Anyone want to buy a couch?

But first, here's a hilarious SNL skit sent in by glorious former Chicago roommate and fellow West Virginian hellraiser, BS. It makes some pothead jokes, but there's no nudity, so make your own judgement on work safety. I'm sure it's a parody of some famous rap song, and I'm equally sure I have no idea what it is.

So this is my last day in Florida and I've come to some conclusions regarding my life and what I'm going to do next. I'm not sure how much you all know, so I'll just start from the beginning (note: this is where you should bail, unless you want to read a self indulgent tale about my life).

I moved out to Seattle from Chicago in December '05 for a combination of reasons, only one of which reflects the quality of Chicago as a city. I hated my job, I hated my commute, and I hated what I was turning into. There's really no way to sugarcoat it, I was fat and unhappy.

It had to be obvious that I didn't like my job. I wasn't bad at it, but it couldn't have been hard for my coworkers, and I'm sure my boss, to tell that I wasn't happy there. Add a 45 minute one-way commute to that, and you'd reach your end too.

And on top of that, I had gained a frightening amount of weight, especially considering my Dad's poor heart. I avoided mirrors and pictures. I didn't recognize myself sometimes. This touched off a bit of depression. I played video games and read copius amounts of whatever I could get my hands on. The only women I met were skanks from the club.

I wanted to get out more, but I was in such a rut. Weekdays were shot because it took me so long to get home. I had just enough time to eat, watch a couple hours of TV, and go to sleep. Plus I have a pretty severe case of sleep apnea, so I almost never had energy to do anything. The best I could manage on weekends was going to the club with my friends -- something I would never do of my own volition. That was fun and I love my friends for sure, but I still wasn't happy.

Someone asked me how old I was and I said 24, but I was really 26. I had forgotten my own age. Someone else asked me how long I had been working at my job, and I said 3 years. My coworker and best friend at work, Garlic, corrected me and said no, you've been here 4 years. I was in limbo, spinning my wheels, not getting anywhere but fatter.

That comment from Garlic was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was looking for an out from that moment on. I was on a team with 50-60 year old engineers who were doing the same damn crap I was doing. No fucking way was I going down like that.

Around this time, my brother called me up and pitched this idea to start a company together in Seattle. Quitting my job in Chicago was the best thing I ever did. It felt great! I never ever doubt my decision to do that. People still ask me if I miss my old job, and I always reply NO without a moment's hesitation. I am 1 billion times happier for that decision. But it isn't just the job.

I got to Seattle in the rainy season. I didn't know anyone, so I didn't really have anywhere to go other than my brother's place, and the rain kept me from any serious exploring. Except for The Bar, of course, which is conveniently located across the street. The potential for falling into bad old habits was there.

Yet it didn't happen. Oh sure, I snarfed some pizza and wings and guzzled my fair share of high carb beer and low brow whiskey. But I knew I had no more excuses for being unhealthy. It was time to turn things around. I started slow. I took walks, looong walks all around the city (2 to 5 miles). Even in the rainy season you can find parts of the day where it's merely overcast and cold (yay!).

In the meantime, the business thing fell through with my bro. The details aren't important. This is for the best.

While I was winding things down with my bro, I was using my extra time to work out a little more and a little more. I got on the South Beach diet, thanks in no small part to RCR's Tuesday night drunken diatribe(s). I can't even remember the last time I ran 5 miles (everyone knows elliptical miles don't really count, but let me have my illusion anyway).

I already felt pretty good, but when I combined it with South Beach, the pounds just started melting away. I felt great. I was sleeping better and having more energy. I went by the mirror and noticed that my double chin had disappeared. The weather turned sunny and beautiful. I met a girl. My life was firing on all cylinders. But there was one thing missing: what the hell was I gonna, ya know, DO?

Since my rodeo clown gig fell through, the next easy answer is to go to law school and become a patent lawyer. An engineer can do that with relative ease (as easy as one can call law school). That's been my preliminary plan for a couple months now. It's not like I sit up at night thinking how great it would be to pour over legalese and spend late nights at the firm, but I do think making good money sounds good.

Plus, I'm in the market for a good woman, and all women say they want "stability". I always laugh a little when I hear that, because we all know that "stability" really means expensive restaurants, designer shoes, and the good minivan with the foldy seats that go in the floor. But I digress.

Since I'm recently unemployed, I came to Florida to visit my parents, who I basically neglected for 4+ years in Chicago. I changed my flight to stay later to help out my Dad. His health isn't so good, and he just moved into his new house, and he needs help. I probably lost 5 pounds of water weight alone putting together and mounting on the wall a bunch of garage tool shed things. He better friggin' use those.

But none of this is the point about Florida. Being here has changed my outlook on life. Florida is an, um...., interesting place. Southern Florida especially. Southwestern Florida particularly.

Let me try to describe the culture. First there's the rich old people from up north or Europe. New Yorkers, Midwesterners, Canadians, Germans, etc. They run the gamut. They're a little harder to peg because they bring their culture with them (along with scandalous amounts of cash). They all drive like assholes. Outside of rollin' down highway 41, they're not my concern.

Then there are the Cubans and Mexicans and other Latinos. For whatever reason, they don't mix with the whites. I suppose it's money and class. That's just how it is. My step-brother-in-law runs a construction-type business, and he mentioned that he never has any problems with Mexicans, if that's any consolation (probably not). That's the same old story about them. Nobody will make you look worse on the job than a Mexican. Say what you will about how they feel entitled to break our laws, you have to respect their work ethic. But that isn't who I want to talk about either.

The natives are the real interesting specie. Through my step-family (the family my Dad married into), I have met a number of locals, most obviously exemplified by my step-sisters. I have three hot blonde step-sisters, which I would be a little bummed about, if it weren't for all the other hundreds of hot blonde women cavorting about.

You know how all those hot blonde female teachers from Florida keep "raping" their 13 year old male students? Those ladies are average. Ho hum. Dime a dozen down here. Go to any beach or club, and you'll see younger hotter (and drunker) versions of them everywhere. And for the record, the only reason I lost my virginity at age 15 is because I was unsuccessful for 3 years.

I went to one of the big clubs in Naples, which is hilariously quaint by comparison to the clubs I went to in Chicago. It's still pretty frickin' wild, but the scene here is much more muted than Miami (like everywhere else). The girls in this club, the ones taking their shirts off and dancing on tables, are supposed to be 21 to get in the door. But I swear some of those girls had to be like, 14 or 15. Had to be. I've never felt so old in my life. I felt really uncomfortable, and I was probably the youngest guy there at 28.

If you're going to go out in Southwest Florida, you're going to have to learn to suppress your innate anti-pederasty (ahem, you do have innate anti-pederasty, don't you?). Every woman looks like your best friend's knockout 16 year old sister. Except she's not off limits. She's actually 24 and a college graduate with a decent job. AND, due to the shortage of good men, you actually stand a good chance with her or one of her bombshell friends.

It's a big thing here to go to Keewaydin Island, run your boat up on the ground, and drink beer and swim in the 87 degree ocean. Almost every woman there is drop dead gorgeous and they're all in bikinis. This one lady I thought I was doing ok with, turned around to scold her two kids who were like, 8 and 10. I'm telling you. I asked this one guy if his little sister was old enough to drink because she was asking me for a beer. "That's my wife." I thought she was 17, tops.

I have never seen so many off the hook gorgeous women, who are genuinely good people, with potbellied unrich dorky guys. Guys, I know what you're thinking, and I'm way ahead-a-ya. This is where we belong.

God made this place to reward dorky nice guys.

I'm not saying female beauty is the end all be all. What I am saying is that you can have everything you ever wanted in Florida, a knockout wife included. Call me shallow if you want. I can assure you, I don't give a shit what you think. I found out the hard way that being thin and good looking gets you places, and I'm a white male. I feel no guilt whatsoever for wanting a sexy wife.

It's fucking paradise down here. When was the last time you saw a palm tree or worried about the low tide? After being here for 2 and a half weeks, I can't believe I never moved here before. I've been such a fool.

A downside is that the weather here isn't perfect. It's extremely hot and muggy right now. I would expect no less for summertime in southern Florida, but it still sucks to walk outside and instantly sweat through your shirt.

And that reminds me, I am no longer taking shit for Seattle's rainy weather. Fine, it drizzles a little bit (or a lot bit) everyday in the winter and is overcast alot. But you want talk about rainy weather, try going to southern Florida in frickin' hurricane season. To see what I mean, check out Seattle's weather and then Naples' weather to see the difference (this effect will only work in the summer months).




All of this brings me to my post title. I now know what I have to do with my life. It was so obvious all along, I can't believe I didn't see it before. I have to get a sex change operation and sell kazoos in Mumbai. No wait!

I'm selling all my possessions, except for what I can fit in my car, and becoming a nomad. I'll leave Seattle in the Fall, once I take the LSAT and apply to law schools and so on. I'll work my way down to Florida, stopping off to see everything remotely of interest. I won't miss Crazy Horse this time. I've always wanted to go on the tour of that underground Cold War era missile base. And whatever else I can think of. All my friends will get a visit, until finally I end my journey in paradise, where I should have been all along.


So. Anyone want to buy a couch?