Stephanie's Reasons Why Not

I don't think it's any great secret that I don't like it down here, for myriad reasons, many of which I have already bitched about. Nonetheless, a refresher course in why Stephanie thinks Miami sucks and there really is no place like home (New York).

1. Spanish.

2. Condo Nazis. Give me a non-English speaking doorman and an ineffectual super on-the-take anyday over a building full of "condo commandos" whose jobs require them to narc on neighbors, spy on residents and discriminate against dogs.

3. Cars. Especially my car. I want to set the motherfucker on fire and then push it into the Atlantic where the sharks can feast on it.

4. Traffic. The traffic down here is simply unbearable, seriously. Everyone thinks NYC traffic is bad, but honies, let me tell you, a sea of cabs moving at 5 mph is much better than an ocean of cars six lanes thick not moving at all on I-95. Also, the conditions of the roads down here are so bad and there is constant construction, everywhere.

Case in point: Last Friday night, I had an event for the symphony. I elected to drive, as the event was a mere .08 miles from my apt. .08 miles people. Well, what did the wonderful city of Miami decide to do at the last minute after my friend had secured permits for the venue? Override her permits and tear up all the surrounding streets. What would have been a 2-minute drive turned into a 40-minute ordeal that resulted in me screaming into the phone to Dana, who was already there, getting into a fight with several valets and having a police officer escort me to the door of the venue and asking, "Are you happy now miss?"

Well, no, actually, I was so peeved by the time I made it into the event that I left after about 30 minutes.

5. Most of the people who live here. People who live here seem to fall into a few categories. a.) Working-class Latinos (pardon me if that is not the PC phrase, I never know). b.) Uber-wealthy South Americans with second residences here who think they own the city, which I suppose they do. c.) Old Jews. I love 'em, but since I don't live near Bal Harbour, I don't encounter many bubbies. d.) Youngish Jews, but not cool ones. Not New York Jews. Married young Jews. Boring young Jews. Non-stylish, under-educated young Jews who do not read the Times or even Page Six. In fact, they don't even know what Page Six is. And Gawker? Forget about it. These people down here barely know what blogs are. Seriously.

I could go on for pages about what I don't like down here, so I think that is a sign that perhaps I've made a colossul, monumental mistake in relocating, but I'm not quite sure what to do about this. I have some serious, serious thinking to do people, and I'm going to try to do it over the weekend, in Jacksonville, where I have to drive to deposit Wally since he has been evicted by the Condo Nazis.

What, you may ask, if anything, do I like about Miami? The beach is lovely. But I do not go to the beach; it is far and requires me to drive and it makes my skin even worse and I don't belong to a beach club here so I have to go to a public beach and there is just simply not enough Purell in the city to enable me to do that. So there, once again, I'm a complete and utter mess.