The beach, swarming with poisonous jellyfish.
The condo kitchen, nicer than any of ours. It goes unused...except for the blender with which I do battle to get the daiquiris made.
The Mullet Wrapper. Unfortunately, not all mullets in Alabama are wrapped.
In Flora Bama Julie tries valiantly to catch a live lobster, at 2 dollars a try. If you catch it, you get to eat it. A drunken admirer (of her or the lobsters, not sure which) informs us that "lobsters move backwards." Too bad he didn't too.
She didn't succeed, unfortunately. Those lobsters have probably been there for a decade.
Starfish, found alive on the beach. Somehow or another during its slow torturous death, its legs fell off.
Comparing our kitties at Flora-bama. My kitty got wet.
Table at Florabama. Tells you everything you need to know.
The crime scene at the dolphin cruise dock. I wish I could say that the dolphins had been involved a crime spree, holding up liquor stores or something, but it was only an oil spill.
Gay porn playing cards brought by Julie. We never got around to playing them.
We did do a lot of reading and watching of Project Runway. Apparently, according to Cosmo, one can tell all about a man from his manscaping, Pubestrology, I call it. Too much trimming = porn addict, so they say. I say he's a Cosmo reader.
A magical sight. Two big bubbas and two lesbians peacefully share a pool. Unfortunately, the lesbians at the left had stopped holding hands just as I snapped this photo. Perhaps the three sets of cameras flashing at the same time from the balcony distracted them. Shame.
The ferry landing across Mobile bay. Note the oil rigs.
Oysters in Mobile bay. I'm sure they taste like crude.
Non-photographed moments:
It's 4 am on Monday morning. We are dead to the world. Suddenly, the fire alarm goes off, and a robotic voice tells us to evacuate by way of the fire escapes. We obey, stumbling down five flights of stairs to the parking lot and watch the the rest of the guests leisurely take their time, ride the elevator, look down at us from the balcony. People are idiots.
At the outlet mall, we separate. Jason tells of seeing a boy in baseball cap trying on pumps. Julie sees a young man prepped out in seersucker (?) and an eye patch. I see a six foot tall cracker transsexual buying hush puppies.
Somewhere in Mississippi, in the blinding rain, a Mack truck, a huge cross of white light bulbs shining on its grill, barrels towards us. "Christian Truck kills Carload of Fags" is the headline I can see clearly in my mind.
On the way home, somewhere near Biloxi, Carlos spots the billboard for "Vicki Lawrence and Mama: a Two Woman Show!" and gets excited.
Ok, so do I.
(thanks to Marshall {and me} for the photos above)
seems to have something of a past in gay porn. Do NOT click here. There's gay sex here. I repeat, do not click here.) 
