I wanted to get to Sarasota after all that stupid Spring Break stuff and before the Summer tourist season, but I shouldn’t have worried. The only way going to Florida could be more boring than visiting Sarasota is if you spent your whole time sitting in a bush. Seriously, the place sucks, so of course there was no Spring Break action to begin with.

First, there’s the crappy architecture. I thought this whole architecture thing was retarded until I visited here. It’s so bad that I actually noticed. It’s a bunch of pink buildings that look like the inside of a cow’s stomach. Seriously, the place is like cow vomit. There are also a lot of dumb awnings everywhere, like people are going to move to place that’s sunny, and then avoid the sun. I tried to set fire to one of them, but stucco doesn’t burn so well. And of course I was forced to kick some old guy in the shins when he came over to yell at me.

That’s the other thing. Yeah, it’s a cliché and stuff, but Florida is full of old people. I mean, I saw one cute guy and he turned out to be 45 or something and wanted to take me back to his condominium. That’s so lame. Like, a well-off, youngish 45 year old can’t afford a swank hotel?

Anyway, I ditched him at the Cha Cha Coconuts bar and took a cab over to the Backroom Saloon. Jesus, even the gay bars suck in this town. Just a bunch of old cranky dudes with their “life partners” sitting around drinking bourbon. Seriously, when I go to a gay bar I want tight abs, lots of dancing, and “you go girl” enthusiasm. I don’t want cottage cheese thighs in tight shorts with gray pubes hanging out. Yuck.

Well, I’m in Florida, so I figured I should go check out the beaches. They would be nice if it weren’t for all the condominiums right next to them and all the old guys in banana slings walking around. Not to mention the spinsters attempting to wear bikinis. I mean, that gave me no chance, ’cause I’m a hot girl just laying out in a one-piece and all these fogeys kept trying to talk to me. One guy wouldn’t go away and I had to give him a wedgie with his speedo.

It was pretty surprising that the bright point of my visit was golfing. Really. I mean, it sucks that people take all this nice land and build a bunch of stupid golf courses on them, but I never realized golf was so fun. First of all, they give you a big blunt object and you get to hit this ball with it. Second, it’s pretty much okay if you hit other people with that ball as long as you call out “fore” before it hits them. At least it’s supposed to be. By the seventh hole, the course staff asked me to leave. I only hit 23 people and I called fore each time! That last caddy totally deserved to get knocked out, too, because he was helping his golfer cheat. And it’s not it’s that hard to get a golf cart out of a lake. Ever heard of a tow truck?

Last night I sat down with a bottle of Jack, some room-service nachos (pretty good!) and some cable and had myself some good quiet time. Of course I’m here today in the Bradenton Airport nursing a bad hangover, but it’s worth it as long as I get the hell out of here.