Excluding death, taxes, infidelity, imprisonment, owing money to loan sharks and involuntary castration, there isn’t much more that blows than packing up as your vacation is ending and then taking that long flight or drive home.  It truly is a buzzkill and is the exact opposite of the anticipation one has prior to leaving for vacation.

This was our last mini-vacation until after the baby is born and came at a really good time, mental-wise.  While Atlanta has provided us with an awesome lifestyle down here, the one thing this city lacks is a shoreline of any sorts.  There aren’t many major American cities that are landlocked but Atlanta is one of them.  Before you post any comments, the Chattahoochee River doesn’t count and neither does Lake Lanier.  The “Hooch” is about as clean as a whore’s urethra and Lake Lanier is an hour away from town and is a man-made lake.

Anyway, we went to Gulf Shores, Alabama to a condo with an ocean view.  For my friends up north, I’m sure you’re wondering “You went to freakin’ Alabama for vacation?”  Well, much like Atlanta isn’t part of the stereotypical south, the coast of Alabama isn’t like the rest of the state.  The coast is beautiful and isn’t more cheesy tourist than any other beach I’ve been to.  In fact, the house/condo community we were in was very nice and relatively new.  There were a few houses and condos for sale and our condo was one of them.  It was going for around 800K and the homes were well into the $1 million+ range so it wasn’t like it was a haven for rednecks…at least not the poor ones!  Of course, were I able to spend one and a half million on a beach home, I think I’d rather be someplace like Martha’s Vineyard over actually being an Alabama landowner.  Then again, 1.5M on Martha’s Vineyard might only get me a 100 square foot patch of land.

One thing I noticed was how much of a vast wasteland Alabama is for beer.  They are still capped at 6% alcohol (like Georgia was until a few years ago) and unless you’re into the BudMillerCoors crap, you’re out of luck.  Even microbrews don’t exist around there.  The first night I asked the waitress at the restaurant what kind of beer they had and she started “Ummm, Bud, Bud Light, Select, Miller Lite, Coors…” and I got the sense she wasn’t going to list anything I would drink so I cut her off and said “That’s OK, I’ll have a Coke.”  I did have a small reprieve from the Wasteland of Beer on Saturday night when the Oyster House we were at served Yuengling, one of America’s oldest microbreweries based in Pennsylvania.  While they’re not the best micro out there, it sure beats the poo out of The Big Three.

It did feel odd to watch a hockey game (Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Finals) on TV in June at a condo facing the Gulf of Mexico on a warm night.  I was probably the only TV in the state tuned to the game.  Having that on, plus some Dale’s Pale Ale in my belly, made for a relaxing evening, even if it was on a small, non-hi-def TV. 

Here is the view from our balcony taken with my Blackberry.

Tomorrow I'll write about how I tackled an inner demon I've had since age two in regards to the ocean.