I just returned from my first Floridian manicure and discovered something fabulous. It was just like a Connecticut ian manicure!!! There is nothing more exciting than sitting with a stranger and not having any idea what she is saying or laughing about with her friends. It is also comforting to know there are indeed some Asians in Florida… must find out where they eat. Anyway I decided I need to become a foreign manicurist with my other foreign friends. How much fun would it be to gossip all day long and talk about the people that come in to your shop right in front of them?? I think it would probably be my personal heaven. Except for the nail painting part, definitely not good at that due to some shaky hands. Perhaps I could open a bakery of the same persuasion… And I am also not good at learning other languages so I will have to go somewhere where no one knows any English… details to come.
Today as I was taking my daily break to gallavant over to my local Office Depot I began to reminisce about my very first automobile. It was a raw fall day with grey skies that had just started to pour out their fury onto the roads below. I woke up early before the rest of the town to become comfortable on the road. Her name was Bella (later to be the red rocket…not because of her speed, but the roaring sound the engine spewed when working to produce speeds over 50 mph). She was a 1991 red Honda Civic standard two door hatchback and I’ve never viewed anything more beautiful. I shared her with an older brother and sister, but once they ditched me for the big Apple she was all mine. On this first day out my nerves got the best of me. I stumbled and stalled, tried to start the car in third gear only to be caught in a fit of rumblings and vibrations. The day ended with a discouraged Marissa and my mom picking me up at the Mobil Station. I was soggy and slightly emotional but the next day I was ready to begin again. This day my desire for the open road outweighed my fear of it. And every day after this I was thrilled by the independence it provided me. Driving through country sides, by the ocean, soothed me and calmed me. To me the car was much more than transportation, but became my sanctuary. It brought me to friends, it housed my music, it soon became covered with clippings and photoes of my icons and interests. Beliefs were displayed on bumpers, excentricities hanging from mirrors. Driving that car made me feel powerful. It was a symbol of my independence. Pumping gas provided me with a feeling of satisfaction and achievement. A car is something different for everyone, a way to get to work, a way to escape from your home office (hypothetically), a status symbol, a way to compensate for your poor self esteem (achem hummer), but back then it was everything, it became and extension of me. Although I love my car now, probably more than most people, nothing compares to that first time I shifted smoothly into second gear, hair blowing in the breeze, tunes blasting to wash out the roaring engine, and most likely nothing ever will.
I think it is time for me to blog out my newest addiction. It is something so instantly gratifying and exhilerating I am shocked more people aren’t hooked. It is called airport valet and please let me be the first to speak of its merits. I stumbled upon it one day at 6 am as I circled and circled to find a space before my very first business trip. The more I circled the more anxious I became. “Was I truly going to miss the flight of my very first business trip of my entire career??” I was not prepared to let that happen. Suddenly in the distance I saw it through the haze. It was like an epiphany scene from some cheesy daytime soap, but the emotion was real. I felt the world of weight lifted from my shoulders. The kind gentleman opened my door asked when I would return and swooped my car into the safety of the valet only parking spaces. And when I returned I stepped into my already cool car ready to return home. Once I tasted this sweet nectar of parking I told myself I would only use it that once, that I could save bundles by parking in the park and save lot and then take a shuttle to the airport. That is when it hit me…the words business expense dancing in my head… and things haven’t been the same ever since. So children if you can spare the 4 additional dollars a day and if you airport offers valet, I say hand over the keys and save yourself a headache!
I also wrote a haiku to fully channel my confusion and angst… which I know I mentioned had subsided, I was saving face.
little friend ducky
no longer here on this earth
Pictured above is the tragic event I endured just yesterday. After 24 hours of healing I am now ready to blog it out and share with the world (Hi Mom!) my pain. This is what happened. The above left photo features my one and only grow your own rubber ducky. This little trinket magically grows up to 600% of its original size in just 72 hours! How wonderful I thought to myself I shall keep close tabs on his progress and keep a photo journal of his growth. (Side note, the grime featured in my sink is not by any fault of mine but the previous owner of my apartment who has allowed the place to slowly evolve into the decrepid heap in which I now reside) But I digress.. Delighted with Ducky’s growth after 12 hours I decided to feed him fresh water. After refilling his growth sink with some clean hot water I went to continue my gruelling work day. At approximately 5 pm I went to check on Ducky’s progress only to find him in the alarming state pictured above right! I was horrified, why would the big man upstairs take away my only friend in the world???? MY beloved Ducky! After my anger subsided I was disheartened to realize that I could not even grow my own rubber ducky. All I had to do was add water and let it sit for 72 hours. It is so sad to see something you have formed a bond with disintegrate into a tub of water like that. I mean look at his little innocent eyes and baby beak, nobody deserves that. I have a palm tree and I am frightened it too will not make it much longer…fortunately it rains every day so I think it gets watered by itself. I have taken a photograph which I consider to be a metaphor of my pain and confusion over this event. It will be featured in an above post, because it is getting very confusing to add these photos without another one dissapearing…
the below is not actually my apartment…reality is much more peachy…rosy…pale.
The water is yellow.
Children, this post is not for the thin skinned…the problems have outgrown the pastels. I have toned down the apartment with slipcovers and my edgy and progressive artwork. I did however breakdown and purchase a palm tree today with visions of a Christmas card featuring me in a Santa hat in front of it in my head. Anyhow, I have masked the Golden Girl-esqueness of my bachelorette pad as much as humanly possible. Now that I have worked my magic on my home office I have started to explore my new home town. And low and behold I have discovered a few “issues” that I have, which will be listed below.
1. People from the South claim Florida is not the South, although its as far down as you can go… I was rudely alerted to this fact while innocently ordering a sweet tea in Charleston and mentioned I had recently moved. In my mind all this means is that we get the hicks without the Southern charm…. how pleasant for Northerners. If I am going to move my butt down here from Connecticut I think I deserve a little door holding, a few “Ladies firsts”, and some friendly banter.
2. The DMV or RMV as it is known elswhere in the country and most likely world is labeled here as”Drivers Licenses” and at my “Drivers Licenses” hut the sign is painted onto a piece of corrugated carboard.
3. The govener that slated to win this year’s election is endorsed by the NRA… this fact apparently accounts for a large portion of his popularity with the people.
4. Everyone says that there is a slower lifestyle here and I am forced to ponder why this is a positive. Is it so we can enjoy the 200% humidity even longer?
5. 71 year olds apparently go to the same bars as 20 somethings. Not charming Mr. Rogers types that are hard of hearing and attend potlucks… you don’t even want to know.
6. There are no laws stating you can’t carry a concealed weapon, drive a motorcylcle sans helmet, talk on a cell phone while driving, or smoke in a bar…but there is a law making it clear you cannot have an alligator on your property.
7. I have yet to find a homosexual or an asian, this limits my friend pool quite dramatically. This also limits my dining options. There are actually restaurants here called “Thai Sushi”… this frightens me.
8. I have yet to find a hippie. I have heard there is such a breed as a beach bum, which is quite similar, however there is narry a beach bum nor hippie in sight. This means that the only “farmer’s market” in sight is actually a government high rise.
So there you have it folks, all of my friends have apparently been shot by the govenor. I am hungry, hot, and without fresh produce. This photograph that I was fortunate enough to capture while driving (hey no law is stopping me) says it all. Not surprisingly people can smell my Northern roots a mile away and I get the old ” You aren’t from around here are you?” line frequently. Well y’all, lets face it, I am most definitely not from around these here parts and so far thats alright with me.