What's the saying? Laziness breeds stupidity? Surely then, South Florida is the Dumbest Place on Earth. My disdain for the "city" of Miami is growing exponentially by the minute. I live on "the beach," which is the Miami equivalent of living "Downtown." "The Beach" is South Beach. An entity unto itself. South Beach is not nearly as utterly inefficient and well, completely retarded as the rest of Miami Dade.

I love my neighborhood. Love my friends. Love the water and the vibe and the pedestrian nature of my hood. Once you cross the bridge, however, all bets are off. Miami—the Miami that you know from TV and movies exists on the beach—turns into not only a third-world country, but an altogether hopeless sea of incompetence, mediocrity and English as a second language pile of shit.

Miami is not a city, okay? There is no civil infrastructure as far as I can tell, what with buildings taking decades instead of years to build, non-existent sewage systems in a hurricane center, ineffectual politicians and local leaders, deplorable fashion senses, disgusting non-bathers and—my favorite—crackheads disguising themselves as valet parkers.

What's set me off this time? Well, it seems like every time I try to do something vaguely political or charitable, my efforts are foiled by the COMPLETE FUCKTARDS who run this noncity. Case in point: yesterday's hot mess of an Obama rally. Oh, yeah. Brilliant idea for this germaphobe who would rather be suspended from a trapeze wire than rub up against masses of sweaty, unkempt people. I had the foresight to pop a Klonopin before arriving; I should have taken four.

Despite our getting there an hour+ before his apparent holiness was to appear, we stood like (smelly) sweaty cows waiting to be slaughtered by the heat. En masse, we waited on the steps for an hour, ostensibly to go through one of the FOUR metal detectors the GENIUS organizers erected for THIRTY THOUSAND people. Brilliant, ken? You would not believe. Imagine the most crowded subway you've ridden on, then add loud chanting, pushing and the 90-heat and 100 percent humidity. Obama went on, we were still not even through security. At the 11th hour, the Einsteins abandoned their security posts and told us there was no room for us. Except, we could walk about 20 minutes around the perimeter of the ghetto park to go into the overfill area. As fucking if. We hightailed it out of there and I Wet-Wiped my entire epidermis down upon getting in my car, which, by the way was decorated with an $18 ticket. Oh yeah, I was real happy.


Why, Stephanie, you say, don't you know better than to go to a public place like that when you hate pedestrians and crowds? Yes, I do. But I was trying to be a regular woman of the people. And, guess what? I'm just not. I'm sorry if the only way I can tolerate masses of people, concerts and sporting events is from the comfort of a skybox.

Actually, you know what? I'm not sorry. From here on out, I'm being true to ME. No more public events. Unless I'm watching them from a glass-enclosed, fully stocked private area.

Have I mentioned that adding to my ire of the past 24 hours is the fact that I'm sitting here at Miami International Fuckport since I missed my 4:10 flight because they need you to be here TWO hours in advance for domestics? Lovely. Then I didn't make the standby list. Now I'm waiting for the 8:30 flight; my bags are arriving in Jax right about now, but I won't be there till 10:30.

The more I have to leave the beach, the more I want to leave this state. I'm thinking it may be time to go West again. Even L.A. is better than this sorry excuse for a 'city.'

I want to go to sleep for four days and wake up with nipples and Percocet. At least I'll no longer be sleeping alone. Wally will be waiting for me at the airport. Can you believe I'm still this huffy after THREE Xanax? Time for another. Wake me when this is over.