If there’s one thing that can make me forget about the price of gas, it’s a trip to Florida. I live close enough where it won’t break my bank, and also I get to stay for free because my grandparents have a house near two different beaches. (And get reimbursed for the gas down since I didn’t take a plane). Sweet! The ride down there is going to be boring as all hell, and I know that I will probably end up pretending that I am Captain Picard of the USS Enterprise navigating my ship through a dangerous asteroid field, AKA traffic. Fire weapons when ready! But I can’t fire at a car because then I would go to jail for reckless driving and not be in Florida, and that would just be sad.
Going to Florida is definitely coming at a great time. My life has been super stressful lately to the point where I just want to punch a cat in the face, and that’s not normal because I like cats; they are awesome… and fluffy. The stresses of summer class compounded by associating with an absolute jackass-childish-selfish-crazy-idiot for way too long has taken its toll. I need the beach… and family… and Italian food… and wine. Wine is good. I had myself a bottle every night after class this summer. Our professor was such a jackass that he would have us study FOUR chapters of material and make the test only 45 questions long. That’s asking to fail. Overload of info then having to pull specifics from that plethora of info and put it in a 45-question exam? Yeah, no. Sometimes we even had two tests in one week.
When I get to Florida, I want REAL vacation time. The last time I came down here, all I was thinking about was my un-trustworthy ex who I felt I had to keep tabs on all the time. Vacation, shmaycation… it was no fun at all. I called home every day like a paranoid freak. Hey dude, YOU made yourself untrustworthy by doing the shit you do, okay? Check it. This time, I WILL have a good time! That feeling I get when I walk into my grandparent’s house is awesome. Ever since I was a little kid they have been there for me and made me awesome meals (Italians = master chefs). I have my reservations about eating all Italian all the time (i.e. being fat) but I’m telling you grandma’s cooking is epic cooking.
What’s even more epic than grandma’s cooking is seeing old friends and going to the beach. It is such a simple concept: Find a spot, lay down a towel, and chill until you are baked like a Lay’s potato chip. Unfortunately for me, I only burn, peel, and return to my normal shade of ghostly white. For an Italian, my skin is not very cooperative. I got my father’s pale German-ness. Thanks, dad. Another thing about Florida is the crocodiles in the random ponds inside subdivisions. I pretty much expect to see one every time I go down there. They kind of stare at you like, “What the fuck are you doing near MY water skinny-twig bitch? You better move your little fleshy, human ass before I lunge at you quicker than leprechauns chasing gold and kill the shit out of you.”
A good writer always has a beginning, middle, and end… apparently, tonight, I am a failure as a writer. What was i talking about again? Gas prices? Yeah, that got off topic quick. I’m probably preoccupied, or drunk… or both. Moral of the story: When in Florida, watch out for the Crocohippodiles.