Broward County is a wonderful place. Let's just start out by saying that.
Beautiful beaches, amazing cuisine -- there's a reason tourism is a big business here. People want to come to Broward. Yay, Broward! You go, Broward!
OK, have we built Broward up enough yet? Yes? Good. Let's knock it down.
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Now, Broward, as we just said, we love you. We really do. After all, so many of us live inside of you. And that is by choice, my friend. But, like anybody, there are parts of you we wish didn't exist. Dirty, smelly parts that make us cringe when we catch a glimpse of them in the mirror.
We're not pointing these out just to degrade you or make you feel bad about yourself. No, we want to help you change. We want to give you a tiny shove in the right direction and watch you sail off into a beautiful sunset.
But before any of that can happen, there are some things we need to discuss.
6. The Coral Ridge Mall If you made the Galleria watch Schindler's List a dozen times, then told it that its cat got hit by a car, you'd have the Coral Ridge Mall. Plainly: It's sad.
When the most exciting thing inside you is a T.J. Maxx, you are a very depressing shopping center (or a very drunk girl who met a guy named T.J. Max at a bar).
The Coral Ridge Mall directory looks like a list of names Sawgrass Mills specifically told the doorman not to let into its birthday party.
Perhaps the oddest addition to the Coral Ridge Mall is the new Le Macaron (or as Auntie Anne's calls them, "That place with them fancy Oreos"). You can't make a mall better by sticking a fancy macaron shop in it. The glamour of those delicate little pastries quickly melts away when you turn a corner to see an obese gentleman shoplifting rubber sandals from Old Navy.
5. Beach Place From afar, Beach Place looks like a happening spot. You can hear the music, see the bikinis, and taste the alcohol in the air. But upon closer inspection, it's clear that Beach Place is less of an oasis and more of a sewage reservoir.
What makes Beach Place so scummy? That's like asking what makes Chipotle so delicious. It's a little bit of everything. The horrid parking situation, the belligerent bars, the Hooters girls who say they'll call but never do MELISSA!
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But if you're still not convinced, just know that the City of Fort Lauderdale officially declared Beach Place a nuisance. Officially. Like, they had a meeting.
Do you know how horrible you have to be for the City of Fort Lauderdale -- Fort Lauderdale -- to officially declare you a nuisance? That's like Willie Nelson telling you to ease up on the ganja.
4. Weston And on the seventh day, God said, "All done!"
But then his secretary chimed in, "Pardon me, Mr. God, but you forgot about this little western part of Broward County. What are we going to do with that?"
God thought for a moment, stroking his long white beard. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and looked up. "Nothing!" God said.
And thus, Weston was born.
3. Riverfront Have we found Joseph Kony yet? No? Check Riverfront. Seriously. It's the perfect hiding spot. There are plenty of dark crevices, no one has been there since 2003, and J-Ko loves being near the water. It soothes him (allegedly).
Riverfront is like your neighbor. It's given up. It doesn't bother to wear pants anymore and hasn't taken the mail in for eight years.
2. This CVS This one right here on 2240 E. Sunrise Blvd., Fort Lauderdale, a mile west of the Sunrise bridge. Why is this CVS one of the worst places in Broward? Because it is the most unnecessary CVS in the history of the CVS universe. More unnecessary than the newest iTunes update and gas station receipts combined.
It used to be a Borders -- an airy, two-story bookstore overlooking Middle River. And then, you know, people stopped buying books. But instead of replacing it with a nice restaurant or museum or -- God forbid -- another bookstore, they painted that sucker white, slapped three red letters across the top, and thus the most gaudy, useless CVS ever was born.
Now the only interesting literature inside the place is instructions on the back of the herpes cream.
1. Himmarshee at 3 a.m. Himmarshee at 10 p.m.? Active, vibrant even. Himmarshee at midnight? There's an uneasy tension building, like the first 15 minutes of a zombie movie. Himmarshee at 3 a.m.? Biceps tattoos as far as the eye can see. Drunken girls who at one point had dreams of being an astronaut or president of the United States now shuffle barefoot out of Capones, heels in one hand, a wet cigarette in the other.
The only reason to still be around Himmarshee at 3 a.m. is to get laid, get arrested, or get pizza. And the pizza sucks.
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