I need a Paradise Taxi.

They have these really cool old car taxis that roam the beach towns of South Walton County, Florida. The group is called Paradise Taxi and some of the cars, like this one are ART CABs, painted by local artists. They are huge inside and loads of fun to bounce around town in. Much more fun than, say, a DUI.
This is me and my pals getting ready to pay a shitload of money to go 1.3 miles because we are
A. drunk B. tired C. wearing heels. Pick one.

see? huge back seats.We returned to a bar we'd hiked to seven hours earlier, exposing bras and asses along the way- and still... no one offered us a ride? Hmm...
There was a new bartender on. And he was kind of a dick.


See? looks like a douche, right? And since his name was "Moe" I enjoyed yelling it at him most of the night, and reminding him if he wasn't such a dick, ignoring pretty girls, he'd get a better tip. Which gained me two pretty gal pals from out of town, who referred to me all night as "that cool chick." By the next night he finally figured it out... by then he even knew my name and somehow along the way learned to say, Thank you. I guess you can teach an old dick new tricks.

We had an interesting evening, which my camera neglected to capture ... Like most nights out with the girls, there was beer, boys, bands and lots of dancing and laughing, (though unlike back home in our small town-most of the boys had money and sunglasses, the band played Zydeco and pulled women from the crowd to wear tin shirt washboard instruments and there was a constant oceanfront breeze). It was a fun night with only a few incidents. Nothing that a mop, a knee brace and a restraining order can't handle.

Of course, there was beach time and nap time and uninterrupted internet time, because after all , we are three technologically advanced wild and crazy girls.

One night, we opted for an out of the way bar to see a local sensation: REDD.
She's a singing bartender. Here's one of her famous songs, that made us laugh.
(this recording is much better than mine.)
She has boas behind her bar that she wears and lends, and the guy behind her on the computer is her husband who was LIVE STREAMING the whole show. AND WE WERE NOT BEHAVING.

Okay.. I was not behaving, the other girls were fine. They were busy texting China and IM'ing envious people stranded in inland towns, occasionally raising their heads, glancing around and saying loudly, "We're not with her- that loud mouthed one who is drinking ALL the Corona in Florida."
At least that's how I remember it. And if you ask the poor old country boy who wandered in with his passport to buy a few beers and bag of ice on credit... he might agree.
By the time our new pals from Atlanta and Vegas arrived, Redd was winding down and the rest of the bar-goers were ready to take their last pill of the evening and shuffle off to the retirement home.
Lucky for us. there happened to be an IRISH bar next door. Where we could order these: And say Cheers! And smack glasses and bust stuff. 'Cuz that's how we roll.

Then we threw darts at the wall for a while and cheated because that is also how we roll, then they threw us out, or had last call, or something. Somehow we stole a man from Vegas, sandwiched him in the Paradise Taxi and ended up back at the original bar for MORE dancing, or as I like to call it, hangover evasion exercise regimen phase one. From the looks of my eyes in this photo, I may need a new regimen.
Though in my defense, I ended up with two bloodshot eyes from sand kernels and contacts. (which sounds like an special forces team designed to annihilate beach bunnies and local assholes) I kinda like that.
So, there are more pictures and more stories. But that's for another day boys and girls.
Let's just say, it was fun and fab and we returned home safe and sound to the welcoming arms of family, ready to play another day.