Miami: The real deal

Here we are, another full twenty-four hours later, and I still don't have time to write a proper post about Miami.  That's what happens when you take a long weekend off to go lie on the beach and take pictures of giant, oily men in thongs: you get slammed at work when you come home.  It's the law of the universe.  Or something.

But!  In light of the fact that the picture I posted yesterday elicited a record number of comments for this site, I'm going to skip my lunch break today so I can write about Miami.  That's selflessness for you, internet.  You can thank me later.  I am partial to tulips and I take my hazelnut coffee with skim milk and splenda, just so you know.

So.  Let's begin.  I only have an hour here, and so very much to tell you (actually, not that much, as we did nothing but eat, sleep, and drink, but that doesn't sound as fun, does it?)  I suppose that I should first introduce you to the characters of this tale; the four fabulous friends that made this trip with me.  We have my friend who now lives in Richmond, Jenny, my friend who lives in NYC and has the cutest and trendiest wardrobe of anyone I know, Melly, the friend who is an Anthropology Grad Student, Bethy, and the friend who is an actual lawyer with an actual assistant in New York, KP.  God, that just took so much thinking, I'm not sure I can go on. 

But I will.  For you, internet.  Tulips, remember.

On Thursday night, Jenny drove from Richmond to Baltimore, and after spending the night listening to Henry cry at the inhumanity of his nocturnal confinement in the bathroom, we both dragged ourselves out of bed at 5:30am and drove to BWI for our 8am flight to Fort Lauderdale.  I'm not going to say the trip was easy because I am morally and ethically opposed to calling anything that involves getting up before 7am "easy", but it was not too bad.  I don't know about Jenny, because the lovely folks at Airtran Airways would not allow us to sit together, but I passed out the second we got on the plane and woke up what seemed like 5 minutes later in Florida.  After we claimed our bags, we made our way to the largest rental car facility I have ever seen in my life to pick up our Kia Rio or similar vehicle.  If you ever need to rent a car, please allow me to recommend that you NOT rent from Thrifty.  The idiocy of their counter staff was unbelievable.  They refused to let me put the car on my credit card unless I was going to be the driver (and, as we know, that wasn't going to happen).  They refused to let Jenny put it on her debit card without charging an extra fee.  They barraged us with pointless questions that were obviously for their marketing purposes only, because I don't see why they need to know what company I work for or my office phone number.  Jenny ended up yelling "I DON'T HAVE A JOB" (which is untrue, she is gainfully employed) just to get the Thrifty lady to stop asking for her company name, and finally we got the keys and sped off down 95 toward Miami.

When we arrived at the hotel, we encountered similar ineptitude.  We could not check in until 3pm (understandable), and we couldn't valet the car until we were checked in (huh?)  Since the only other option was meter parking that cost 25 cents per 15 minutes, we pooled our change, parked the car, and went to change in the lobby bathroom, only to find that it required a room key to open the door.  We didn't have a room key, of course, since we weren't allowed to check in.  At this point, Jenny's head exploded, a sympathetic employee slipped us a key card, and we put on our bathing suits and headed to the beach.  KP had arrived at the hotel at the same time as Jenny and I, and Melly was already waiting for us on the beach.

As soon as we got out there, everything was OK.

The weather was perfect and warm, the ocean was refreshing and clean, and it was joyous.  After lathering up on sunscreen (of course) we all stretched out on our towels and took a nap.  A few hours later, Bethy arrived and all was right in the world.

When we could take no more sun, we went back to the hotel, checked in (finally), showered off the sunscreen and headed out to the main drag of South Beach.  It took me about five minutes to realize that every single stereotype about South Beach is true.  We saw people walking down the street with giant snakes around their necks (I screamed), girls wearing outfits skimpier than my skimpiest underwear and shoes taller than I would have thought were humanly possible.  We saw people eating dinner at fancy restaurants in their bathing suits.  We saw 50-year-old men wearing nothing but booty shorts and big gold chains over their leathery tanned skin talking on their cell phones in thick Long Island accents about their Ferraris.  It was glorious.

The place we finally picked for dinner could not have been more perfect.  It could totally have been a set for Nip/Tuck.  In fact, I kept looking around Julian McMahon.  There was a guy playing a jazz flute walking around, club music playing in the background, flashing lights everywhere, and a girl was dressed like she was auditioning to be The Next Pussycat Doll dancing while twirling fire on a stage.  Although our dinner and drinks cost as much as I make in two weeks it was worth every penny.

Melly and Bethy with their dirty martinis.  Which, by the way, taste like rotten buttsweat.  I'll stick to my vodka and cranberry, thank you very much.

Is it totally lame to tell you that when we finished our (very long) dinner, we went home and passed out?   Because, um, what I really mean is that we went out clubbing until 7am.  Yeah.

The next day we headed out to the beach again, but we were forced to come back to the hotel around noon when it started to rain.  So instead of lying on the beach, we laid in our beds watching a marathon of The Pussycat Dolls: The Search for the Next Doll.  I suppose I should have been disappointed, but I was not.  At all.  I am embarrassed to admit this, but seeing as I think I'm going to post the most horrible picture ever taken of me ever later in this entry, here goes:  I love The Pussycat Dolls show.  It's like America's Next Top Model, but with choreographed dancing.  And I only got into it a few weeks ago, so this marathon allowed me to catch up on all the drama I'd  missed.  It was awesome. 

After several hours of napping, Pussycat Dolls reruns, and drinking in the room, we headed out for night #2.  I would like to pause for a moment here to let that ruminate: I went out two nights in a row.  I'm such a rockstar, maybe I should audition for The Pussycat Dolls!  (I seriously, really, love the show, in case you couldn't tell).

And, that's all I have time for today.  Miami: Part 2 will have to come tomorrow.  Stay tuned!

Comments

[janet]

more more! okay, I'll wait til tomorrow.

I forgot to mention that when I was in Miami I saw Beyonce (yeah like the real live person) in a boutique in South Beach. It was very cool and she is super hot. It definitely added to the feeling of Miami being everything stereotypical that you expect it to be...

[heidikins]

Oooh! I love this so far! Sounds like a fab vacay, can't wait to hear more!

xox