Why yes, I am feeling better, thanks for asking. I've been sick for a month, left a job because of it (I'd only been there four months, long enough to remind myself why I left the non-profit scene before), and have only now in the last 5 days felt like a human being again.
I smiled at a some stranger, I refrained from ramming a tourist with my car (didn't keep me from cursing them mildly, however), I only flipped off one tourist that was tailgating my little Miata in their obscenely large, visible-from-outer-space SUV.
Energy crisis? Can't tell it in Florida. I putter around at a sedate 78mph and let the huge motor homes towing Toyota Tundras with golf carts in the bed and a grill in the golf cart just flow around me. I wish I'd gotten a pic of that, but he was flying by me doing at least 90 mph and 5mpg.
They're headed back to New Jersey, thank Gott. I'm sorry, but I am so sick of NJ-ites coming here and ruining the place with rudeness. (It rubs off on the locals, see 2nd paragraph.) And bad fashion sense. And cluelessness. (It's a marsh, it's supposed to smell salty and fishy. It's Artesian water, it's supposed to smell like rotten eggs. It's good for you.) And obnoxiously loud voices in restaurants. This is the South, dammit! Be civilized, restrained, and polite. Like Jimbo. He knows how, and I'm sure Suzette would never embarrass herself in that way. So who are these low-lifes with the Jersey attitude and accent? Yo, dawgs, save all the crap for your neighbors back home, up North. Hey Jersey: It's Florida. It's supposed to be hot. We like breathing our air through a straw. Grow some gills, wouldja?
I can't understand it. I'd rather put up with the French.
While I'm feeling nice, allow me to shout out to Ted on the occasion of his 40th Birthday. Have a wonderful day, Ted. No need to rant today, I've gotcha covered! Glad you were born! Too bad it's in August.
No, August is the month to stay home, hunker down with a glass of lemonade by the pool and wait for school to start. It's just not safe out there.
Speaking of pools, allow me to digress further into the ennui of The Slack. Our pool here at the condos just opened for the season two weeks ago. The pool actually sits down into the marshy marsh, so it needs to be maintained carefully, and resurfaced every few years... something that should only take a week to do. The contractor hired in early February played it along for weeks and months, finished just 6 weeks ago, only to have the pool closed again as salt water intruded once more. Contractor gone.
You gotta love a pirate town. The New Jerseyites on the Condo Board were flabbergasted and amazed that a contractor might not be licensed, or capable, or a keeper of his word. Oh, how they whinged about it and were amazed when someone else (besides me!) told them what I have learned since living here: everything will have to be done twice, if you hire a local. Should we sue the other guy? C'mon! He has nothing, and has likely moved his pirate ass to some other apartment project around here. Or under some bridge. Or is skulking out on Fish Island.
The Pool is lovely now. Except.
Except for the fact that we no longer have kiddie pools anywhere anymore. How much nicer it was to let the diaper set and toddlers swim in a fetid swamp of baby water and Gerber-poo. Why have they disappeared? Now kids are all allowed to contaminate the main pool. Sweet young moms saying things out loud like, "are you sure you don't have to go potty? You can't potty in the pool!"
Y'know, when you've been saying that for an hour, it's long past time to take your apple-juice-swilling spawn to the bathroom. And no, that extra-cling huggie diaper is not making me feel any better about all this. It's not the beach, lady. It's a pool, with a limited number of gallons of water and chlorine. Buy a blow-up pool and bring it along with you and let the child scamper in his own pee-soaked universe. But you're not kidding me or anyone else. Unless that child has been heat-fused in some sort of Seal-a-Meal diaper, I don't want to see your darling in my pool.
And now, if every smoker could just learn to use a frickin' ash tray. "It's biodegradable!" is the latest defense for turning the lawns and beaches into a personal ash tray. Well, my dog's poo is biodegradable too. But if I let her ceremoniously unload on your doorstep day and night, awaiting the next 5 rainy days to help melt it into the grass, I think you'd be pretty upset with me, too. Will some smoker who does toss their butts without a thought (none of my readers would, I know) please get back to me and tell me how long it takes a butt to biodegrade? Cuz I'm still waiting for the last, oh, 5,000 of them to disappear.
It's a mindset I simply do.not.get.
The Volvo-driving Obama-voting liberal bumper sticker set and Save the Planet hippies from the local Lib-Arts college all roll down their windows and toss the butts out. Haven't seen one of them roll up the window after a smoke without having first heaved the butt out into the general populace. Nice. Oh, those Florida wildfires along I-95? Nice.
A'ight. Halfway through August. I think I'll make it.