"Just do it again...
…I may cry oh no no but do it again. My mom may scold me cause she told me it was naughty but then. Please! Do it again. Just do it again and again and again.”
I had so much fun with my Carrie Bradshaw moment last night that I couldn’t resist. I should add a cigarette to the act, but then I remembered she quit after meeting Adian. And let’s be honest, it doesn’t really get good til then, so why regress?
I’ve realized that my existence in Miami is a comedy of errors. Nothing normal can ever come of my life here, of that I am convinced. Tonight, since I had no received a phone call from Problem #2, I was slightly peeved (although it may have something to do with the little language barrier…are you seeing my point about normality yet?!) and decided that I really needed a chair for my balcony. Unlike the rest of the normal world, Miami is still terribly warm (well naturally since Hell rarely gets below a balmy 75 degrees) and so one could reasonably sit on her balcony even though it’s 10pm. I decided to go to Walmart, which even a 2pm on a Wednesday is a bad life decision, but I had already checked out Target which failed me miserably for the first time. I should have known better. So I can’t find patio furniture anywhere and I decide to be brilliant and check in the lawn and garden center which has now turned into Rockin Christmas Shit 2004. I ask the cashier a plain and comprehenable question: “Do you have any patio furniture?” She answers me in Spanish. “NO. Patio furniture?” Thinking at this point, if I wanted an answer in Spanish I would have asked the damn question in Spanish and which was precisely the reason I didn’t ask anyone wandering around the store because they looked seriously unable to answer in English. Her response, “Em, em, es para enero, no no diciembre, Christmas.” “So no furniture?” “No”. I left. It was too much for me. So I go to Home Depot, which screamed patio furniture. Sure enough I was right picked out a great chair, paid for it, brought it out to my car when the question just begged to be asked was asked, How the hell am I going to put this in Lola (the Corolla). I made some feeble attempts. It was pathetic. I was sure I was going to die until I thought of what Cynthia would tell me. She would surely say, Jess, you can do it. You don’t need a man, you’re crafty and going to find a way to get this chair into that car. Think of it as ‘character building moment’. Riiiiiiiiight. I call over a nice HD worker who is kind enough to help me figure out I sure as hell aint getting the damn thing in the backseat. He’s asking me all about my stickers on Lola…NY, W&M, and then FIU. I begrudgingly mention I’m a grad student at FIU and he asked me what I’m studying as we try to fit the thing into the trunk. I say “Legal Psychology.” He says I’m studying something similar to that. I ask him what it is, thinking you know maybe criminal justice or something. He tells me he’s studying physical therapy and wants to work in a hospital. When he mentions that he graduated from FSU and now is getting his MS at FIU I wanted to put him and the rest of the city in a hospital for stupidity. Then he starts talking about FSU football and asking me about W&M football, which I honestly don’t know that much about but has the nerve to point it out to me after he compared physical therapy to legal psych. Quality. It gets better. He then comments as to how he is going to FSU next weekend, not this weekend cause it’s the weekend right now mind you, to visit his girlfriend, but that they are telling him she’s cheating on him so he doesn’t know what he is going to do and has to decide if he wants a long distance relationship with her. At that point, I thank him and get into the fucking car. Yes, that’s right, its another night in Miami.
So my question is, this bizarreness, this element totally devoid of normality, is this just Miami? Or is it the real world? I have to have hope, so I’m going with just Miami on this one. Please make it stop.
CSI Miami has a show where a tidal wave threatens to obliterate Miami. If only life imitated art, I’d be gassin up Lola and packing up my life into my car (which we all know I can do) and driving north. Dana, I’m thinking I’d see ya in like 10-12 hours, so make my and Manhattan’s beds. Sigh.
As I recounted all of this to my mom tonight, she asked where Manhattan was. I said she was inside because I didn’t want her flying over the railing and then I’d never see her before. I commented, “Watch out flying cat. Watch out flying human. Oh nice Jess broke her arm that’s all she needs right now.” My mom mentioned that I’d get to meet the Miami-Dade Fire Rescue. I called for the cat. She said that even those men probably weren’t normal. I said that I’ve (again) gotta believe they have more functional brain cells than the rest of this place. But then again, brain cells aren’t necessarily what I’d need to be functioning properly.
But they really are. I just want some normal human contact. I want this Problem #2 to work out because I’ve got to believe that someone nice and normal and hot is gonna come my way soon. Dammit, I’ve survived long enough without that. And let’s be honest, I’m hot now too. “I seen you there, shakin that fiiiine ass!” In the Kanye West scheme of things I could pull me an NBA playa and shop every day on Rodeo Drive. But I’m not. Perhaps being the anti-skank has something to do with it down here. Cynthia, could you and Eugene come down here and explain the difference between the anti-skank and the anti-ho?
“Thanks to Kanye’s work out plan I’m the envy of all my friends. See I’ve pulled me a baller man and I ain’t gotta work at the mall again!”
I had so much fun with my Carrie Bradshaw moment last night that I couldn’t resist. I should add a cigarette to the act, but then I remembered she quit after meeting Adian. And let’s be honest, it doesn’t really get good til then, so why regress?
I’ve realized that my existence in Miami is a comedy of errors. Nothing normal can ever come of my life here, of that I am convinced. Tonight, since I had no received a phone call from Problem #2, I was slightly peeved (although it may have something to do with the little language barrier…are you seeing my point about normality yet?!) and decided that I really needed a chair for my balcony. Unlike the rest of the normal world, Miami is still terribly warm (well naturally since Hell rarely gets below a balmy 75 degrees) and so one could reasonably sit on her balcony even though it’s 10pm. I decided to go to Walmart, which even a 2pm on a Wednesday is a bad life decision, but I had already checked out Target which failed me miserably for the first time. I should have known better. So I can’t find patio furniture anywhere and I decide to be brilliant and check in the lawn and garden center which has now turned into Rockin Christmas Shit 2004. I ask the cashier a plain and comprehenable question: “Do you have any patio furniture?” She answers me in Spanish. “NO. Patio furniture?” Thinking at this point, if I wanted an answer in Spanish I would have asked the damn question in Spanish and which was precisely the reason I didn’t ask anyone wandering around the store because they looked seriously unable to answer in English. Her response, “Em, em, es para enero, no no diciembre, Christmas.” “So no furniture?” “No”. I left. It was too much for me. So I go to Home Depot, which screamed patio furniture. Sure enough I was right picked out a great chair, paid for it, brought it out to my car when the question just begged to be asked was asked, How the hell am I going to put this in Lola (the Corolla). I made some feeble attempts. It was pathetic. I was sure I was going to die until I thought of what Cynthia would tell me. She would surely say, Jess, you can do it. You don’t need a man, you’re crafty and going to find a way to get this chair into that car. Think of it as ‘character building moment’. Riiiiiiiiight. I call over a nice HD worker who is kind enough to help me figure out I sure as hell aint getting the damn thing in the backseat. He’s asking me all about my stickers on Lola…NY, W&M, and then FIU. I begrudgingly mention I’m a grad student at FIU and he asked me what I’m studying as we try to fit the thing into the trunk. I say “Legal Psychology.” He says I’m studying something similar to that. I ask him what it is, thinking you know maybe criminal justice or something. He tells me he’s studying physical therapy and wants to work in a hospital. When he mentions that he graduated from FSU and now is getting his MS at FIU I wanted to put him and the rest of the city in a hospital for stupidity. Then he starts talking about FSU football and asking me about W&M football, which I honestly don’t know that much about but has the nerve to point it out to me after he compared physical therapy to legal psych. Quality. It gets better. He then comments as to how he is going to FSU next weekend, not this weekend cause it’s the weekend right now mind you, to visit his girlfriend, but that they are telling him she’s cheating on him so he doesn’t know what he is going to do and has to decide if he wants a long distance relationship with her. At that point, I thank him and get into the fucking car. Yes, that’s right, its another night in Miami.
So my question is, this bizarreness, this element totally devoid of normality, is this just Miami? Or is it the real world? I have to have hope, so I’m going with just Miami on this one. Please make it stop.
CSI Miami has a show where a tidal wave threatens to obliterate Miami. If only life imitated art, I’d be gassin up Lola and packing up my life into my car (which we all know I can do) and driving north. Dana, I’m thinking I’d see ya in like 10-12 hours, so make my and Manhattan’s beds. Sigh.
As I recounted all of this to my mom tonight, she asked where Manhattan was. I said she was inside because I didn’t want her flying over the railing and then I’d never see her before. I commented, “Watch out flying cat. Watch out flying human. Oh nice Jess broke her arm that’s all she needs right now.” My mom mentioned that I’d get to meet the Miami-Dade Fire Rescue. I called for the cat. She said that even those men probably weren’t normal. I said that I’ve (again) gotta believe they have more functional brain cells than the rest of this place. But then again, brain cells aren’t necessarily what I’d need to be functioning properly.
But they really are. I just want some normal human contact. I want this Problem #2 to work out because I’ve got to believe that someone nice and normal and hot is gonna come my way soon. Dammit, I’ve survived long enough without that. And let’s be honest, I’m hot now too. “I seen you there, shakin that fiiiine ass!” In the Kanye West scheme of things I could pull me an NBA playa and shop every day on Rodeo Drive. But I’m not. Perhaps being the anti-skank has something to do with it down here. Cynthia, could you and Eugene come down here and explain the difference between the anti-skank and the anti-ho?
“Thanks to Kanye’s work out plan I’m the envy of all my friends. See I’ve pulled me a baller man and I ain’t gotta work at the mall again!”
posted by Cat at 10:30 PM
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