Tuesday, March 15, 2011

What Happens When Two Straight Girls Hit South Beach?

I apologize for being out of commission for so long, although, strangely enough, I didn’t receive any complaints . . .

Knock, knock, knock - Is this thing on?

I got back from Miami, then we had Small’s birthday festivities, and then Hubby left town for 4 days.  I’ve said it before: I have the UTMOST respect for Military wives and single moms.  It’s tough knowing reinforcements are not coming.

Anyway, my trip to Miami with BooBoo (my sister-in-law) was fun and we made a lot of new gay boyfriends.  I hope that no one finds that offensive, because I certainly mean no disrespect.  I realize homosexuality is a hot topic and people have different opinions, but this is MY blog.  I don’t believe it’s necessary for me to point out that there are plenty of gay men and women who treat marriage and partnership with a tad more reverence than certain celebrities.  (I'm talking to you, Porn Family Sheen.)  But I’m not here to debate.  I know what I believe, whom I respect and support, and who I may have let feel me up at a bar simply because he was not a perv and because he had a genuine appreciation of the girls.  Take THAT, 9th grade boyfriend, who had to wait, like, 7 months to get that far!

We left Friday evening to head to the airport, as we had a 7 am flight out of Baltimore.  I was WAY tired, however, because the nice doctor at Patient First gave me some very special medicine to help with the Bronchitis AND Strep Throat I contracted two days before our trip.  FOUR days before our trip, Small’s pediatrician gave me prophylactic Tamiflu to prevent me from catching Small’s flu, since, in her words, “Mommy NEEDS her Girls’ Weekend.”  BooBoo started complaining before we even hit the highway.  Granted, she was complaining about my running commentary regarding her driving skills, or lack thereof, but it was unnecessary and downright hurtful for her to threaten to call Hubby to “take his side” regarding Travel With BoyMommy.

She also made several snide comments regarding the size of my luggage.  Is it NOT general knowledge that I am a princess?  I’m no Ginger; I’m more of a MaryAnn.  But I have a habit of spilling and I have a propensity for wearing white shirts.  Spillage + White = Spare White Shirts Clothing.  BooBoo packed a small duffel bag, and I would not be able to testify in court on her behalf if asked if she even changed underwear while we were gone.  After all her eye rolling and sighing when we had to check my bag, guess which one of us got stopped by security?  It wasn’t me.  You know why?  Because I am smart enough to travel without my pocket knife.  My rocket scientist SIL, who likes to "pack light," didn’t check all the bag’s nooks and crannies before borrowing it from her teenaged son.  

Sucka.  I’ll just wait for you over here while you get molested by the well-meaning TSA agent.

We arrived in Miami after enduring a packed flight.  (Side note, I sat next to a very nice gentleman who flagged down the flight attendant for extra napkins when I SPILLED my beverage on my WHITE SHIRT before we even landed at our destination.)  As we waited patiently for my suitcase at baggage claim, I made the following observations:
  1. cruises are frequented by older people who speak loudly and wear “sensible” shoes.
  2. the state uniform of Florida is apparently an embroidered shirt paired with jorts.

Once we got to the hotel, we checked in at the front desk and it was clear that we were in the minority.  The Gay and Lesbian Task Force was having their annual pool party at the hotel, but it was about 95% Gay, 4% Lesbian, and me and BooBoo.  They gave us wrist bands when we checked in.  Wrist bands meant we could gain access to the party, but it also meant . . . cheap beverages. 

We spent the afternoon at the beach.  I am serious about my sunscreen.  In fact, “serious” does not do justice to how I feel about my sunscreen.  While BooBoo spent the day lounging in the Florida sun without anything to protect her from harmful UV rays, I slathered on SPF 70.  SEVENTY, folks.  That’s a sweater in a can.  Guess what?  Still got burned.  We ordered a few beverages from our beach attendant, Juan Carlos, but the drinks were mediocre at best, AND I think I offended him when I kept calling him Juan Valdez.  He pro’lly peed in my drink.  BooBoo went back up to the hotel to “visit the powder room” and met some friends, so we decided to call it a day and go party. In the elevator on our way back up to the room, we ran into some nice boys who invited us to a bar so that we could be privy to their Drag show.  Hell to the yes.

BooBoo went to the lobby and I agreed to meet her after I changed from “hot mess” into “hot mess with a strategically placed barrette because surely those gay boys won’t notice my dirty beach hair.”  When I arrived in the lobby, however, BooBoo was nowhere to be found.  Turns out, she got suckered into escorting a 350 lb. Black man to the Ladies Room.  It seems he had partaken of some wings that had “done messed him up,” and he really needed to skip the line that was forming at the Men’s Room, but since he was not a guest at our hotel he needed BooBoo to escort him.  She was like the Foreign Diplomat of the Facilities.  Line to Men's Room, 20 deep.  Line to Ladies' Room?  Step right up!  Welcome to our world, fellas.

We made our way to the bar and we met a group of boys who happened to be discussing Midgets.  As you recall, we had been told that a Midget Convention was in town, but I had my doubts.  (We did NOT see any Little People while we were there.  One might say there was a shortage of Midgets.)  (Hehe.  I’ve been waiting all week to say that.)  Naturally we felt a kinship with this group of six gay men who were heading to the same establishment.

The rest of the evening was a bit blurry.  There was beer, boys, drag queens, boobage, and a HILARIOUS walk back to the hotel.  Hilarious because it was raining, and apparently I found this to be can’t-stop-laughing hysterical.  We hadn’t eaten, so we saddled up to the bar at the hotel before we went to bed.  According to BooBoo (and my vague recollection) I voiced my appreciation of the bartender’s “nice rack.”  Because I’m full o’ compliments, and I’m starting to think I might be a little obsessed with boobs. 

The trip was fun.  It required a lot of effort to get there and return home, but it certainly was nice to enjoy some sun and warm weather after a gray, cold winter.  I missed my boys, and I was met with hugs and homemade “welcome home” cards – so maybe Mommy’s being away was refreshing for everyone.  Hubby did a great job with the boys and the house while I was gone, but he was ready to get back to work!  

1 comment:

Be nice, kids.