Does Traveling Just Make You Want to Travel More?

I Do Not Miss Denver

or

Denver Doesn’t Miss Me

Traveling is weird. I’ve been in Florida for 9.5 days and I don’t want to go back to Denver. Clearly, Denver doesn’t want me either because it took me through a slew of “friends” to find someone able to pick me up from the airport (thank you S btw, you’re a lifesaver aka a money saver aka a good person).

People in Florida just seem way friendlier, overall, no offense Denver people, but maybe a little offense.

For example, this gentleman I met off of Tinder just a few days ago agreed to drive me to Orlando from St. Augustine (like a 2ish hour drive). Becuase he wants to spend time with me. Because I am awesome.

Sometimes I think Denver people forget that.

Let me remind you.

I am awesome.

I also have an ego and I’m not afraid to use it.

Traveling is weird. I don’t want to go back to Denver. Yet, I HAVE to go back to Denver. I’m not sure exactly WHY I have to go back to Denver, except I have a return flight already paid for and I have a house I pay rent for and friends and stuff with social obligations coming up that I’m sort of like ‘egh’ about because I’d rather be on the beach ignoring everyone.

I’d rather be on the beach thinking about nothing. Being nothing. I’d rather feel the power of the waves. I’d rather be punched in the vagina by the ocean water then go back to Denver and have to deal with the reality of my situation.

What’s my situation? My limited reality?

Oh, just that I can’t keep hiding from myself and I have you know, get back to work.

Traveling is weird. I don’t want to go back to Denver. But, I have work to do. Sometimes travel inspires you. Transforms you. Reminds you of who you are; who you want to be. Sometimes it lets you know that where you are may not be the best place for you. Sometimes it shows you possibilities of a life you could live. Or shows you what’s missing from the life you are already living.

Maybe all of those things happened.

Maybe none of them did.

All I know is traveling is weird. I’ll see you all in Denver tomorrow, you fucking assholes. Love you.

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Weird Florida Stories About Good v. Evil

big dudes throwing things

Angel v. Demon

or

How to Balance Your Good and Your Evil

Friday Night Story

Saturday Night Story

There are moments in my life that I wonder if I am actually a bad influence on people. Like when I suggest to 20-years-olds that they can drink my beer when I’m “not looking” because I remember what it’s like to be a 20-year-old who wanted to drink. I think I’m doing a good thing when really I’m just helping a young woman potentially become an alcoholic.

Then the next night… my Tinder date takes me to the 4th bar of the night. As we park we see this HUGE dude throwing this newspaper stand all the way across the sidewalk. Eventually, we make our way to the front and he pops up.

Somehow I talk him out of murdering his girlfriend.

So. Am I an angel. Am I a demon? Is it possible to be both at the same time? Is that what makes us human? The same as being right AND wrong. And understanding it’s okay to be a walking contradiction because we ALL are.

This guy was like 6’5″ and SUPER buff but he was also a teddy bear at the same time who didn’t actually want to hurt the person he loved (and so he took it out on a newspaper stand). I found it fascinating. Like how he could throw other people’s property across the sidewalk and then the next minute be near tears thinking about how his mother never taught him how to love right.

Like, wow. That’s some fucking up-level self-reflection shit happening.

I am impressed by the nuances of humanity. Everyone talks about Florida in this sort of stereotypical way, where all the people here eat bath salts and try to eat each others’ faces off, but in reality, the people here are legit. There are hipsters and entrepreneurs and racists and artists and cooks that love wu-tang. It’s beautiful. Like I said to my friend the other night when I was SOBER and we were hanging out on the ocean… “we’re all just seashells that have been spat out of mother earth’s womb. Some of us are broken. Some of us are pretty. Some of us are broken AND pretty.”

Maybe we’ll be picked up and put into a pretty glass jar. Maybe we’ll get smashed into a million tiny pieces and become a part of the sand. Either way, we’re all here and we’re all trying to make it work, however, we can make it work for us while we’re here.

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Almost Died. Bet You’re Happy About That.

still alive

Fucking Weird Shit Does Happen in Florida

or

If Someone Is Too Nice… Never Trust Them

 

Today I almost died, twice. Once because we interacted with a clean-cut serial killer who rents his car out to unsuspecting victims. Then, in an almost-actual car wreck where we were mere inches away from smashing and decapitating ourselves (the truck right in front of us had a bunch of wood sticking out his backend).

The weirdest part was that I wasn’t scared of death at all. I just had a feeling that this wasn’t it. And if it was it, whatever.

I mean, I’ve led an interesting life. I went to Burning Man once. I’ve had a threesome (more than once). I even read fucking Infinite fucking Jest.

Sure, there are plenty of things I still want to do before I die. Like have sex with a bro in an alley and then punch him in the face right when I’m cumming (consensually of course). Oh, and I want to have a threesome with two hot adult people dressed up like Mario and Luigi. And also a threesome with two hot adult people dressed up like Woody and Buzz (almost happened once but Woody chickened out). AND sex with a guy with a BIG dick dressed up like the Easter Bunny. Maybe do something weird with Santa Claus too? So many wonders are left to unfold.

I also want to finish writing this stupid fucking book that you all “claim,” you want to “read.”

And read it you shall because I ain’t fucking dead yet!

Once I almost died because my Super Type A Friend and my Super Type B Burner friend and I were all out at lunch at this Indian restaurant. They were chatting about their drug use. I was eating food because that’s what one is supposed to do at an Indian buffet. In any event, I had just taken a bite when my super Type A friend said, “I’ve never really done any drugs. Except that one time I smoked crack.”

Of course, I choked. She had to give me the Heimlich while my Super Type B Burner friend decided to go back to her plate and shove the rest of her food in her mouth like we were some kind of live-entertainment dinner theater.

Anyhoo. I go into WAY more depth about this particular incident and the time I blew everyone’s naked… minds… in my book that perhaps one day I will let at least one of you fuckers read.

In the meantime.

Namaste and shit.

Happy to still be here. I guess.

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Tantus

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Lelo