Some family news had me all shook up last weekend, and I’ve been a bit melancholy since. Pensive, of course … I just don’t want it to turn into a permanent state. These four guys have helped me to get out of my own head a little bit and just relax.
- Llama Tasered in … Florida: Of course, Floriduh. My home state is notorious for breeding its own special brand of crazy, and this story is no exception. A co-worker legit sent it to me because “the headline reminded [her] of [me].”
- Ben & Jerry’s Late Night Snack: You already know a date night with these two main men is pretty wonderful. But this edition, inspired by Jimmy Fallon, is my absolute can’t-live-without. Salty, sweet and swirly.
- Prancercise!: I heard rumblings of this video last week but finally watched it Monday. And while exercise really is good for you to de-stress, I much prefer laughing till my sides hurt. Her rhyming instructions seal the deal.
- “The Girl” – City and Colour: Music will forever have healing properties for me, and this ditty is a recent fave. Starts slow, hits the hook and captures a relationship so magically.
Enjoy two scoops of YouTube, no extra charge!
If you’ve spent 10 seconds in Florida, you’re already aware that nobody here should have a license. And if you haven’t had the distinct honor of visiting God’s waiting room, then shorely you’ve read my rant about it and are well-informed.
This problem only grows progressively worse throughout the summer as storm clouds roll in. They establish residency quicker than Elian ever could, and they make everyday travel a real pain in my ass. What’s a state full of geriatrics and idiots to do?
- Go slow. Too slow. Do less. You might as well be going backward. If you approach the 20 MPH mark, come to a halt immediately. Don’t you dare allow the stumbling homeless man’s speed intimidate you.
- Tailgate. I’m not talking grilling brats and drinking brewskies, I’m saying to follow so closely that you can read the back of my Spice Girls shirt. And judge me for it.
- Stall out. While this one can’t always be avoided, I highly suggest you think before driving your MINI Cooper through streets with 3 feet of standing water. Oh, you flooded the engine? I, for one, am shocked!
- Frantically change lanes every 5–10 seconds. The left lane is moving, so you move over. Dammit, now the right is zooming … guess you’ll have to switch back. Ack, the guy on the left is turning; hurry! Why bother staying in one lane? Amateurs.
- Swerve without looking. Similar to changing lanes like a tard, you’ll need to swerve around puddles — but only do so without checking for cars around you. Really, you didn’t see my tank of an SUV? That’s because you’re too busy with your head up your sphincter.
I’m not saying gun it to 88, Doc Brown. I’m just saying I’d like to reach my destination sometime before I hit retirement — and in one piece, no less. Based on this week’s forecast, that’s not likely to happen.
I live in Florida, or as I lovingly refer to it, God’s Waiting Room. The disproportionate amount of elderly people, zit-faced teenagers and clueless idiots to normal folks is astounding. That’s why, I hereby propose that nobody in Florida should have a driver’s license.
Around these parts, people make their own rules. That red light? Merely a suggestion. The stop sign? There for decoration. Those pedestrians? They’ll get out of the way.
The logic behind the “decisions” my fellow drivers make on the daily is baffling.
- Speed all the way to the end of the lane that’s ending, ignoring all of the signs and the flashing lights telling you to merge … to cut right over at the last second and nearly cause an accident.
- Take up two lanes at a time because you’re unsure which side of the road your Bingo hall is on (Side note: I’m a fan of Bingo, when margaritas are involved). Don’t worry about the drivers behind you; they don’t mind.
- Cut out in bumper-to-bumper traffic when you don’t have the right of way, because you are more important and your destination is far more interesting.
Sound familiar? Welcome to Hell, or as I like to call it: the daily commute.
Few things infuriate me more than the traffic we suffer through in The Sunshine State. I’m aware that there are shitty drivers anywhere you go but that doesn’t make up for the fact that those here are just plain insane.
What’s more is that nobody even seems to notice that they’re putting others in danger because of their moronic actions. Surely that text can’t wait until you’re stopped or in park. The food must be consumed as quickly as possible or you’ll die of starvation. That little lever next to the steering wheel (standard in all cars) isn’t meant to signal anything other than too much attention to detail.
And when the loverly weather isn’t perfect, just fucking forget it. Hurricane season lasts five months so as you can imagine, it’s literally a shitstorm every time it rains. Roads are wet and visibility is low, but why bother turning on your headlights or wipers? It’s not worth it to slow down at all — that will just make you late.
As much as I’d love to see snow on a regular basis, I have to remember that the death trap that is I-275 wouldn’t last a week if ice was added into the mix.
Aside from moving, I don’t see many options for resolution.
It’d be great if drivers were tested every few years to ensure that they at least have some functional brain activity before being let loose. The fact that you can take a test at 16 and then continue to operate a ton of metal without being assessed for the next 80 years is beyond me. I’m willing to bet a Floridian OK’ed that.
It’s October, people. In Florida, that means it’s a mild 80–95 degrees Fahrenheit, with roughly 80% humidity.
I need it to hurry up and get cold.
My whole life, I’ve lived in The Sunshine State. I’ve raked all of three leaves that fell from the tree and attempted to jump in my pitiful pile. I’ve passed on Thanksgiving Day football games, because the air is too thick for me to run around. I’ve spent Christmas Day outside, sweating in a turtleneck and jeans. (That’s not entirely the weather to blame; a turtleneck? Yikes.)
I’m a creature who prefers being cold to hot. I would rather bundle up in a blanket than feel sweat beading and my skin boiling … weird I know.
That said, this state is too damn hot. And it’s too damn late in the year for me to wear a cardigan and want to rip it to shreds on the walk to my car.
I would like to take a break from shaving my legs — but I can’t wear pants every day when the Sahara desert is my backyard. I have scarves and long-sleeve shirts that have hung in my closet for 10 months, and there’s no sign of them making a return to my wardrobe anytime soon. I long for a walk from Starbucks where a hot coffee doesn’t make me want to take an ice bath afterward. I daydream about the evening when I will stumble home from the bar and shiver from the cold.
All I ask is for an itty bitty drop in temperature. 10–15 degrees would be heavenly. Is it too much to ask that I be able to make it through the night without kicking off my comforter in a fit of fury because I feel like I’m in a sauna?
Such is life. And to that I say: F you, Florida.