Concrete Jungle

This is Florida where there are new housing developments popping up all over.  One day you are driving down a country road enjoying the view and thinking, “Hey, Florida is actually pretty out here in the country.”  The next day you are shocked to see that all the trees have been felled and a new development is being built.  The land is lost and will never be the country again.  The natural world is replaced by suburban gated communities with restrictive Home Owners Associations telling everyone how many animals they can have, what color they can paint their houses, and what kind of plants they can plant on their property.  All the houses look alike.  I thought Floridians were mostly conservative Republicans?  I thought conservative Republicans were against oppressive big government?   Why do they choose to live like this, without personal freedoms?  Where are the rugged individualists?   Or have the rugged individualists all become Libertarians?  These are the things I wonder now that I have been retired for six full months!

And now a few words about our current living situation: The Concrete Jungle, aka RV Vacation Resort.  In truth, it is quiet and pleasant to be here.  There is a total vacation vibe.  Everyone is taking it easy.  The RV’s and trailers are parked herringbone style, fairly close to each other.  This is a large park with a lot of units, and across from us is a row of small, prefab houses that are referred to as cottages.  The cottages were once rentals.  The resort is slowly selling them off.  A few of the owners may or may not live in their cottages year round.  When we first moved in (early April) there were a lot more RV’s parked in unit spaces.  By May 1^st, about half have moved out – theoretically to go back north?  Some have left, but continue to rent the unit space and leave their RV parked here.  I am not sure what the draw is about this place.  It is backed up against a Publix grocery store and strip mall on one side.  The other sides are surrounded by the ubiquitous new housing developments.

There is a clubhouse, pool, and administrative complex in the middle of the park.  The office manager is British.  She is kick-ass efficient and keeps everything running smoothly.  She is also da boss.  I so wanted to like her.  But, we pissed her off right away when we first arrived because we tried to get both cars in under only one gate opening.  My husband loves the challenge.  We managed, but it really made her angry.  She wanted us to be punished.  She scolded us soundly.  I think she might have waved her finger at us, too.  I felt rebuked and ashamed for our transgression.  My husband, T, being a former lost boy and all, thought it was funny and wanted to do it again.  He was not sufficiently obsequious or sorry.  She knew.  She can tell when you are bad to the bone.  Other residents seem to have an electronic pass that opens the gate.  We did not receive one.  I can only imagine why.  We have to punch the *&^%$! code in each and every time.  I have seen her flirt with some of the old men who come in to hang out with her or to pick up their mail.  “Here comes trouble!” she will say in her slightly higher and more feminine “nice voice.”  I have never seen her pal around or joke with a woman.  I tried to be funny with her once, but only ended up laughing at my own joke a little too shrill as she stared a hole through me.  I might have even displayed some facial heaves as the air became thicker...very awkward. She reminds me of a couple of office professionals I have worked with over the years.  She controls the atmosphere within her sphere and only dispenses good vibes on her favorites – the ones who suck up to her regularly.  The rest of us are beneath her notice.  Thank you, God, for not making me her supervisor.

Still Waiting, Dammit!

Ok, now it is beyond waiting. It is about control. I have none. I want some. What is a woman to do? I am afraid the answer to that is “get cranky.”

I like to do things on the spur of the moment; the lack of planning makes everything more fun. Yesterday at 2:45 pm I came up with the brilliant idea of driving into town, picking up E (who I happened to know was home from school faking illness) and going to the theater to see the new Spiderman movie at 3:45. It takes 35 minutes to get from our trailer to their house, then 15 minutes to get from M&MV&E&N’s house to the theater. We could do it! I had faith in us.

My husband, T, agreed and we jumped in the car and headed to pick up E.  Unfortunately, T must have been on slow motion drugs yesterday afternoon because he consistently drove under the speed limit. We have a GPS and it tells us what the speed limit is, and what speed we were going. I could not believe it. He must have known how important it was to get there on time. I felt the need to shout out the speed limit to him so that he would know. As you can imagine, he REALLY seemed to like my help in that regard. The other drivers on the road were purposely driving slow, too. Bastards!  I cursed them roundly, and not quietly.  I screamed: “I hate your guts!” to a school bus filled with children.

I messaged ahead to give M instructions to have E come out as soon as we drove up so we would not have to go inside. I did not want baby N to know we were there because 1. It would break his heart when we left right away, and 2. It would slow us down to interact with him. I called again when we were punching in the access code at the gate for their housing development. Why, oh why do so many Floridians live in gated communities? Coming to a stop and punching in the numbers and then waiting forever for the hateful gate to slowly swing open cost us at least 20 seconds. E did not come out immediately when we drove up 20 seconds later. So I called again. M messaged that E was going to the bathroom. Fine. I guess they do not plan ahead either.

It took forever to get from E’s house to the theater. OK, maybe because I insisted T take a new “short-cut,” and I miscalculated how short the cut was, whatever. We arrived at the theater at 3:50. I ran to the ticket counter, E and T trailing behind. What is it with slow motion drugs, I wondered? Don’t they know how to run?

Previews were being shown and there were only seats left up front, so the ticket person suggested we pay a bit more and go to the 4:00 3D showing. I glanced at E&T to see if they wanted to go to the 3:45 non 3D (as planned) or the 4:00 3D showing. I sincerely thought I heard them say, “No, we want to stick with the plan – go to the 3:45 show.” I paid for the 3:45 tickets. When we got in they stupidly were trying to veer into the 3D cinema entrance. I yelled at them that it was not the one we were going to. I could not believe they were wasting more TIME. With what I can only call shock they informed me that they both had told me at the ticket counter that they wanted to go to the 4:00 3D movie instead. Sheesh.

We walked in and took seats in the 3D theater. We had about 7 minutes to kill. I immediately began to relax. T went to get snacks for all of us. You can drink beer and wine in this theater, plus they sell fries with cheese sauce. So, snacks are pretty great here. Then sweet E turned to me with frightened eyes and asked what we would do if we got arrested for going into the wrong theater? Ouch, the heady responsibility of being a grandparent!  I reassured her I would go out and tell the authorities we were in the 3D theater, and I would pay the additional $6 cost. Good thing, too, because we did not have 3D glasses…

I walked up to the nearest authority (a tall, skinny, pimply faced 16 year old boy) and confessed our sins. He shook his head at me sadly and told me that was not the way we were supposed to do this. My eyes glazed over as I successfully managed not to punch him in the head. Over the right ear would have been good, I thought. He gave me 3 pairs of 3D glasses and I returned to my seat.

T then came back with a tray full of food and drink. E had fries with cheese sauce, a humongous box of cookie dough candy, and a Sierra Mist that was at least a foot tall. T got fries and a glass of white wine. I am on a life-long diet so naturally I only got wine. As he went to sit down the tray tipped and HIS glass of white wine spilled over and onto him, the tray, and the floor. We moved up to the next row, cleaning up as best we could. The floor, however, remained sticky.

Spiderman was great! It was fast paced, and included lots of fighting, lots of crashing and plenty of yelling. Just what the doctor ordered. I was refreshed. I worked out a lot of anger issues watching Electro get his butt kicked by Spidey.  Although I felt kind of sorry for Electro because it was not really his fault that he turned bad. Sigh. My nerves are shot. I may need to go see the Captain America movie today. Alone.