Friends up North, while able to appreciate the tropical paradise that is Florida the rest of the winter, wonder how on earth we deal with not having a White Christmas. Here is how we do it …

I found some fun places around the neighborhood. They’re not great photos because I took them with my phone, often while Jeff was driving by.

Next to the pool at the local nudist resort (no, there is no one at the pool, so don't bother looking.)

Those folks apparently got their gift early and straight from the Birthday Boy himself!

An egret does some last minute shopping at Best Buy.

This is how Santa delivers his stuff in swampy Florida. Make sure you leave your lanai unlocked for him!

And because we're moving and our house looks like this ...

... this is our Christmas Tree. Merry Christmas from Lisa and Jeff!

And, of course, here's Yule a dog. 😀

Jeff, eating orange "food" and drinking orange liquid. How's that for fun? Huh? Huh?

As I’ve said in many blogs, Jeff and I have become masters at making life fun for free (one of the necessities of life when you’re seriously broke). My daughter, Kristina, noticed this same ability among the locals when she was in Turkey at Incirlik AFB–the local people were terribly poor (much more so than your average American, even in “today’s economy”). She was amazed and impressed by their ability to be truly happy even though they lived in homes made of bedsheets and ropes.

Fortunately, I am wealthy enough to have a digital camera so I can take pictures of life’s little joyous moments. Here are a few recent ones:

They are not responsible for damage to your vehicle OR their sign.

Hey mister, if you’re not using that car, can I have it?

My friend, Susan, pointed this sign out to me, specifically for use in this blog. She’s obviously a regular reader, because she knew I could not pass this one up.

Yes, that’s right. The old man sitting outside of JCPenney’s is playing an accordion. Your guess is as good as mine.

Sometimes seagulls just BEG you to drive through their flock.

Who are we to say no?

Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?

Here’s you a passel o’ dogs. My favorite is the one on the lounge chair, with its legs akimbo, not giving a rat’s ass that its buddies are going crazy over a passing motorcyle.

I’m finally listening to my Inner Nag and posting a blog, just to keep the wheels greased. So here are some fun pics from the past few weeks or so.

This is the north end of a road in our area that we need to use every day, and it has been under construction forever. We’ve had to detour out of our way for what feels like an endless stretch of time. They finally paved it, but haven’t painted it yet so it’s not open, but that doesn’t mean ol’ Jeffro didn’t decide to drive the bike through there, a la Rebel Without a Shortcut. The next time we saw this intersection it was completely barricaded.

Jeff has decided, after almost two years of unemployment, to go back to school. This is a sign we saw on campus. Those of you who know Jeff can make up your own punchlines.

We saw this tank at a park recently. We don’t know who Miss Brenda is and haven’t been able to find out. We even made a point of getting off the bike and going into the park office to see if they had any literature. Not only did they not have any brochures or signage, the employees scattered like startled cockroaches when they saw curious people coming.

Oh, here’s a sign. “Keep … off … the …”

We went to the flea market today because our favorite Greek deli has a shop there, and I took this picture I’ve entitled Flea Market Karaoke. The couple singing (standing between the central pillar grouping) were very good. However, even the poor quality of this picture cannot convey the overall grunginess of the scene.

And, of course, here’s you a dog, flea market style.

Many moons ago, Jeff, the kids and I lived in California. My daughters, Kristina and Stacy, were with me in the living room when Jeff came in the front door, with an impish look on his face, holding something in his hand. He went straight to the kitchen, got a bowl out of the cupboard and said, “Come here. You gotta look at this.”

Stupidly, we gathered near while he shook something out of a cigarette wrapper into the bowl. We heard a clinking sound, as if a marble had fallen into it. Without yet truly realizing why, the three of us instinctively knew that it was time to scream like girls and run as fast as we could.

Following close behind us, an erstwhile Freddie Krueger, Jeff cajoled us, “No, wait. You gotta see this. I’ve never seen anything like this before!” We continued screaming and running until we had reached the last room in the house, my bathroom, where we locked the door and made like banshees. We shuddered and shrieked and brushed imaginary cooties off of us until our skin was raw, and told him to get the hell away from us. Ever the boy, he stood outside the door, saying, “No, really, you gotta come see this thing. I have no idea what it could be.”

After an extremely long time, he finally realized that we weren’t coming out. He took the thing back outside and we slowly and nervously went back to everyday life, not having any idea what that thing was, but knowing that we NEVER wanted to lay eyes on another one.

However, over the years as the internet has developed, I’ve tried searching for a picture of it, because I just have to know what in Lucifer’s fresh hell we had seen. What made it difficult is that I only had the briefest of glimpses at it before I fled, and I had no idea how to even begin searching something for which I had no keywords. Finally, today, I found it by Googling “scary California grasshopper.” And here, ladies and gentlemen, is quite possibly the creepiest bug in existence:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jerusalem_cricket

Jeff said to me this morning, “You haven’t written a blog in 10 days.” I replied, “We haven’t done anything worth writing about.” He agreed, and went back to slurping his coffee. (I make a damn fine cup o’ joe—Yuban brand, half and half, a sprinkle of cinnamon, sugar, and a squirt of whipped cream. Indulgent, yes, but it’s a pleasant way to start a day.) Little did I know that just a few hours later I’d be writing about something as stupid as buying a bag of ice.

After we finished our morning ritual, we headed out on the bike to the library to return some books, and Jeff remembered that we need to buy ice while we’re out. We go through approximately five bags a week, so we are old hands at remembering to buy ice, it’s that important to us. We are ice using people. One of my favorite things in life is a glass of ice water on my desk all day as I work.

Our favorite store to buy ice is Publix. It doesn’t have that funny, stale-freezer taste that some other stores have. The cubes are the right size and are easy to chew (I’m an ice chewer, but that’s a topic for another day). They are also the right shape, a hollow tube. For some reason that shape seems to last longer.

Let's play a game called "Find the Ice Cooler."

We could pick it up first thing, as soon as we walk in the door, but that only works if ice is the only thing we’re buying. We’re usually in the store for a while and the ice will melt if we put it in the cart first. So we make that the last thing we pick up. When stores put the ice cooler by the exit, after the checkout counters, we cannot logistically make it the last thing we put in the cart. We have to remember to tell the cashier that we want to buy a bag of ice and pay for it first. Neither of us can seem to do that, no matter how hard we try, no matter how many times we remind each other “Pay for the ice,” no matter how often I add it to the list, or even write it on my hand.

So today, we went to Publix on the way home from the library to buy a bag of ice. I even reminded Jeff, “Hey, this is the Publix that has the ice after the cashier, so let’s not forget that.” After all, we were only there for ice, but figured while we’re there, we’ll get a couple things. Well, we found those things, stood in line, paid for them and got all the way back out to the parking lot before we realized we didn’t buy ice. So Jeff had to go back inside, stand in line AGAIN, and tell the cashier he needs a bag of ice. Thank god he remembered it that time.

Seriously, I do not understand why stores do this. I refuse to believe they’re doing it just to be dicks, so I have to wonder: do they think it’s more convenient? Are they trying to help us? Cuz it’s not and they’re not. It’s like Bank of America telling me that they allow purchases to go through on my debit card even if there’s not enough money in the account, as a “convenience” to me (at a cost of $35 for the overdraft charge). Even after I told them that this is actually an inconvenience, and asked them to please stop helping us, they continued to ding us every time Jeff would just use the card to buy a pack of smokes or whatever nickel and diming he was doing (he was assuming that if there wasn’t enough in the account, the purchase would be denied). So, yeah. Don’t try to help me in ways that disturb my chi. Please.

How ‘bout a little standardization: why don’t you stores all put the ice with the frozen foods, near the end of the typical shopper’s flow, so it’s the last thing we see as we approach the cashiers? And then, if I don’t have enough on my card to pay for the ice, the bank can decline the purchase because otherwise that $2.00 bag of ice is going to cost me $37.00. I don’t need it that badly. I can always pull out the old fashioned ice trays and make my own.

I feel better now, having ranted a bit. Who knows? Maybe this only happened because Jeff mentioned over coffee this morning that I hadn’t written anything in a while and I said we hadn’t done anything worth writing about. Be careful what you witch for, eh?

You know what sounds good right about now? A cup of iced coffee. I’ll drink to that!

Here's you a dog, laughing at the idiot humans who can't remember to buy ice.