Florida, wave it high…radically red, pro white and light blue.

I have been in the bipolar Sunshine State for two days and the pervasive attitude is more disconcerting than a teenager going through puberty.

The weather is extreme.

One minute is is blue skies the next the sirens are blaring to take cover from the impending mighty tropical storm.

Thunder and lightning lasts for hours and then within minutes the birds are Elon Musking and the sky is an azure blue.

The politics are the same.

The hot topic is the Mouse versus the Bloated Mouth that Roars.

And today the Florida legislature just extended the Don’t Say Gay law to include high schoolers. What a bunch of hypocritical political toddlers who originally claimed the law was to protect young school age children. Did not realize that teenagers fell under that age restriction…old enough to be shot,, but can’t utter the word gay.

Options…no personal income tax vs. living for a  minimum of  6 months in Florida.

Groceries are surprisingly high… can you believe a small squeeze bottle of Hellmann’s Real/Best Foods Mayonnaise is $8, higher than New York City and Los Angeles and fresh squeezed home grown orange juice is $9 for a quart bottle.

Ignorance, spreading faster than SPF 30 sunscreen on half-naked twentysomething blondies baking on the south Florida beaches, is rampant.

Drivers are either cutting in and out at 100mph or driving 25 with their emergency flashers on in the HUV  lane.

Relaxed activities abound, but no one looks happy.

Yesterday, I needed to return a rental car with a full tank so I was forced to wait 35 minutes at a West Palm Beach gas station.

A woman barely clothed in a hot pink backless jumpsuit 3 sizes too small was ahead of me in line filling her tank.

She filed her nails, ate Cheetos and talked on her cell by the gas pump. I was hoping the cell ignited the pump, but then I’d be up in flames, as well.

There were, no joke, 50 cars in line, reminiscent of odd–even rationing in the U.S. in 1979.

I was literally stuck because many of the gas stations in the West Palm Beach area were flooded.

Gas is $3.75 a gallon. I would have paid $10 a gallon to get out of that place.

I spend time reading and writing on my porch watching challenged golfers hack the ball and take 10 strokes to get to the pin, but it’s socially rewarding.

Early mornings begin with sunrise and a colorful mug of coffee gradually bleeding into a sunset cocktail.

Just chillin’, not straying far from the self-contained gated community, observing the yin and yang of the open carry, Can’t Fix Stupid, anti-abortion, book banning, LBGTQIA hating, state of the Sunshine state. ?