Fabulously Awful

Tomorrow I will unveil my first ongoing feature series on Dishalicious: Retail Therapy

In the same way that NYC is the fashion capital of the world, Miami often can be the anti-fashion mecca. We've got the most major stores around every corner and designer duds at the ready, yet night after night fashion mishaps mar Miami's landscape.

We take the worst of the worst at the hottest haunts, dissect their sartorial slip-ups and, in the
process, provide you—and natch, them—with some much-needed retail therapy. Along with my friends Dawn and Durrett, we will be highlighting these design disasters on an as-needed basis. (That could potentially mean every night we go out here.) Check in for some rather amusing ensembles tomorrow.

In the meantime, I've been lazy with photo and beauty, luxury goods and features postings.

Rocking Halloween, raging hangover the next day and super busy with life.

I can't approve comments at the moment, but Paige, funny as ever and loved your latest 'clumsy' entry. And Anon, I don't think eating Uranus is the solution to my current state of affairs, but thanks for the suggestion.

As a grave, profound aside, is anyone else as obsessed with Gossip Girl as I am? It's like 90210 but better cause it's all about the 10021. This week, when S. and 'Lonely Boy' were making out at an intersection in Meatpacking, I realized that I had done the same in the same location a few years ago. Sigh. I am really missing NYC right about now. Yet I find myself relating to the parents in GG more than the kids, which is totally scary to say the least. Christ, I'm old. Whoever said your 30s are so much better than your 20s must have been smoking something serious.

I miss my 20s; at least then I could write off my stupidity, immaturity and recklessness to being young. Being an adult kind of sucks in my opinion, esp. when your adulthood turns out to be less than you hoped it would regarding your career, romantic situation and what not. Sure, you become more comfortable in your own skin, but that doesn't necessarily equal happiness. When I was 17, did I ever think I'd be sitting here blogging to lots of anonymous people as opposed to being some fabulous, successful magazine editor? Uh, no. If I had a crystal ball back then, surely I would have changed courses. But you know, the past is in the past and all that BS.

Mars and Pluto

I've been thinking. I know, dangerous right? It occurred to me before I got into the shower—probably because I was debating whether to shave or not—that it's really quite simple to boil down the whole dating thing. If you're single and 'looking,' chances are you are juggling a few sets of balls in the air, literally. I'm not a talented juggler. And frankly, I like to know before I get into the shower whether I need to shave for the night. Anywho, I was thinking, wouldn't the whole dating thing be a hell of a lot easier if men were like girlfriends? Meaning, what if the qualities I treasure in my girlfriends—humor, loyalty, fun, intelligence, integrity, generosity, practicality, boldness, excitement and tolerance—were abundant in the males whom I date?

Well, natch, if guys/dates/potential mates were as easy to figure out as women are, the whole scene would be simpler. They would tell me whether I should shave, what they want to do, what their issues are, what the latest gossip is. They would be fun, adventurous, great partners in crime, animated and well-rounded. They would return or make phone calls without preamble or strategy. They would treat me as an equal. They would put a smile on my face the whole night. I would know that if I'm with them, I'll have a good time, no matter the setting. Just like my girlfriends. We could be at McDonald's—not that we ever would be—and still have a fabulous time.

My beauxfriend highly recommends being gay. I think I'd just rather hang with Wally. And my girlfriends. And my gays. And my straight guy friends, with whom I can talk about anything, no holds barred.

I suppose my conclusion is that I'd rather have one person or no person at all. All these balls flying around just makes life more confusing, not to mention dangerous. If most men are from Mars and most women from Venus, then I'm from Pluto and the men I meet are from Uranus.

Let's see what's new here. Last Thursday I was hit on by an older lesbian who has, according to her, hooked up with both Madonna and Matt Damon. Don't know how the Matt Damon thing came to pass. Friday my friend and I drove to Jacksonville for my beloved Wally's 12th birthday. Also brother is finally home from India and he was there as well. The little booger—Wally I mean—is 84 in human years and acts like a puppy. I finally have him back in Miami and it's amazing what a difference having him here makes. He's very happy and so is mommy. My mom was in NYC for like the second time this month doing damage on 5th for her annual girls' shopping trip, to which I was not invited, ahem. One of their friends got pick-pocketed on 5th and the perpetrator made off with $600 in cash, not to mention her license and credit cards. Apparently, crime is back in Manhattan.

My godson has apparently taken on a new hobby. Saturday I talked to my BFF, who informed me that Kobi had gnawed off the entire side of his wooden crib like a dog. The little guy has 8 teeth and did some serious, doggy style damage. The irony of all this, which I only thought about yesterday, is that his mom Dana has had for years this completely random analogy that just manifested itself in her son. Dana always says, upon eating something she doesn't like, "This tastes like the wall." She's been saying this since we were kids, God knows what the fucking wall tastes like.

So after seeing the photos below, it occurred to me. "Oh my God," I told Dana, "Do you realize that your son now literally knows what the wall tastes like? Maybe he did it so when he grows up he can tell you!" How ironic. The little guy really did some major damage. . .

So last night I went to Ocean Drive's party for the signing of Patrick McMullan's tome Glamour Girls. In addition to Patrick, uber-it girl Tinsley Mortimer was in attendance, along with a bazillion photogs and camera crews. No idea what for. She's teeny-tiny in person, but had on a fab pink dress and dazzling drop earrings.
Mom also managed to send my the birthday photos from my dinner a few weeks ago. . .

I've been out 3 nights this week and have a full weekend ahead. I'm becoming a bad party girl again.

I have been negligent in my photo posting.