To the person or persons responsible for working my one and only viable nerve...PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, QUIT IT.
Okay, the past week for me has been one of much anxiety, both good and bad. To wit:
There was the 86-ing the job which I had built up in my mind as the Big Thing with mgmt. begging and crying and swearing and throwing staplers in my general direction. Next up, the birthday, death-defying car accident. Then on Friday, I had what was the WORST experience with flight turbulence. And it wasn't a blip here, a blip there. Flying over the State of Florida was the one, big blip. I was actually clutching the wall with the white of my knuckles showing through while trying to convey cool and nonchalant to the stranger sitting beside me as we flew over the the state which was on not only storm but a TORNADO WATCH. The flight attendant actually yelled at some kid to get back in his seat and put his seat belt on. So my new conversation with God was, "Oooh, now I geddit, you wanted me to go out in a BIGGER BALL OF FLAMES. ThankYouSoMuch, Man."
But my run of traumatic experiences were not to end there. Oh no. Still on some bent to see me break, there would be one more. And it would come in the form of a rainy Saturday afternoon.
So job quitting, car crash, "almost practically " a plane crash. I am putting this up there.
With nothing to do and no where to be and no time limits and no chaperone, I'd discovered that there was a Sephora around the corner from my hotel. I WAS A 2 MINUTE WALK FROM A SEPHORA, PEOPLE. Or what it should really be called, "Where Good Money Goes to Die."
Now maybe some of you know Sephora's deal, maybe some of you don't. For those of you who don't, Cliff notes version is that they have every single awesome line of skincare/makeup/haircare/perfume etc. imaginable. The place is huge. The place is also NOT CHEAP and I have NEVER seen a sale there. And I always become seriously overwhelmed when I go enter because I never go in with a plan or a list or a guide. I just walk around trying on random shit on my face, panic, and flee the scene with nothing. I've bought stuff there exactly ONCE and only because my sister got my a gift certificate for my birthday. By the by ladies, never do that to a friend or sister because basically all you're getting them for their birthday is the opportunity to spend more than the gift cert's limit. In affect, your present is costing them money.
So, back to the rainy Saturday. I was left to my own devices and it started off innocently enough. I did my normal zig-zag through the store not sure what the hell I was looking at. But as I didn't have someone meeting me at x-hour or someone with me breathing down my neck, I kept lapping the store trying on shit. I am sure if the place wasn't so busy that day, that security would have been instructed to tail me. I am also pretty certain by the time I left the store, I looked something like this:
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Okay, so let's talk about the register experience after my 18 kajillion laps around the store. Holy shit. One item in my basket was in there because some dude saw me looking in the mirror to wipe off some lip gloss on my teeth, and ambushed me as he "professionally" suggested, "hey, you should really try this" and stood there with me as he showed me how to use it. Yeah, and for 90 bucks it was all mine. See, I really do need a chaperone at this place. And a clue. And time limit. And spending limit. And if I don't adhere to those last 2 points, the chaperone needs to just punch me in the face already. It would have hurt less than seeing the amount due on Saturday. Sweet Jesus. (I can't even type it, it hurts so bad) Eventually buyer's remorse set in and I returned 2 items(including the teeth whitener) which STILL netted me over 100 bucks. But I'm okay with that I guess (and hey, if Jess can buy a treadmill for her fat cat, then I can buy some shiny lip glosses (in a summer palette/pink berry color), blush (in "Orgasm" hee), some pore refresher spritz and pretty smelling perfume that I've wanted forever).
But the excitement didn't end there. I did get to hear some incredible performers at just about every hotel bar we stopped by at. I have walked away with an even more prfound appreciation for Spanish music, which was played on six-stringed guitars at most places, and could have listened to them play all night. Well, except for one night where I thought it would be cool to check out the club B.E.D. I'd heard about (click the link on this one - amazing). After 2 martinis at some hotel bar, we went were on our way to B.E.D. (and by that point I was singing my own made up Spanish song aptly named by me, "Holy Moly" in the streets of South Beach. It went something like, "Ho-lay Mo-laaaaaaaay! Holay Mo-laaay. Ho-lay,ho-lay,ho-lay, Ho-lay Mo-laaay. (and then repeat about 8 zillion times at your own peril). The club is kinda exclusive (no sign from the street, there was guest list, if we'd order a meal each (not cheap) to get us in). I wanted to dance, and was excited to check it out, so we figured we'd take the dinner tab on the chin and then I could dance with the fabulous E! Wild On types. Anyway, the table? Is a Sealy Posturpedic. After being seated with another lovely couple, we chatted, ate our steaks, and drank a few more booze and tonics. I'd asked our waitress what type of music the club would be playing later on and she said she had no idea as the club was closed for a private party after the last dinner seating (which was us). I asked if we would be able to stay then and she said I'd have to check with a manager. I got up from the table, marched over barefoot, found someone who looked in charge and politely inquired if we would be able to stay. I was told something about being asked to stay (memory little fuzzy here) and she'd let me know. I got back to the table, my belly full of booze and food and did what comes naturally to me when I am like this and ON A BED.
I fell asleep.
Yes, yes. The rumors are true. I AM a rock star!
The woman in charge came back to our "table" to find me in this state and asked, "so, this is the girl that wants to stay??" She handed over a flier and turned out that the party was being hosted by a NAKED (!) group called "SKiN" (I love the lines, "erotic fashion is the central theme" and "feel free to express your sensual side, a side not so easily expressed in traditional nightclubs... SKiN is not a swingers club, a meat market, a free for all, stuffy, catty or aggressive...cheesy, about gawking..."). For us to stay all night, we needed to either pony up $40 a couple or buy a bottle of champagne (or aka "the last thing Jen needed"). Yeah, I don't know about you, but after eating a full meal I am not exactly down with the idea of getting naked. Or dancing with naked people around me, bumping into me. Plus, that one and only day at the gym last week? Yeah, I don't think South Beach "is ready for my jelly". Shockingly, we took a pass.
Anyway- again, the pics are here.
