So this is it. Here I am… Tupelo, Mississippi…
It’s pretty crazy.. Hell of a Friday night.. I opted out of a Waffle House run. It’s just not the same without having to search for one for two hours with Jamie.
That’s right. Two hours. For Waffle House:



The Drive
After 737 miles today, 11 hours, 2 stops for peeing, 2 stops for pictures (Alabama sunsets are insane), I’ve had plenty of time to think about my perspective on life.
Let me tell you, around hour 7 of myself, I find myself pretty dull.
But, around hour 9, I find out that one of the women I have looked up to since I was 14 years old- someone who taught me, mentored me, saw me grow up, and helped shape my really anal self into a lesser control freak- has breast cancer.
And let me tell you, when it’s that time of the month, and you’re on two caffeine pills, two advil, a Dairy Queen cheeseburger, half a bag of cashews, and 2 packs of Starbursts- that makes you really, really pensive…
My journalism teacher in high school probably saw more of me in the Broadcast room than my own mother did at home. She once yelled at me for trying to write with my toes, told me (more or less) that I had a knack for pissing people off, and she let it slide when I was late almost every day of senior year. While I haven’t been back to visit Marcus in over a year, I always figured she’d be there when I needed that nostalgic visit. And if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be doing this:


Because I’d have given up long ago.
Herbst always told us we had to cut our time down, even if we had to cut the good soundbites. We had to “kill the puppies.”
The way I see it, the puppies have just become the cancer cells. She’s got this.
The Nutshell
I said previously that I wasn’t sure if I would continue this particular blog. It seems wrong to change the name. I want it to stay Tampa Baycation. I don’t want it to get lost in the onslaught of future writing. And while no one else would probably know the difference, I would. I have a diary from when I was 6 years old that talks about my ambitions: “When I grow up, I want to be a zoologist/tennis pro/model/ newscaster.” My mom had to write newscaster for me. I couldn’t possibly have something spelled wrong in there. It is the one time I let her look at it.
Sidenote: There’s also a page in there about my sister who “thew up” and that “it was pink.”
I have a Xanga that never got deleted and is still fun to look back on. A Myspace page left simply because there’s writing in there. In fact, the one thing I regret with my writing is throwing away stories from when I was about 14. I would leave them in a drawer, go back a few weeks later, realize how ridiculous they were, and destroy them- hoping the evidence was forever ridden from memory.
Now, I bet I’d think they were fascinating.
Point being: changing the name of this blog and having this whole escapade just seems like this insane chapter of my life would just continue into a novella.
Lets face it, kids. I’m going back to Columbia, Missouri. It’s not going to stay anywhere in the realm of interesting (possibly even scintillating had I included the juicy stuff).
So while I’m not done blogging, I may leave Tampa Baycation where it is. Forever online… Unless these get deleted after too much inactivity. Does that happen?
Tributes
On my second day in Tampa, I was distraught. There was no way I was making friends. I had gone to the beach, and pouted, and no one had approached me asking if I needed a summer best friend. This was hell. This is how it must be after college. This was my worst nightmare. I was going to be friendless forever if I left college, and that’s all there was to it.
And then the third day came…
James

Thanks for taking a chance on me. PS I’ve never waited tables ever. But, I made one hell of a chef salad at that cafe I worked at.
Jamie

My fiance. I’m still waiting on that ring. Square cut, platinum band. Holding you to it.
Jamie

Awwww Hell. There’s not enough time for all that.
Kate

Who would have thought I’d meet somebody else from Flower Mound, Texas who graduated from Marcus *cough* a few years before me? We showed them just how much chaos a FloMo can cause when out of Suburban Hell.
Patricia

Good luck in Orlando! Thanks for being a fellow planner with me.
Taylor

That smile will get you everywhere and anywhere.
Adam

My fellow dancer…
Andy

My biggest fan! If it weren’t for your enthusiasm, my lowest point wouldn’t have survivable. Thanks for believing!
Charles

Thought I told you not to fall in love with me? I’ll always hold Come What May as an example of mortification and friendship..
Tiffany

I’m glad I’ve got someone to save the world with me. We’ll have even more in common next year in NOLA. It’s happening.
Amy

My favorite 5-foot, cupcake-making, Shakespearean blonde with a sailor’s mouth. Badass doesn’t even come close.
Frisco

Ew.
Amy (and those two others that never came to visit but really came to visit)

Sister- you put up with a lot (This is what you get for not taking a nice photo with me because this is the only picture I took of us all weekend).
Holly

Thanks for trekking down. It needs to be far less than 7 years next time. (Also the only picture I got of you
)
And to everyone else whom I don’t have pictures with: Blannie, Mike (B., C., and L.), Chris (C. and E.), Jack, Jon, Shannon, Grady, Jenna, Jenn, Jacob, Esteban, Chef, Crystal, Ekaterina, Stylez, Jeff, Allison, Ally, Craig, Caitlin, Joette, Dave, Lisa, Mr. McClain, Mr. Bunce, Elizabeth, Alanna, and Mr. Wilson-
Thanks for making it one for the record books.
There’s so much more to be said, but right now, I’ve got to prep for another 4 hour drive.
Bucced Out (and on to my new job as bridesmaid),
Aly
PS CONGRATS MR. AND MRS. (future) COVEY