We're Insane

What the bleeping bleep are we bleeping thinking??

We’re packed and on the road for a trip.

To Florida.

I’m the ride-or-die friend, folx. You need help, I’m there, doing whatever I can to get you out of the fix. My intensity isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. Like Dr. Nerdlove says, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, but I’m some people’s shot of whiskey.

So when a friend needs help getting out of ‘Murica’s Penis, me and my imperiled vagina will go the distance. Yes, it is a long, looong way. If you’ve seen the news, it’s definitely Ride, or Die. We choose the former, even if it’s in spitting distance of the latter.

The last time we went down, it was in a heavy fog and on a week day, in early December. Now? April, warm, a beautiful day. And me with my pasty-white skin, just waiting for the bright kiss of Florida sun. Joyous.

I’m looking forward to being with a friend I miss a lot. I’m looking forward to adding to my squishie collection. I’m looking forward to doing a few last touristy things with her before she flees the state. I am NOT looking forward to tropical sun, Florida Man, Florida drivers, Florida attitude, Florida EVERYTHING.

Spoiler alert: it’s bad, folx. Really bad.

The traffic in Baltimore should have warned us.

Actually, the warnings started as soon as we started packing. This trip was delayed for three months. Things weren’t lining up for us to go, obligations, appointments, stressful Life things getting in the way. On her side, losing a government job, losing her leech of a best friend by finally having a spine and standing up for herself, and realizing her boyfriend is a class A jerk who destroyed the majority of the stuff she’d managed to salvage from an abusive marriage. So many life changes in only a few months, and they take time to absorb and adjust to – except there’s no more time, and the hits keep coming with every demented newscast of a deranged megalomaniac.

We rented a car. And we requested a Florida license plate.

Days later, our Jeep Grand Cherokee with a Georgia plate was heading south. We only packed food (my restricted diet) and clothing and bedding, because I had a Feeling.

I had a lot of Feelings on this trip.

I’m getting up in age. The economy and political climate are in the septic tank, fermenting away. It will take a decade, at least, to recover economically, if health care even lasts that long. It is a blipping slog on I-95, to drive over a thousand miles – sixteen hours, not including food and rest breaks – for what?

I know this is my last trip to Florida.

My friend is worth it. Not sure about my sanity, though. Well, maybe there wasn’t enough there to start with, so I guess I won’t miss it.

I won’t get into the frothing rage that is traffic around Baltimore. I won’t mention the existential dread of traffic around the D.C. beltway, though it wasn’t too nasty this time – I mean, who wants to be in our stoopid nation’s Capitol right now? And the construction zones, and SERIOUSLY PEOPLE HOW CAN YOU FUNCTION WHEN YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO ZIPPER?? HOW CAN YOU PUT ON JEANS WITHOUT KNOWING ONE OF THE FUNDAMENTAL BASICS OF TAKING TURNS TO MERGE?!?!?

Sigh. I digress and wax frothy.

In my best Get Off My Lawn voice, “There used ta be a time when driving on a long trip was fun. The open road, wind in yer hair, snacks, singing ninety-nine bottles of beer...”

And that, folx, was the main problem with traffic on the road today. There ain’t much open road to be seen on the East Coast no more.

That, and Things That Can’t Be Unseen.

Like this person, apparently smuggling the world’s biggest marble:

Or bridge architecture, as we contemplate the durability of modern materials:

Or the insanity that is South of the Border, day or night. We’re usually traveling by at night, so seeing it in the daytime is a bit jarring. Petting zoo. Mini golf. Sombrero tower. Reptile building. Kitsch and tchochkes as far as the eye can see. It’s… something.

We did stop at a Buc-ee’s to get a squished penny set. The first one I’ve even been into… Oy. And vey. Take a Cabela’s and mix it with the cheesiest souvenir shop, then add fake-smoke jerky scent. They sell logo bikinis, folx. And they’re trying to compete with South of the Border in the kitsch department! We scooted as fast as possible, did I mention I’m allergic to that fake smoke? What about people who have smell sensitivity??

When the road is safer than the squishie stop...

We talked a lot on the way. We’ve know this is our last hurrah for a southern-state trip for a loooong time, unless something extremely drastic reverses the changes of the last few months.

Oh, yeah, and the Penis Gubbnah being caught in a rather nasty scandal. Where even saying “global warming” is a punishable offense. C’mon, ICE, come after my pasty white tushie. I will literally blind you with my Arctic skin tone. Seriously, you have a problem with melanin, but you can’t see the real invaders? Spotted lanternfly, bamboo, wild hogs, pythons? Go chase some real illegal immigrants – with roots, many of them will have a hard time running away. Maybe you can find them if you get your own head out of your collective tushie.

Me? Salty? You bet. I’m angry, and going deep into Red ‘Murica territory. I will cop an attitude if it keeps me going, and helps get my friend out.

At least there’s a tiny light at the end of today’s tunnel, because the intermittent construction zones in North Carolina were enough to drive me batty, with ever-changing speed zones. And all, and I mean ALL, of the weigh stations open. Hmm, could it be that the states are trying to make up for withheld federal funds??

We landed at a hotel that’s LGTBQ friendly, and says so on its website. Are we paying a bit more each might instead of the really cheap hotels next door? Yes, by about $30 a night. Don’t care; I put money where mouth is.

And we’re down the street from Quincy’s.

With and without my parents, I have eaten my way across the country, and up and down it a few times. I’ve visited all states except four. Let’s just say I’ve developed a network of nomminess that stretches coast to coast.

I made sure to check online that Quincy’s was still in business.

If you’re ever in Florence, South Carolina, just go there.

My hubby snagged their 12 ounce thick sirloin, and wolfed it down.

Me? Chicken sandwich, because I still have diet restrictions. But, oh, the mashed potatoes with gravy, and their banana pudding IS THE BEST EVAH. I inhaled half of it, and heroically refrained from eating it all, and shared with hubby. He polished it off in no time.

Oh, yeah, their grilled chicken sandwich was good too.

It has been a long day. Eight hours driving, plus rest breaks and gas and gnash traffic snarl. It did not take us long to zonk out.

Tomorrow, with another leg as long as this one, will come soon enough.