08.16.09
Posted in at 6:43 pm by Administrator
Some days ago, on a Friday morning, I had stopped at FIU’s Biscayne Bay Campus. I wasn’t really planning on stopping by, but I decided to go to the library to check my email really quick. Somehow 10 minutes turned into an hour (I also checked my Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, this blog, etc). Campus was on my way home as I had spend the night before with a lovely tourist gal from Chicago. The hotel she was staying at was located around the Sunny Isles Beach area (no, she didn’t stay at the Trump Plaza). I was heading home to run a few errands.
As I’m contentedly strollling back to my car, I noticed a large amount of broken glass around the floor. I’m thinking “damn, someone’s car got hit”. And what glorious surprise I have when I see that smashed car happens to be my 96′ Isuzu Rodeo. My first instinct is to curse all hell through and throw a few punches in the air. The car’s back window is completely smashed and the back door has been bent in the middle. The car’s front wheels have been pushed over the parking bump. I’m wondering how hard it got hit.
I look inside the car and notice that nothing has been stolen. I’m figuring that it might have been a hit and run, and as usual, no one saw anything. I call the police to report what happened. I’m connected to a Sergeant to whom I give the information whilst cursing profusely (get your car crashed, greta excuse to bitch out a cop). A few seconds later, I receive a call from the FIU campus police. Somehow, the culprit didn’t run but decided to report the crash. Said culprit is in the police office. The officer notices my anger and repeatedly tells me that it was an accident, accident happens (so does cancer).
I walk to the office expecting to see some idiot frat-boy wanna-be or some coked out idiot (I mean who’s high already at 11:00 AM?). What a surprise when the culprit turns out to be a young Latin girl, like 20 or 21. And she’s kinda hot. Somehow, she was going to press her brakes, but instead she stepped on the accelerator and voooomm!! I didn’t exchange words with the driving-challenged hottie. When I got there, she was nervous and crying. Since I was so angry, I didn’t think of trying to ask for a date (you crashed the shit out of my car, btw, are you free Saturday?). Besides, I was already seeing someone.
The police officer’s report stated that the girl was at fault. Luckily, she had AllState as her insurance and they covered all my damages and gave me a rental car while mine was in the shop. I didn’t have to pay a dime. The body shop people even washed it and made it look llike new. In regards to the hot chick, maybe I’ll look her up on Facebook…
That would’ve really sucked…..
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08.11.09
Posted in , Travel at 5:40 am by Administrator
For July 4th, I drove up with my parents to jolly Beaufort, South Carolina. My older sister Ally, resides there with her husband, Pete. Pete’s job contract with the U.S. Marines is over and he had to rush down back to Florida, where a new job offer materialized. I had to help Ally clean the house, mow the lawn and pack things for their big move.
Beaufort (pop. 12.000) is a nice quaint town with landscapes that resemble a Thomas Kincaid portrait. The city was founded in the mid 1700s and several houses and streets are built in a colonial style. Some of these antebellum houses are valued at over a million dollars. There is also an abundance of creepy cemeteries. Beaufortians (not sure if that’s the right word), take pride in the area’s history: several of Pat Conroy’s novels are set there, and their subsequent movie versions has been filmed in the city.
Beaufort is located in a swampy area of coastal South Carolina, known as the low country. The infamous USMC base at Parris Island, immortalized in Full Metal Jacket is a stone’s throw away. Who knows how many young men have been driven to insanity by raving psychotic drill sergeants. A naval hospital and an air base are located nearby. Many military retirees choose to move there due to the scenic location, warm weather and conveniently located medical facilities. Locals prefer the flowing term “marsh” as opposed to “swamp”, which sounds too redneck (kind of like, “Billy Bob, tell mama I’m goin’ squirrel huntin in da swamp”). Of all the small towns located in the low country, Beaufort seems by far the most exclusive one. Classy Charleston is about 50 miles north.
Beaufort and the other small towns depend heavily on the presence of the military bases for their economic livelihood. If it weren’t for Parris Island, only 5 millionaire’s would keep their summer homes there. As you can imagine, the area is highly patriotic. For July 4th, most of the area’s residents head to Parris Island’s main marching square. The base gives out free hot dogs, burgers, cracker jacks and sodas. The fireworks are spectacular and last pretty long. Of course, since the whole town is there, you don’t only see the nice Stepford-type manicured families nor the young professionals. There are plenty trailer dwelling folks present, many with their camouflage jackets, hats, jorts, you name it. It is odd to see obese grandmas that can’t be older than 50, wearing jorts and strapless blouses which show off their wide array of tattoos. Likewise, their husbands are usually bald, obese, heavily bearded and tattooed men wearing Harley Davidson gear. After an hour or two, I could probably distinguish the different drawls like Ocala, Blue Ridge, Cajun, Appalachian hill-billy, Kentucky hee-haw, deep Mississippi delta and Texarkana. These are sights you don’t usually see in Miami, circus town if there ever was one.
Damn Billy Bob, she got nice tatas
Supposedly a redneck swing..and yes I saw plenty houses like that one.
“Cletus, I’ll call yall back later, I’ma takin a shit on the back porch”
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