the pieces of my life

We were told to try the cafe con leches at the market next to Subway.

Adam points across the street, away from the Subway. “Here?”

I tell him, “Next to the Subway.”

Adam looks at me as if I’m crazy. “I don’t see a market!”

And he’s already had three coffees today. Can you say, “Turning into
our parents”?

I’m actually starting to feel a bit hostile toward that burger with fried egg and duck fat fries. Good thing I’m headed toward a midnight show. A beer might make everything all better.

See, nothing’s changed since 1988. Some thought age might bring wisdom. Glad to be living proof of the fallacy of that theory.

Suddenly that burger with an egg on top and fries in duck fat aren’t seeming like such a good idea. Go figure.

My mother has something to say. Or at least she did. Now she’s caving under pressure. And my father wants me to leave. Not the rest of my family. Just me. And my friends? Well, Bettina left, Jennifer has nothing to say as usual, and Rachel is wisely ignoring me.

Yes, folks. It’s the same trip to Miami Beach as it always is. Today was spa day. Mani/pedis, massages, facials. And martinis. Lots of martinis.

And then we went for burgers. On a Tuesday night. At 8:30. And it was an hour and a half wait. Hour and a half wait!. But we smartly got out order “to go” (and Adam and I were the only ones smart enough to order beers while we were waiting). But it was worth it. Because I had a burger. With an egg on top. Shall I repeat that? I had a burger. With an egg. On top. Oh. My. God. And what did I have with that? Fries. Fried in duck fat. Really! In duck fat!

Can we repeat all this? Mani/pedi. Facial. Massage. Hamman. Martini. Beer. Burger with egg. Fries fried in duck fat.

It’s a beautiful world. Real life? I have my fingers in my ears. La la la la la! I can’t hear you!

Did you know that when you don't have lunch, and then you have a martini, it really does something. Consider that a recession tip (thanks to Jen P.).

Now on to the burger bar.

I like to think of myself as a hardcore runner, but it turns out I’m pretty half-assed about it, because when it comes right down to it, I’m going to pick that second martini over a longer run the next morning. I call it “The Miami Effect.”

Other manifestations of the Miami Effect? The ability to consume twice my weight in food, multiple times a day. The willingness to ditch my children at a second’s notice on the Nana and the Peter to go out with grown-ups. Willingness to spend a small fortune pampering myself and my children, with spa days and ice cream. Total hedonism. The Miami Effect.

Last night first I had a surprise grown-up dinner. T. Rex and Pad were playing with my kids, and we were trying to figure out what we adults should do. Peter said, “I can watch T. Rex and Pad with Doodles and Pie.” You’ve never seen adults leave a place so fast. We were afraid he’d realize what he said and change his mind. After a lovely dinner, I headed to a bar to meet up with other friends. I opened a tab. Let’s examine those sentences. I was at a bar. And I had multiple drinks. And what do two drinks do to me? I left my credit card there. Retrieved it today.

And now I’m getting ready for another grown-up night out. Tonight is the annual night of the sushi boat. I love the night of the sushi boat. And my father is being a right pain in the butt tonight, and Peter, that was a well-deserved remark, because you know what you just said to me, so don’t even act all offended now.

Sushi boat will make things all better. That’s the Miami Effect.

We survived the trip down. Somehow. It started with Adam insisting we needed to leave at 8 for our 11:10 flight, which seemed ridiculously early to me, but I figured he knew what he was talking about. So I woke up before 6 a.m. to finish packing and get the house cleaned, and sure enough at 8, he said, “Oh, wait. We leave at 11:10! I was off on my math. We don’t need to leave for another hour.” And then we left, all packed up and ready to go… except for all of Adam’s New Year’s cards, which he left sitting on a shelf. We had to call Beetle to let herself into our house to get the cards to mail. Then the friends we were traveling with had a very sick (read: pukey) daughter who decided to brave the trip anyway. And when we got down here, I realized I forgot something that was crucial to a promised activity for Doodles. And then tonight at bedtime, Pie decided to completely rebel. I mean totally. Wouldn’t go to bed. Not at all. I was ready to throttle her. She was whining and crying and pouting and nowhere near her bed, so I did the only reasonable thing possible.

I left. And got ice cream. Because that’s the main benefit of being in Miami Beach, having the Nana to take care of the Pie when she’s out of control. While Pie screamed and fussed, Adam and I took a leisurely stroll down to Lincoln Road where we stopped into the Frieze for ice cream. Looking around Lincoln Road, you would have no idea it was Christmas. Folks were out en masse. Stores were open. The movies were sold out. Now, you’re probably thinking, “Well it’s because Miami Beach is full of Jews who don’t celebrate Christmas,” but you’d be completely wrong. The Jewish population of Miami Beach has completely dwindled, and besides, it is Shabbat, which means anyone who is actually an observant Jew is home with family. Miami Beach is now predominantly Latin American, and most of those folks like them some Baby Jesus. So I have no idea what so many folks were doing out tonight, drinking martinis, letting their way-too-young kids wreak havoc, and eating dinners at an absurdly late hour. “Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?”