to normal person cars. We saw several BMW 6-series, as well as a Ferrari and a Rolls Royce. The lowlight, by far, was the BMW 6-series that someone had painted lime motherfucking green. That’s just wrong. I can’t believe a self-respecting auto paint specialist would desecrate a car like that. Oh well.

We parked and hiked down to the beach. Man, there were some gorgeous women, including a few topless ladies. They may have been violating public decency laws, I don’t know, but I don’t give a shit. In fact, I think they should require that hot girls be topless at the beach. The problem is I don’t think that the pervert lobby has very much pull.

Chris and Cole and I went into the water while Ryan laid in the sun. The water was perfect. Although there was a man-o-war indicator flag, I didn’t see any sign of the man eating monsters. We played some catch with a football for a while, and then I just sort of relaxed in the waves. It was really nice.

We got out of the water and laid out for a while. Then we decided to leave and come back to the beautiful Monaco (now with a fully-functional sign!) and rinse off and prepare for dinner/pre-drinking/going out. Now Chris and I are sitting here watching a basketball game while Cole and Ryan walk to the Publix (Florida’s grocery store chain) to get beer. We’re going to go to dinner soon, somewhere close in the interest of speed and convenience.

If all goes according to plan, dinner will kick ass and I will be drunk in a few hours.

4:11 am: St. Patrick’s Day, Billy Corgan’s birthday, and Zachar’s birthday: observed

We had many reasons to drink tonight and, for those reasons, we drank.

For dinner, we went to a sushi bar across the street. It was a good restaurant. Ryan had a curry dish, Chris had chicken teriyaki plus sushi and Cole had shrimp tempura plus sushi. I had a massive dish (literally about two feet long) of various rolls. Damn, it was good, but I was no where near being able to finish all of it. In the end, I was massively full, and incredibly satisfied. Still, I should have gone for the $22 tempura lobster tail.

I was so full after dinner that I was unable to drink more than three beers in our pre-game session. Zachar and Ryan each drank about five, I believe. Then they took shots of tequila which I, honestly, pussied out of. Then Zachar threw up.

Ryan and Zachar taking a shot of tequila which I was too much of a pussy (and too full) to take.

Our room at the beautiful Monaco Resort, nicely disheveled.

In any event, we drove South towards the big clubs, and wandered around for a while trying to find the best one. We eventually settled on a place called The Clevelander. We paid a $10 cover and walked on in. Ryan covered my cover, so I owed him a drink. He wanted a long island, I wanted a Grey Goose on the rocks. The total for the drinks: $21. Whatever. However, as soon as I got the drinks and turned around, this asshole knocked Ryan’s long island out of my hand and it fell to the ground. The fucking asshole then looked at me, made a vague, small gesture with his hand, and walked away. I walked up to him and said “You spilled my drink,” to which he responded “Yeah. That shit happens.” I persisted, but he refused to take any responsibility or – god forbid – offer to replace the drink. Whatever, fuck him.

However, the incident lead to two beautiful ladies talking to me.

The girls I talked to.

Always up for female attention, I talked to them in return. They were two cool girls from Minneapolis. We talked for a while and eventually Chris, Ryan and Cole disappeared. I felt bad for ditching my friends, so I took my leave of the girls, although I did get one of their phone numbers I found the guys and we hung out but, inevitably, I made my way back to the cute girls and hung out with them again. This pattern continued for most of the night and, truth be told, I felt bad for not hanging out more with my friends.

When I left the girls for the final time, I found the guys. We made a pact: ten years after graduation, if none of us are going anywhere, we will form Martinez, Zachar, Ruby and McNamara, LLP, in reality. I would love that, that would be awesome. We’ll see what happens.

Zachar and his trademark: a drink in one hand, a condiment in the other.

Cole and Ryan, kicking it old school.

Me and Zachar... why do i look like his bitch?

Zachar's other trademark: being drunk.

MZRM: some of us wear sunglasses at night so we can, so we can.

We left the bar and started driving home. I needed to go to the bathroom before we got to our hotel, so Cole (the only sober driver) pulled over at the KFC and I peed in the bushes. Zachar threw up in the bushes. Then he denied throwing up even once during the night which was, of course, a total lie.

Now we’re in the hotel room. I can hear Ryan snoring. Zachar is passed out.

This was our last full day in Miami, and it was one of the best. I hope everyone else had a good time, too.