Miami Vices
Jano's Golden Birthday could only been done right in Miami Beach. We were excited for sunshine, beach, and hundreds of gorgeous gay men in tight swim trunks, slathered with sunscreen and tanning oil as their glistening biceps and pecs roasted in the sun. Sigh. Friday we were exhausted from just being exhausted, but rallied to head out to Score, which proved disappointing. Jano, his sister Maia and Babs, and I ventured out to the club de le creme, Crobar. Or so I heard. In reality, it was over-rated, over-priced, and overrun with testosterone. Babs, Maia, and I used Jano as a shield most of the night as guys tried their damnedest to get on us. Upon hitting the dance floor, some tall, very white boy tags along with me--he's not really fun looking--kinda over-zealous. Jano, in all his good judgement, grabs the guy by his white t-shirt (in a club??) and tells him "she's taken!" Said boy apologizes profusely and walks away. We all proceed to dance to a mediocre DJ who has too many breaks between music changes... one every song and it drove us nuts--especially for electronica and house music. My god, where did he learn to DJ? School for the deaf?
The only light I managed to ignorantly squash was a cute, tall boy who Babs was trying to get me close to, but I assumed she was still talking about over-zealous boy. At one point, she physically moved me next to him and I (so stupid) moved her in my place and didn't even look at said hottie. Sigh. You know what they say; if a girl makes eye contact, it means she's interested and after the slew of not worth batting a lash at, I didn't think this guy would be worth it. So, I was chastised later by Babs and Maia for turning down my only promising XY. Alas, will the bad luck not end?
After an afternoon sunning on the beach and ogling hotties, we had dinner at Joe's Stone Crab, one of the 1000 places you need to go before you die as the Stone Crab Claws are to die for! We had a chipper and fun waiter named Jorge. He obviously was fed up with the uppity crowd that flooded the place and was happy to tease us and make jokes. You could tell he enjoyed waiting on us. He freaked me out at one point as he flirtatiously tried to show me how to eat the crab claws. He grabs one of our claws, breaks the claw from the arm, tears away the shell until the meat is sticking out from one side of the claw and dips it into my mustard sauce. At this point, Maia, Babs, and Jano are looking on partially in horror, partially in anticipation, and partially in amusement as they are trying to figure out where is Jorge going with this? Was he going to eat it himself and force us to ask him to bring a replacement? Uh, no. He proceeds to feed me the crab claw. It felt like food porn. But he was so jovial about it, you couldn't help but laugh at it all.
We then ventured back to the hotel to get prepared for our last night out in Miami and Jano's actual birthday celebration. We head to Twist. This huge club was exactly what I think we were all looking for. The music was inspiring the bass was so strong, my heart rate changed up with it. The go-go boys were beautiful, just glorious. I don't think I've seen so many beautiful men in one place before... and none on my team. Oy! The highlight for me was being sandwiched by the hot gay men. Of course, there was one 5' tall straight black man about 50 years old who kept trying to accost me. He was given his dues when a short gay Hispanic man was bumping and grinding behind him. I heard him yell, "Don't touch me or I'll call the police!" The Hispanic guy left and (how about this for irony), even though I had pushed short, straight geriatric away, he came up behind me again! I should have threatened calling the police I guess. Instead, I pushed him away (even tho I probably could have said the word to Jano and the horde of men after him and they would have dashed the man's brains on the dance floor) and punched him. He gave me one of those "ouch! that hurt" look and I gave him my "I hope you die of gangrenous testicles" look. He walked away. Now here's the perplexing thing: if you are a straight, homophobic man, what are you doing in a gay bar? I guess some of them think that all the cute straight girls go there to dance with the gay men: it being non-threatening. But if we want to go be with gay men, we don't want to be with straight men. See? If we wanted straight men, we'd go to a straight bar. Any professed straight man at a gay bar (I've discovered) is just in the closet. You don't go running around with your shirt off, bumping and grinding with other boys unless you are gay... or a woman. Serves short geriatric perverted black man right to get grinded by a gay man. And the irony is that it was an unwanted advance and yet, he proceeded to advance upon me when I made it blatantly clear I didn't want him. I had five, six-foot plus, thick men surrounding me. Why in fortune's name would I want some short little old man? Sometimes, I know, common sense is in short supply. Like height. By 3:30 am, the girls were beat and we left Jano to be adored on the dance floor by the men we could never have.
Sunday was spent at the beach where I acted like a stupid beach tourist and turned Crayola Crayon Red. Yup, I'm still paying for it, but I am tan, so I guess, even though it is painful to walk and move my arms, I'll live. We had a lovely time and the winds died down Sunday versus the hurricane winds of Saturday. We sat on our chairs with our umbrella and soaked it all in. Maia eventually left at 3:00 pm and we walked her back to the hotel: wishing her well back in Minneapolis. The three of us then headed to Nikki Beach for gazpacho, tuna tartar, yellowfin tuna, lamb sausage, and mojitos. And more lovely boys for our eyes to feast upon in the cool breeze and warm sun. We were supposed to meet cute Jochen (one of Jano's lovelies), but we missed him by 30 minutes. At 5:00 pm, we headed back to the hotel to get to the airport (an adventure in itself), and return to New York where Jano and I are taking on the town before he returns to Cali to jump start his new and exciting life in San Diego. Ahhhh! Ed Gorey, I'm coming your way!
As an addendum to this post, upon arriving at the LaGuardia Airport, prior to our trip to Miami, Jano regales me with his visit to Hawaii and how my parents took him around. This is when I discover that I duped myself into believing I am more Irish than my father says I am. Apparently, after Chinese, I'm mostly Hungarian--about one-quarter to three-eighths. HUNGARIAN! MAGYARS! That is followed by German and then an imaginary mixture of maybe Irish, maybe Swedish, maybe Tanzanian. Alas, my imaginary Irish brethren, I thought I was one part of you. Now, I have to seek out Hungarians to bond with. Where the hell am I supposed to find Hungarians? In America? Did they ever migrate to any place other than Upstate New York? And they don't have any holidays like St. Patrick's Day! How do I explain my reddish brown hair? Hmmmm. Those silly Hungarian gypsies. I was saddened to learn I am as Irish as I'm Native American. If anyone knows what the hell Hungarians do, what famous Magyars there are, and what the hell kind of culture I have, I'd appreciate it. All I know at this point is that St. Stephen is Hungarian. In the 5th century, he led the Hungarian tribes out of the Urals to settle the Carpathian Basin. This explains why my father and brother are named Stephen. At least this means a trip to Budapest is more appropriate as opposed to a trip to Dublin. And now I need to learn Hungarian. Sajna!
Reading: Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason by Helen Fielding
Jamming: Songs About Jane by Maroon 5
The only light I managed to ignorantly squash was a cute, tall boy who Babs was trying to get me close to, but I assumed she was still talking about over-zealous boy. At one point, she physically moved me next to him and I (so stupid) moved her in my place and didn't even look at said hottie. Sigh. You know what they say; if a girl makes eye contact, it means she's interested and after the slew of not worth batting a lash at, I didn't think this guy would be worth it. So, I was chastised later by Babs and Maia for turning down my only promising XY. Alas, will the bad luck not end?
After an afternoon sunning on the beach and ogling hotties, we had dinner at Joe's Stone Crab, one of the 1000 places you need to go before you die as the Stone Crab Claws are to die for! We had a chipper and fun waiter named Jorge. He obviously was fed up with the uppity crowd that flooded the place and was happy to tease us and make jokes. You could tell he enjoyed waiting on us. He freaked me out at one point as he flirtatiously tried to show me how to eat the crab claws. He grabs one of our claws, breaks the claw from the arm, tears away the shell until the meat is sticking out from one side of the claw and dips it into my mustard sauce. At this point, Maia, Babs, and Jano are looking on partially in horror, partially in anticipation, and partially in amusement as they are trying to figure out where is Jorge going with this? Was he going to eat it himself and force us to ask him to bring a replacement? Uh, no. He proceeds to feed me the crab claw. It felt like food porn. But he was so jovial about it, you couldn't help but laugh at it all.
We then ventured back to the hotel to get prepared for our last night out in Miami and Jano's actual birthday celebration. We head to Twist. This huge club was exactly what I think we were all looking for. The music was inspiring the bass was so strong, my heart rate changed up with it. The go-go boys were beautiful, just glorious. I don't think I've seen so many beautiful men in one place before... and none on my team. Oy! The highlight for me was being sandwiched by the hot gay men. Of course, there was one 5' tall straight black man about 50 years old who kept trying to accost me. He was given his dues when a short gay Hispanic man was bumping and grinding behind him. I heard him yell, "Don't touch me or I'll call the police!" The Hispanic guy left and (how about this for irony), even though I had pushed short, straight geriatric away, he came up behind me again! I should have threatened calling the police I guess. Instead, I pushed him away (even tho I probably could have said the word to Jano and the horde of men after him and they would have dashed the man's brains on the dance floor) and punched him. He gave me one of those "ouch! that hurt" look and I gave him my "I hope you die of gangrenous testicles" look. He walked away. Now here's the perplexing thing: if you are a straight, homophobic man, what are you doing in a gay bar? I guess some of them think that all the cute straight girls go there to dance with the gay men: it being non-threatening. But if we want to go be with gay men, we don't want to be with straight men. See? If we wanted straight men, we'd go to a straight bar. Any professed straight man at a gay bar (I've discovered) is just in the closet. You don't go running around with your shirt off, bumping and grinding with other boys unless you are gay... or a woman. Serves short geriatric perverted black man right to get grinded by a gay man. And the irony is that it was an unwanted advance and yet, he proceeded to advance upon me when I made it blatantly clear I didn't want him. I had five, six-foot plus, thick men surrounding me. Why in fortune's name would I want some short little old man? Sometimes, I know, common sense is in short supply. Like height. By 3:30 am, the girls were beat and we left Jano to be adored on the dance floor by the men we could never have.
Sunday was spent at the beach where I acted like a stupid beach tourist and turned Crayola Crayon Red. Yup, I'm still paying for it, but I am tan, so I guess, even though it is painful to walk and move my arms, I'll live. We had a lovely time and the winds died down Sunday versus the hurricane winds of Saturday. We sat on our chairs with our umbrella and soaked it all in. Maia eventually left at 3:00 pm and we walked her back to the hotel: wishing her well back in Minneapolis. The three of us then headed to Nikki Beach for gazpacho, tuna tartar, yellowfin tuna, lamb sausage, and mojitos. And more lovely boys for our eyes to feast upon in the cool breeze and warm sun. We were supposed to meet cute Jochen (one of Jano's lovelies), but we missed him by 30 minutes. At 5:00 pm, we headed back to the hotel to get to the airport (an adventure in itself), and return to New York where Jano and I are taking on the town before he returns to Cali to jump start his new and exciting life in San Diego. Ahhhh! Ed Gorey, I'm coming your way!
As an addendum to this post, upon arriving at the LaGuardia Airport, prior to our trip to Miami, Jano regales me with his visit to Hawaii and how my parents took him around. This is when I discover that I duped myself into believing I am more Irish than my father says I am. Apparently, after Chinese, I'm mostly Hungarian--about one-quarter to three-eighths. HUNGARIAN! MAGYARS! That is followed by German and then an imaginary mixture of maybe Irish, maybe Swedish, maybe Tanzanian. Alas, my imaginary Irish brethren, I thought I was one part of you. Now, I have to seek out Hungarians to bond with. Where the hell am I supposed to find Hungarians? In America? Did they ever migrate to any place other than Upstate New York? And they don't have any holidays like St. Patrick's Day! How do I explain my reddish brown hair? Hmmmm. Those silly Hungarian gypsies. I was saddened to learn I am as Irish as I'm Native American. If anyone knows what the hell Hungarians do, what famous Magyars there are, and what the hell kind of culture I have, I'd appreciate it. All I know at this point is that St. Stephen is Hungarian. In the 5th century, he led the Hungarian tribes out of the Urals to settle the Carpathian Basin. This explains why my father and brother are named Stephen. At least this means a trip to Budapest is more appropriate as opposed to a trip to Dublin. And now I need to learn Hungarian. Sajna!
Reading: Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason by Helen Fielding
Jamming: Songs About Jane by Maroon 5
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