Mental note: No cruises for the honeymoon

As Day Two of the vacation officially came to a close this evening, the final score stood as follows:

Room changes: 1
Sunny days: 1 1/2
Islands visited: 1
Hours on a boat: 7-plus
Boats boarded: 2
Boats exited without incident: 1
Round trip meal tickets purchased: 1 1/2 (Lunch and pie)

We took a day trip down to Key West today where you load in at the docks in Fort Myers and take a 3 1/2 to 4 hour ride down to Key West for lunch, shopping and freak spotting.

Highlights included the free beer with blood donation and the money coconuts (as seen above).

For those who have never visited, Key West has a very, very weird vibe to it all. Families with small kids, money, no money, bikers and soccer moms and lots and lots of drunks of all stripes.

Today, it was mainly people dressed in green roaming the streets hollering and spilling beer (I think this was the only violation of local liquor laws, where you can wander aimlessly with open containers as long as you don't spill any) while the other groups of people tried their damnedest not to run into these packs of rum-stunned yahoos.

Good times.

Wait, no - not good times. Annoying times. Patience-trying times. Obnoxious college-aged guys who can't hold their booze and enjoy communicating only in "Woooooooooo's" times.

I'll try and keep the big finish here clean, so as not to ruin breakfasts or lunches, but if you have a weak stomach, just skip to the next post now.

Seriously, I'm sure it'll be entertaining and such. This isn't a Grover doing a head fake in The Monster at the End of This Book kind of thing - just move along if you need to.

We get back to the docks in time to get some good seats up on the top deck which the crew had "tipped" us off to on the morning trip. They told us that on this giant catamaran the front of the boat took the brunt of the oncoming waves and gave you a shakier ride.

"Sit in the back up top," they said. "It'll be fine," they said. They were a bunch of fucking liars. As their punishment, they had to cart off barf bag upon barf bag for the first two to three hours of the return trip.

We shook our heads before we took off - it's worth noting that some people were completely unaware that a rough ride was a real possibility, as they stayed overnight on Friday and their incoming trip was smooth as glass - because we were stuck between drunk, loud Abercrombie frat rats and drunk, loud tourists from someplace dry.

Knowing we'd hit some choppy water, The Girl took something for seasickness and we both smirked, thinking that the frat rats would be on their asses in 20 minutes between the waves, too much rum and too much sun. We were very, very wrong.

As we sat at a table with two other couples, we felt the shaking of the boat get worse and worse and worse. We were on the top deck of a catamaran and had waves crashing onto our windows - that's a conservative distance of 25 to 30 feet - and then all hell broke loose.

First, one of the first frat rats needs to get to the outer deck to puke, but is ignoring the crew's pleas to stay seated, no matter what, and rushes to the front of the of the boat. One problem - that's where they keep the life vests, not the outside.

He somehow makes it to the rear of the boat and comes back covered in seawater and his buddies are all face down on the table, trying to keep their shit together. This was a losing battle.

Around this time, one of those beautiful moments that bands us together as a species happened. Rich, poor, black, white, cutting across all lines that divide us, we are hard wired for the same basic emotional and physiological responses.

What went down? The boat hopped over a particularly nasty wave and 99 percent of the boat had to barf. And it was going to happen immediately.

It was like Chunk's story in the Goonies, where he tosses the fake vomit at the movie theater, only it wasn't so much of a chain reaction as a simultaneous need to puke all at once. Our table turns green and starts to scramble to find enough bags on the table top, including The Girl, who took the Dramamine - she said she was fine the entire ride because of the stuff, with the exception of five minutes beginning right then - and the three men at the table - myself included - all tried to be stoic and fight back the pukes, but really we just looked like losers on Fear Factor the moment before they cave in.

If there's a security tape on that boat, it looks like The View was put in the DVD player at that exact moment as people start to frantically grasp for seasickness bags and just go ape. The poor, over matched crew is running about trying to pass out bags, throw out the "used" ones and freshen the cabin with spray fresheners.

In short, utter chaos. With hurling Midwesterners. It would have been awesome, if not for breaking my vomit-free streak which dates back to 2001-ish.

A few hours later, we were able to hug the shoreline and the passengers all start feeling better, and everyone just layed low, keeping their heads on the tables, cursing the god of their choice and swearing over and again that they'd never step foot on another boat as long as they lived.

I, for one, realized my New England roots must have stopped on the beach, as any genetic material making me more resistant to seasickness is limited to motion less than or equal to the teacups at Disney World. The Girl's Ukrainian heritage reared its ugly, landlocked head as well, so we both agreed there'd be no honeymoon cruise unless we develop a mutual attraction for uncontrolled vomiting.

I hear Kansas is lovely in October.

(Photos from: MinneapolisRedSox / Photobucket.com)