"3rd World Gay Community with ..." a Key West Travel Page by Pounder73

A long weekend in Key West for a cousin’s wedding turned out to more than I bargained for. We flew into Miami EARLY Friday morning after the red eye out of San Francisco… and immediately drove to Key West. The beginning of the trip went as smoothly as silk panties over a shaven supermodel. The trouble started that night when the girlfriend became nauseous and we ended the night early as I took care of her. This continued the next day, the day of the wedding. The questions in my head went as followed during the course of the morning 1) is she going to the wedding? 2) Am I going to the wedding? 3) Are we going to the Emergency Room? 4) Hey Brother, can I have the keys to the car, so I can take her to the ER? Although the last question being very verbal.

Driving to Key West I thought that this part of the country seemed a little backwards, sort of a Deliverance Country, but tropical. I soon forgot this when I saw the drunken people wondering the streets, the beautiful homes, and the rainbow flags flying high. This illusion was shattered when I drove into the parking lot of the hospital. Once again, I realized I was in some sort of paradox. Over the 9 or so hours at the hospital, I missed the wedding, the reception, and a bunch of craziness as of the result of alcohol and a family with serious issues; although I did meet a Puerto Rican fisherman from the Bayou who had 3 teeth while waiting in the ER room. That was a comedy relief.

My mom said it was probably a good thing I wasn’t there. I won’t go into how my aunt’s ex-husband was claiming my brother an I as his own, or how my aunt was telling my cousin to stay with her while his new wife was waiting on the dance floor for the “last dance” or… never mind. But lets just say I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut around stupedness (yes, in my vocab, stupidness is a word). But I managed to meet up with the wedding party that night, after the g/f was in bed, forgetting this whole day that I hadn’t had a bite to eat. I was a cheap date.

The next day, after severely spraining my ankle, which still hurts sometimes 4 months later, I did manage to go on the catamaran for a sunset/snorkel booze cruise and eat a slice of pizza. Again, I was a cheap date.

The next day, back in Miami’s airport, was a sorry sight to be seen, our terminal was the last one down the concourse, I am carrying all bags, with a semi-broken ankle, while the g/f was hanging on me, too weak to walk. It was a long day and I was anxious to get back home.

And yes, the g/f is fine…