I finally got my license plate this morning, and I'm very happy. A nice lady across the counter named Mary suggested I get an Antique plate, because my 1988 truck qualifies, and it's cheaper.
Cheaper? Hell yea, I was expecting to shell out $400 bucks, but this pretty little unique Florida plate cost $145.55, with a Tag, new Registration, and a new Title.
Once I cover up the small hole in my right tail light with some repair tape from the parts store, I will be 100% legal and a full out Floridian.
My new bank is here and my SS now goes in there directly. My Medicare Advantage is here, I have a new Primary Care doctor here, my auto insurance is here, my drivers license is here, along with Safe Driver imprinted on it. My voter registration is here, I live here.
I'm now a totally free man again, and I'm sober. Watch the fuck out world.
And, I'm taking a short road trip West tomorrow, for a couple days, to dodge the hurricane and clear my head. Shelby's got a friend away from the Coast with a generator, and she will head there if it decides to come our way. As it stands, it's going to miss us barely to the East.
I was just chatting with a very attractive fifty eight year old single lady, that mentioned she's lonely, loves to cook, and enjoys life. I showed her my Cave and she said all I need is a woman, now and then. Maybe I'll invite her over for a movie when I get back.
I went down to the State licensing place this morning for the third time, to register my truck and get my license plate with a current tag. Finally, freedom to travel and be alive.
It was my understanding that all I needed to show was proof of insurance. I picked that up more than a month ago, and I thought we were good to go. But no, they did not have a record of the title and registration, which I brought in last time, and no plate until I brought them in again. omfg.
I was expecting to plug my new bank card into their reader and let it suck $400 out, because they think they're the best State in the country and deserve to charge that amount.
Instead, I drug myself like a beat up old dog to the front door, once again. My only recourse was to go home and grab those two items, for another early morning run downtown tomorrow, for the fourth time.
I was second in line at the back entrance this morning, the secret place where people in the know, go. I was there at 0730 for an 0815 door opening.
Had a great chat with the interesting guy in front of me. Born and raised here, just did a seven year prison stretch and is living with his mom, while on disability for some ghastly disease that ate half his chest away, which he gladly pulled up his shirt and showed me. omfg.
His life seemed rough and he talked about needing food at Walmart. I remembered that I had this $20 gift card in my wallet so I pulled it out and gave it to him. He looked it up with a phone app and it only had two dollars and change on it.
I couldn't even pull off a good deed today. omfg.
My trucks name is Jill. She got that name from the time she spent hanging out with my old lifted Chevy named Jack, back in the Idaho mountains.
The odometer says 249,801, but I know that's low since the gauge is always lower than my GPS when I fiil up.
Jill is in great shape and ready for a road trip. I had some major work done to the engine before I fell apart up in Tennessee, and she needs a good run.
She has a custom made memory foam from an outfit back in Idaho Falls, and I sleep great on it. No motels for me!
I almost had another run in with the law today, when I walked up to the Dollar General looking for Super Glue. I decided to go up and down each isle to get a feel for what they have, and on one isle I encountered a punk ass young muscular black guy, who wouldn't let me pass.
He thrust his cart in front of me and said This is my isle! Sadly he must of been trying to impress the young lady he was with, but she was just rolling her eyes and looked embarrassed. The scene reminded me of one of the prison movies I've been watching lately were guys were trying to build up some cred.
I looked behind him and realized there was nothing I needed there, then looked him in the eye, turned my back on him and headed to the next isle over, and I loudly said, What a fucking idiot!
As I got to the end of that isle I heard him going off, apparently he's not used to being called a fucking idiot in front of his girl. I approached a young lady cashier and asked her were the Super Glue was, but she was distracted by the loud stupid idiot approaching, who said I brushed up against him. Uh huh...
Hey man, you want to take a swing at an old guy in shorts and sandals, I'll make sure we go to court and he goes to jail. I think the fact that I was grinning and shaking my head to the clerk pissed him off even more.
Anyway, I got my Super Glue, didn't back down to the fool, and walked back home. The reason I needed the glue was to fix my broken tail light, which still has a hole.
I'm heading downtown tomorrow morning to finish licensing my truck and get a new Florida plate, before the hurricane arrives on Wednesday.
We could end up in the bullseye, and could lose water and electricity for a week. Shelby has a new friend that owns a gun store, lives a ways out of town and has a generator. He's invited her to come there if it gets crazy, and me too, but this has Road Trip written all over it.
Stay tuned!
I have a tough decision to make, coming up soon. Do I pay the outrageous fees the Florida government want's to register my old truck, and regain my mobility, or do I pay the yearly fees to keep this blog alive. I'm really leaning towards my truck.
I've been sitting on our front porch watching the Sun go down and hoping the Blue Angels do a Sunday flyby on their return to home base. It's a mind blowing sight to see them fly fifty feet above the freeway in a single line right in front of our place.
As soon as I came inside to write this Post, I heard them roar by. Maybe that's a sign to stop writing and sharing my life, and just live it.
I've been blogging almost daily for the last thirteen years, across two Blogs and three States. If I don't pay the upcoming bill, it all goes away, forever.
I just saw on the news that the reverend Franklin Graham's religious charity has donated twenty armored ambulances to Israel.
It's a hell of a fucking life that needs that, and I'm grateful for the simple life I live here in the Gulf, even though a hurricane may be coming.
I met his father once in Reno, NV around 1965. I was a punk kid working as a bellman at the Holiday Inn and the place was buzzing one night about some special guests that wanted to remain anonymous. I got picked to serve them dinner so I delivered two meals to Billy Graham and his wife, both in their pajamas, and a couple meals going to the adjoining room where the kids were staying, Franklin Graham being one of them.
I have just one big fucking thing to say about this. I'm not a religious man, but I love and respect integrity, and I would bet my life that nobody is this family has ever attended a P-Diddy freak party!
This world is full of good and bad, and I would like to believe that I exist in the world of Good.
We drove down to the Market today, with the two dogs hooked up to matching straps. We met Amanda there with one of her dogs, then Chelsea played Uber Driver in her Lexus as we picked up food and drove down the short distance to Bruce Beach.
The Pensacola weather was perfect and I got to hang out with lovely women, and sweet pretty dogs. Life is good.
Our neighbors Dan and Crystal got a brand new refrigerator. Their previous one was in great shape, better than ours, and taking up space in their garage. So they gave it to us.
Now we have an ice and filtered water dispenser that works, and a great new box. Our previous one ended up with me out here in the Cave. The potentials with that are endless once we plug it in.
Shelbs wants to store a lot of the craft beers that didn't make it into the new box, out here in the Cave. Sure, why not, it will go good with the well stocked liquor cabinet behind my chair.
What an interesting place to be. Normally I would enjoy being surrounded by booze, getting drunk while my roommate is dressed to kill and out on the town on a beautiful Friday evening.
Sure, I could very easily do that, hell, I bet my local bar is hopping right now. But I am not, as I slide into week four, sober.
Instead of getting fucked up, I'm working out and living healthy. I love my grand-daughter, my boy and his family, and our two dogs Zinny and Lexi. I'm doing this for myself and them, nobody else.
I never talk politics on this blog, but I'm going to make an exception here. I think Taylor Swift should run as an Independent.
She could change her endorsement to herself and hold huge events. And hide those ugly legs of hers, that she sadly loves to show, with pantsuits like Tamala.
Then make Travis her VP, think of all the football fans they could attract. Hey, they're not married, fucking yes I suppose, but that would fit right in with todays politics.
So there you go, a woman President, part Black and part Hispanic, born with a dick, and hopefully looks good in pantsuits.
Taylor Swift For President!
We met my new Primary Care doctor this morning, and he's great. I told him the vibrations are gradually subsiding as I get back into shape, so we're dropping one of my meds.
Today marks three weeks sober. I did 105 abb rolls this morning and I plan on adding five a day. Shelbs and I moved her expensive exercise bike over next to my chair so I can ride and watch my big TV.
This thing has a fancy screen that lets me bike around popular places in the world. We're going to see if my new Medicare Advantage insurance supports a subscription to it, which would allow me to ride with other people live, even up in the Grand Tetons.
I weighed in at 157 at the doctors today, first time I've weighed myself in months. My perfect weight is 150 so I've got a few pounds to shed on my gut to reach that, and be able to see my abbs again.
I'm beginning to wonder who the hell I am lately...
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