Best bumper sticker ever

I was at the last comedy show put on by the St. Thomas Sport and Social Club and right after I spit out some of my beer from laughing -- yes, it really happened -- a friend tapped me on the shoulder to say hello.

It was Patrick Dow and I hadn't seen him since a blurry boat trip to Hans Lollik a few months back. We've chatted a few times on facebook (I heard that's what all the kids are doing these days) and we shared a vested interest in a certain bumper sticker that had been circulating through the Misfits on St. Thomas.

We promised to alert the other if one of us discovered it. My friend Bobbi has the same sticker on her refrigerator. To this day, it's one of the best ways to describe this backwards island.


Apparently, there is a guy who hangs out at Island Time Pub in Red Hook and sells them for $4 a pop. I saw them on sale for the first time at the annual Chilli Cookoff, but a quickly-approaching tropical storm prevented me from reaching into my wallet and brandishing actual currency.

Patrick: "Yea, I bought like 10 of them if you want one."

Me: "Let me get this straight, you dropped $40 on stickers? What are you in the fourth grade? Are you going to put them on your Trapper Keeper?"

Patrick: "Leave the jokes to the professionals, ass. And try not to spit up your beer next time you hear a good one."

How you livin?

This was the scene during a sunny Sunday afternoon atop the island of St. Thomas. The picture was taken at halftime, right as the N.Y. Giants appeared to have opened an insurmountable lead on the Eagles.

Look at us ... so happy and full of life.

Then Mike Vick and that ass clown DeSean Jackson ruined everything, which resulted in the Miracle at the New Meadowlands.

We enjoyed mimosas and Brianna made home-made chili at our friend Frank's new condo in a part of the island referred to as Mountain Top. The title fits the scenery.

I had put back my second bowl of chili and was considering a ceremonial Jager bomb before it hit me: I had never been to Frank's new house during the day.

"Hey guys," I said. "Let's check out this view Frank keeps telling us about before we get all loopy (on an account of the short-lived Giants domination and the danger than lies within Jagermeister)."

Everyone, which included Frank, Brianna and I, agreed as the whole gang headed north.

His new place is sick. It has a crazy 180-degree view, as you can see clear across the island, over the golf course, way past Red Hook and with the British Virgin Islands on the horizon. He's so high up that you can spit off his balcony and with the right kind of wind, it will eventually hit a tourist at Megan's Bay.

After having a jolly time at a friend's swank digs, I couldn't help but reflect on the place where I put my head down. Strangely enough, I don't have a lot of pictures of my headquarters.

It's located right outside of Charlotte Amalie, up a bike-path trail, and when the power goes out, you can hear the generator from the nearby hospital kick in. And when it does, I always think about how many lives were just saved with the quick flick of a wrist. Or is it automatic? Maybe I should walk into the hospital and ask somebody.

I've been to the hospital twice since I moved down the block from it over nine months ago. One time was for a seizure. Not cool. And it left my wallet empty.

The other time was to shoot some sort of church revival seminar symposium meeting of some sort. My boss was in attendance so I showed up 10 minutes early and naturally left 20 minutes after it ended and everyone had left and I was alone in a dark room.

The cool thing was that when everyone left -- it was for lunch -- they gave me a ticket for the hospital cafeteria. I had to move on to another assignment so I tucked the golden ticket deep into my wallet.

"Save that ticket," my boss said. "The hospital has some of the best food on the island."

Believing everything she's told me for the last nine months, I made sure to put it next to the most important stuff in my wallet: in between my Men's Warehouse coupon and a fake $1,000 bill that has a picture of Ben Franklin winking.

"Ahh, the next rainy day," I thought. "But who will I go with?"

I know how some people won't eat by themselves in public because they feel weird. I actually enjoy it. People watching is the perfect dessert after a turkey and cheese sandwich goes down the hatch.

But in a hospital cafeteria? I don't care how good the food is, watching hospital folk while eating Salisbury steak or meatloaf may not work well with me. But I should try it out, eh? After all, I got the golden ticket...

But we'll have to save that social experiment for next time, boys and girls. In a blog post where I planned on showing pictures of my house and taking potshots at my lovely landlord, it ended with a somewhat entertaining story about churchy people, meatloaf and Benny Franklin.

How you like them apples? And by the way, the chili was crucial.

Over and out.

Pepto-Bismol and kayaks

I wish I had photos to show you.

Woke up Saturday during the Memorial Day weekend with a text message waiting for me.

"Conditions look OK, meet at 2 p.m. at the Eco-Tour dock."

Sounds innocent enough, I thought. The message was from my friend, Bill, who takes people out on kayak tours around the island. He does that to fund his sailing endeavors as he frequents the local saloons at night. He also lives on a boat, which I think is pretty cool.

Anyway, I met Bill the second week I was here. I was driving back to the East End (where my boss lives -- she let us stay at her house until we found our own digs) and I saw three guys hitch-hiking on the side of the road. Still fresh from my Appalachian Trail hiking days, I picked them up.

It was Bill and two buddies of his. One guy was from Australia. They were so happy for the ride, and I guess I seemed normal enough, so they invited me out for the night and it was the first time I ever went to Duffy's, an infamous bar in Red Hook located inside a parking lot. Good times.

Now back to my freaking story.

It was pretty cloudy out and the wind was picking up but Bill is the expert. Brianna and I grabbed up some towels, I packed my make-shirt snorkel and we headed for the dock.

Bill and his roommate, I mean boat mate (or is it first mate?), and two other friends were already there loading up the kayaks. The plan was to kayak out to the middle of nowhere and do a little surface diving. Sounds innocent enough, right?

Once we left the calm waters near the dock, the swells started to pick up. They must have been about 5 feet tall on the way out. Brianna was in front of our two-man kayak and was getting frustrated with my paddle timing. It's hard bringing up the rear sometimes.

After about 30 minutes of crazy kayaking -- we capsized only once -- we connected to a buoy and got in the water. Bill and his first mate, Zack, were crazy. I didn't have fins but I tried my best to catch up with them. I just sat at the surface with my snorkel, where waves were crashing down, and watched these two dive 30 feet down, swim through a coral reef tunnel and emerge again.

"How the hell did you do that?" I asked before taking in a mouthful of salt water.

"We do this shit everyday," Bill said. "Give it a try!"

With two experts in my midst, I figured it was worth an attempt. I started my dive and forgot to plug my nose. I wasn't 10 feet deep before the pressure was too much and pulled a 180 for the surface again.

I have to start hanging out with these guys more often, I thought.

When we got back to the kayaks, the swells really started to pummel us. Zack confirmed my suspicion that it had gotten much worse since we tied up the kayaks almost an hour ago.

Now exhausted and with a belly full of salt water, I was back on the kayak and prepared for the my return trip with waves literally crashing down on us. It was not a pretty sight.

I immediately started to get sea sick and my body was starting to shut down. I felt like jumping off the kayak and swimming to shore because the motion in the ocean was breaking me.

After every three paddles, I had to take a breather. Bill said I was grimacing. I had no fuel. I felt like passing out.

Then the waves really started to hit us and our kayak flipped over three times. Yes, THREE TIMES! In a matter of five minutes. It was embarrassing.

After the third fall, the trained experts knew it was time to transition from kayak adventure to kayak rescue. Bill and Zack came back, tied a rope to their vessel and started to tow us in.

(A news editor just looked over my shoulder and asked me which blogger I was reading. I lied and said my friend who lives in Malaysia. Where the hell did I get that from? Little do they know I regularly post to my own blog from my office. Still not sure I can let them in on this so for now, this little project is just our little secret. OK?)

When Bill and Zack were towing us in, I slumped back and closed my eyes. I've been sea sick in big boats before but nothing like this. It was like paddle or die. I wish I could of just snapped my finger and be on land again. That would have been sweet.

As soon as we got back into comfortable waters, my strength immediately came back, the color in my face returned and I was happy. Happy that I did not die.

When I am going to learn? I get sea sick. I can't help it, yet, I constantly defy that fact every chance I get.

"And you always talk about going on a cruise," Brianna said to me back at the dock.

I just want to order a Porterhouse steak at 3 a.m. and see if they bring it up to my room. That may be the sole reason I want to take a cruise. That, and gambling.

Who doesn't like to mix blackjack with some Pepto-Bismol?