Pimptastic Fridays!

People drive as slow as molasses in Florida.  I know what you are going to say……that’s because they’re all old people.  Not so in Jacksonville.  According to City Data, the median age, 33.8 years, here is much younger, whereas the rest of Florida is 38.7.  It is just summer in the South, and it is Holy Jesus HOT, so everything slows down at the rate that is inversely proportionate to how fast my blood pressure sky rockets when I have get on the road behind these a-holes.  I know, traffic and I have never really got along, and it is my nemesis to achieving any sort of Zen state that I constantly babble on about, but you know it’s bad when the police throw their hands up in the air at one another for pimping a snail’s pace along the streets of the ‘hood.

So……what usually causes the hold up?  Lifted Cutlass Supremes on 20s.  No doubt the tires and rims cost more than the whole automobile and will be worth more when they go to sell it to scrap.  Before that happens, I have to admit that I have now taken to stalking these Pimptastic Vehicles.

I love Fridays because you get to see the Mac Daddy Rides out bumpin’ along the streets.  Pimps have strict rules about no pictures and no autographs, so all pics have been taken on the DL.  I am proud to say I have developed keen secret squirrel spy skills that would impress even the most sneaky of private investigators (hmmmm….I will add that to possible job opportunities list).

It has now become one of my guilty pleasures when I see a Pimp-Mobile pass me heading the opposite way to flip a bitch in the middle of the street (which is quite common to see here in JAX, for I don’t believe there nearly the same amount of cumbersome traffic laws, that hamper the ability to change your mind at the last second when driving, as other states have enacted).  I have even coerced my poor mother into the joy of finding and following these cars in hopes of taking a quick pic all in the name of making me giggle.

The Hookah Bar is indeed the best place for hunting my illusive prey.  I have learned that Pimps enjoy a good hookah on a Friday afternoon.


Of course, I always appreciate when they stop to smoke up with our neighbors next door, then I don’t have to interrupt my porch party to run out and chase down a photo.

J is slow to catch onto the amusement of my shenanigans, but he’s getting there.  A couple weeks ago, we were leaving a baseball game and happened to see the Pimp Royal of this class of vehicles and I screamed “Turn the car around!” so loud that he almost veered off the road.  My mom chimed in, “turn around, turn around!”  I was frantically trying to explain that he needed to get his ass in gear because we had to “FOLLOW THAT CAR!” to get a picture to share.  Alas, he took too long and the moment was gone.  I politely pouted the remainder of the evening over the loss.  He made it up to me on Sunday, when he arrived at the house and proudly reported that there was a maroon and yellow Pimp-Mobile at the GhettoMart up the road.  I immediately took off to take its picture!  By the time I arrived, it had left the Mart, however.

I have kept my eye out for this car ever since and am happy to say that I finally saw the car today in the parking lot at GhettoMart!  I have named her “Seminole Wind”.  And, to my surprise, I believe she has caught onto my antics.  Just as I was pulling upside to take her picture, the driver suddenly left the parking lot, heading the opposite direction, then turned around and came after me!  I frantically pulled into KFC drive-thru pretending that we were anxious to get a big bucket of fried chicken instead of her photo.  I had been fooled into thinking that she was audacious, with her flags and all, but quickly remembered the #1 Pimp Rule:  no pictures, no autographs.  The driver and I now have a stare down and just as he blinks, I whip out my camera, snap a pic, and shove it back into my purse.  Then, without breaking a sweat, I set my gaze forward and pull up to the speaker to order.

Fortunately, she forgets who is doing the hunting, and the driver leaves the parking lot, so I don’t have to order a grease pile.  I drive away without placing an order and head home.  As I am pulling onto the street to my mom’s house, I see Ms. Seminole Wind heading back my way.  I scream, “Holy shit, the bitch found me!” and skid my car into the alley, open the garage door, speed inside and close it before the driver knows where I live.

I have officially retired my post as taker of fine Pimp-Mobile photos, no need to get shot over this shit.  I guess I will go back to looking for a real job…