NEW FLORIDA RESIDENT BLOG

Welcome to paradise. When I first traveled to Miami, I drove over 100 miles an hour on Alligator Alley, had my car stolen and was mistaken for Pitbull.  Granted the person who asked if I was Pitbull may have been thrown off by my penchant for Oversized Sunglasses, buzz cut and reportedly had what can only be described as a substantial amount of adult beverages prior to meeting me. Asking if I'm Pitbull in Florida is kind of like asking a mature woman in London if she is the Queen.  I have a crooked smile and am about the same age and size but, I haven't even seen Pitbull.  Although if you do any boating in Miami every other person you meet points to a big white boat and says Pitbull owns it. Long story, short: Next time I'm in Miami I'm not going to drive but, I am going to board the largest white yacht I see and say "get off my boat".  After all, I know (am) Pitbull.    Possible Florida Realtor

Welcome to paradise. I once went offshore in New England with my friend Michael.  He was a pretty experienced boater, the "big incident" had not happened yet and, I loved boats.  About two hours into our adventure I heard the Coast Guard calling the "Unidentified Vessel in Distress" - it was us.  The water was cold enough that 60 minutes was considered the maximum survivable exposure.  I have had better days but, have a pretty good story and somehow, Michael and I are still friends. Then I moved to Sarasota. I have a family now, so prefer to see land when I'm on my boat.  In fact, I have gone pretty far in the Gulf of Mexico but the water has never been more that 30 feet deep and exposure is indefinitely survivable year round.  I guess over the horizon, the gulf might be a couple of miles deep - that however, is not a concern of mine.  I will be close to shore, probably anchored at a sand bar and perhaps enjoying a Red Strip Light. 

Welcome to Paradise. Someone asked me this week what dinner was like when I was a kid.  I kinda think my dad rode a dinosaur back from the quarry and then we all had a stegosaurs leg to eat but, I could be wrong. It was a minute ago.  Truth be told, I bet if I was at my childhood home, I wouldn't remember the path to the elementary school that we walked.  I do know that you could head down the hill or up the hill and still make it on time - but that doesn't seem right.  The path to Junior High is now bisected by a train track and if you tried to cross that today you would end up like my friend Matt (and nobody wants that). One thing I do remember is that my hair was perfectly straight when I was a kid and I assumed that when you became older your hair got curlier because, that's what happened to me.  Although in retrospect my hair got curlier after I became a resident of Florida. When my son was born he had very straight hair and almost looked like he was fresh fr