Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Thank You Dave!!!!!

My buddy Dave (that I've known since fourth grade) made a bunch of mix CDs for Batina's potlick (typo but it's fitting). I got first choice and picked the one he had drawn a big flower on. He is now my official go-to mix-CD guy. This is one of the songs that I fell in love with on the CD. LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!!!

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Three Blind Mice

I really shouldn't be awake right now. Considering how much I drank last night and how little I slept, I should be in bed, under my covers, with Murray in my neck, and sleeping. Last night's craziness started out when the power went out in my building. Thinking the maintenance men blew the fuse, I opened my back door to see if I could see anyone and was aggressively greeted by some hurricane-force winds and hostile rains. I named the storm Tropical Storm Coca Ina. 
I took off my Chucks and lay on my bed thinking, "What the hell am I supposed to do now?" I was friggin hungry but didn't think I could manage to get around in that storm. I was just laying here texting my cyber-crush Mr. Lightfoot when I heard the downstairs door open and a male and female voice in the stairwell. I assumed it was my cute downstairs neighbor and his girlfriend, rubbing it in my face that he had someone to get down with in the power outage while I was up here texting a hot piece four hours away. I was so happy/relieved/grateful to get a knock on my back door from Billy and Sh'Angela. Her name is really Angela but I've been watching RuPaul's Drag Race lately and those queens have permanent residence in my brain now (and in my heart, and Raven, in my loins).
Having gotten locked out of their apartment and getting soaked in the rain, they came to scoop me up to go eat and drink. Dee-lish.
So began our evening. We started out at Waxy's for dinner, pitchers of PBR, a Bloody Mary, and some Coor's Light. Afterwards, we headed to the Deuce, where we met an older dude named McCloud, who was quite the chatterbox. I think Billy and Sh'Angela heard his entire life story, while I continued to text Mr. Lightfoot. Seriously, he's freakin' dreamy.
After the Deuce we wanted to take Sh'Angela to the hostel to show her where we spent last Saturday night and where we plan on spending future Saturday nights (two words: hot foreigners). 
Billy wanted to change his wet clothes so we went back to their place. There, I drunkenly nailed the shit out of my shin on an insanely heavy van seat they randomly have sitting in their living room. We hung out there for awhile, and Sh'Angela and I walked over to David's to buy some water and sugary treats.
Back at their place Sh'Angela mixed up some Root Beer Vodka drinks and I couldn't drink it; I retched with every sip. Who thought a root beer flavored vodka was a good idea? It's not. Not at that board meeting, not when they manufactured it, not last night, not tonight, not next month, not when the world ends. Root Beer flavor + vodka = the taste in your mouth and the back of your throat after vomiting.
Billy changed and came out to the foyer where I had just taken a picture of myself and realized that my skin tone blended into the color of the walls, which were painted a ghostly-white not commonly found in nature. I took my hoodie off to take more pictures and when Billy zipped up his hoodie right behind me he managed to get the skin on my arm caught in his zipper. HOW does that shit happen?! It hurt like a mother, but definitely not as much as when my shin was violently introduced to the metal frame of the van seat. (Billy had said to me, "That's gonna hurt when you're sober." Uh, no betch, that shit hurt then, drunk and clumsy, that shit hurt.)
We never made it to the hostel. I was about to curl up on the van seat with Buggy but Billy handed me a jump rope, saying, "You need some energy? Here, jump rope!" For about fifteen seconds I was Rocky Balboa, jumping the shit outta that rope.
Once at Automatic's Sh'Angela's friend wouldn't take no for an answer and got me a beer, and then after I finished it, handed me another. I kept telling him, "No, really, thank you, but no, I really can't drink anymore." You wanna know what this guy said to me? He said, "Well, just hold it then." Clearly, when you give a clumsy drunk another beer to "hold," she's gonna drink it, and then, when the slutty barmaid pours a shot of vodka into said drunk's mouth, the clumsy drunk will spill her beer all over the bar. And that's when my liver got up and yelled, "SHUT IT DOWN!" and walked out of her therapist's office.
Billy always manages to find the most random things laying around on the streets and sidewalks of South Beach.
A piece of meat that looked like a whale. And yes, that is blood shooting out of his blowhole.
Sh'Angela and I at Waxy's.
 Sweet Buggy

Still life.
Those creme-filled vanilla cupcakes were super tasty.
Is that a ghost?! Oh.. no, it's just me.
 Sh'Angela is offering me some bronzer.
I love these two.
Strikin' serious poses.
Vodka bottle in the shape of a skull.
Billy, the skull-shaped bottle, me, and my bird hair.

Friday, February 12, 2010

I Think You Have Too Many Shoes

I made this bookmark for my cousine's bff Dave. One side reads, "these shoes rule!!!" and the other side reads, "these shoes suck!!!" 
Handstitched with love for a fuckin' rad dude. 

Don't be a BETCH.

My cousine Carina, AKA Goldie Hawn, is the most awesome female I've ever met in my life. She is a librarian, a feminist, a rescue-dog owner, and a constant reassurer to me that I also am awesome and it is the WORLD that's crazy, not me. Goldie is the only person that I actually enjoy talking on the phone to. She also introduces me to the greatest things, like Kelly (Lemme Borrow That Top), Psych, and the most annoying person I've ever met, our friend Rey (or as I like to call him, Rey-Rey). 
For Christmas this year I made her a bookmark with the word "betch" on one side, and "to goldie ... love joan ..." on the other. (I'm Joan Fucking Crawford, bitches)

I used a satin fuschia floss and it was pretty tricky at times but I really like the end result. Also, because I used fabric glue to adhere the two bookmarks together, it is very firm. (That's what she said!)

Diego Rafael

A few years ago I made a small cross-stitch for my brother Diego. I finally framed it and gave it to him this Christmas. (I know, I know, I take forever.) The original design was a Halloween theme; the skull and crossbones had small candy corn down the left and right sides and it read "Trick or Treat" over the skull. I wanted to personalize it for him so I kicked the candy corn and the original lettering to the curb, and stitched up his name. It came out pretty rad if I do say so myself. And I think I've gotten better with my time management. (Nope, I really haven't. I'll be late to my own funeral.)


Thursday, February 11, 2010


It's 6:29 am and I just woke up from one of the shittiest nightmares of my life. It was horrifying and SO highly detailed, and I think that's why it scared the motherfriggin Hell outta me. I am literally about to start crying because it was just that. awful. 
I dreamt that my friend Nehemie was killed in a freak car accident. I woke up, waited for my sleepy fog to dissipate, had to repeatedly tell myself it was just a dream, then text her telling her that I loved her, that she is such an awesome chick, and that I'm so happy we're working together. I can't go back to sleep. I'm in shock. I'm traumatized. I had even started going through the feelings of "going back to work after a co-worker dies" and I swear it totally took me back to my senior year of high school when my friend Adam was killed by a drunk driver. 
I'm so distressed right now!!!!

I googled "death in dreams" and found this: "Death in a dream can mean the death or change to a part of your personality or the end of a certain phase in your life." 
I understand and accept this explanation, since all the other times I've had dreams involving death were at transitional stages in my life, but this one is different. I mean, the details!!! The news reporters were at the scene of the accident, and the flashing lights on the police cars and the ambulance were so vivid, and then they confirmed it was her, but the only thing that didn't make sense was her age. In my dream nightmare she was thirty-eight years old. In real life she's younger than I am. Does this mean something major will happen in my life when I'm thirty-eight? (That's in over ten years!!! [wink, wink]) 
Oh my GOD. I'm so scared right now. I feel like I just watched Paranormal Activity. Damn that movie!!! 
Speaking of which, have you seen last week's episode of 30 Rock? Tina Fey pays tribute to Paranormal Activity, but even in a brilliant comedy it was creepy...

I need to do something to relax and fall back asleep. There's only one thing I can think of that will help me right now.... RuPaul's Drag Race on Logo.
Don't judge; join me.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Who dat?!

It's 3:55 am and I just got home from what could easily be described as the most interesting night I've had since I moved to South Beach. My co-stars for the evening were Billy and Belinda, and our night included an unusual hodgepodge of characters: Jesus-freaks on Ocean Drive, a near-fight in Jerry's Deli by two drunken football fanatics, lots of slutty girls walking around in bikinis (it was 51 degrees outside), the Miami Beach International Travelers Hostel, a wasted Steve Zahn look-alike and his delirious best-friend with a strange and ever-changing accent, three drunk British guys that live in New York temporarily, one of whom was a redhead (!!!), one who just turned 23, and the third who looked like he was from Pakistan but was named Vinnie, giggled alot, and wore pointy metallic shoes, a sassy black lady named Sha'mae, who was from Detroit and in town for the weekend, "just for fun," and an Australian, a German, and later, a Mexican. The night would never have been made possible if it hadn't been for the late night/early morning hostel employees: Phil, the reception guy, Mama, the geriatric "Mother Hen" of the place, who desperately needed a belt on her jeans, and Scary Dude, the big, black, and tall bouncer (and no he wasn't scary 'cause he was black, [that's racist!] he was scary 'cause of his facial expressions and the way he paced around watching everyone).
As usual I had my camera with me and took a gazillion pictures.

Enjoy the photo essay I have affectionately labeled, 
"About Last Night...."

Ocean Drive was littered with Jesus Freaks. Did they really think they were gonna get through to wasted football fanatics? Silly Jesus Freaks, will they ever learn?

After we saw this sign I turned to Billy and yelled, "REPENT FOR YOUR SEXUAL PERVERSIONS, YOU FAGGOT!!," and then of course we giggled like a couple of little schoolgirls.

It was freezing outside, so we ducked into Jerry's Deli for some hot foods. Look at Belinda, she is so pretty!! A little while later two guys had to be separated 'cause they were about to FIGHT!! Weird thing is, one looked like he could be the other guy's dad. We wanted to yell out something totally irrelevant, like, "Yes we CAN!" or "Cowabunga!!!" (File that under, "Shit Only My Friends And I Find Hilarious.")

Billy and me, or as Belinda put it, "a gal and her gay." We were pretty cold, and there were some skankish chicks sitting at the bar in their bikinis. And we're not talkin' 'bout some Victoria's-Secret-model-type girls, we're talkin' 'bout some omg-what-happened-to-the-front-of-your-torso-why-is-there-extra-skin-there-that's-not-what-a-stomach-should-look-like-and-why-do-you-have-lumps-hanging-out-of-your-lower-abdomen-type girls.

Steve Zahn look-alike!!! Seriously, this guy could do stunt work for Mr. Steve Zahn. For the record, here's a picture of Steve Zahn:
Here's another shot of him: 
He was all, "I look like Steve Zahn?!" Oh and for the record, he had no idea I was taking pictures of him.

All the actual employees were outside when the phone started ringing incessantly, so Belinda was kind enough to answer the hostel's telephone and give directions.

One of the hostel guests we met, and the only female we met, was this lady from Detroit named Sha'mae. She was hot, sassy, and fierce! She came down this weekend by herself, and was planning on going to P.Diddy's party tonight at the Fontainebleau. She was really upset because while she was touching up her lipstick in the bathroom in her room, one of her roommates turned the light off. She told me she "wasn't gonna go all Detroit on their asses," but "you don't. DO. that. to people." I've never stayed in a hostel before so I was asking her lots of questions about where you keep your valuables when you leave the hostel, for like, sightseeing and parties. She took me to her room so I could see the "broke-down trash with the bumps and bruises all over her skin" she was sharing a room with that turned the light off in the room while she was in the bathroom. You DON'T. do. that. Thankfully they were sleeping/pretending to sleep 'cause I really thought Sha'mae was gonna git all Detroit on their asses. She refilled her drink and gave me the rest of the wine in the bottle. We did lots of high-fiving. And yes, this is a picture I took without her noticing, of her leopard print heels. The last thing I needed was to get caught taking a picture of Sha'mae, 'cause she's from "the D," and I've heard stories about Detroit that will scare the chest hairs off an Australian.

Which brings us to our next subject: The Australian.

Belinda taught him a new phrase: camera whore. This dude was on. point. No matter how far from him I was, if he saw my camera in hand he posed. And posed. And posed. And posed. We were like, "This behavior, what you are doing right now, this is called a camera. whore."

The photographer with her eager subject.

 The hostel guests would ask us, "So, where are you from?" or "What room are you staying in?" and we would say, "Uh.. well, we actually live a few blocks away, and were just walking home when we decided to stop by and check out the hostel." We are seriously so fuckin rad!!! And this photo is the tamest photo of the night. This is the "civilized" (one of Mama Isabel's favorite words to use) shot.

This is one of my favorite pictures of the night. It looks like I'm picking my nose, but I was probably just pushing my glasses up, or pointing at my nose and whispering, "nazi blood... jewish nose..."

So much happened last night but I honestly don't have the energy or the desire to divulge all of our scandalous secrets. You know how the saying goes, "What happens at the hostel, stays at the hostel... and the free clinic."  (I'm joking people. ... Or am I?)

Let me just add that Scary Dude, the hostel bouncer (and yes I did call him that), asked me if I was a journalist, 'cause he said I asked lots of questions. He also said he liked my glasses and my boots, and that I had the sexy scientist vibe. Then he asked if he could "knock my boots." I was like, "Hey there, subtlety, well, uh, maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow... (crickets...)"
Oh and The Australian had me laughing out loud when he drunkenly yelled, "You crashed my hostel!!!!"

So, um... that about sums up our lovely evening. I love Billy and Belinda soooo much and I can't wait to blog about our future adventures!! (hopefully involving more unsuspecting hostel dwellers!)

Saturday, February 6, 2010


Today I was messin around with the animoto website and made this short video with some of the pictures I took last weekend. I'm hooked and I gotta make a bunch more!!!

Create your own video slideshow at

I'm a girl.

Sunday morning I walked into the ladies room at work. I was the only lady in there, and as I walked into my favorite stall (the spacious handicap stall) a woman walked in and spoke out loud. Thinking she must have been trying to talk to me, because again, I was the only lady in the ladies room, I turned and looked at her. She asked me, "Is this the ladies room?" I replied, "Yeah." Then she just looked at me for a few seconds, with this expression on her face that said, "Then why are you in here? You look like a boy, I'm confused, did you understand what I just asked you? You look like you should be using the mens room, because you have short hair, and you are manly, and you look like a man in that manly uniform." I thought, "Wow, this is happening again?!" If I had a $10 bill for every time some random female thought I walked into the wrong bathroom, I would have lots. of. money. Naturally, my knee-jerk response was to send out a mass text to my awesome friends, and the replies I got were hilarious and way too sweet. My bro-bro Diego texted, "Kathy. That's not the first time this has happened. You need to come up with a funny but bitchy comeback." (Ok, can we talk about the way my brother texts? I wrote his text exactly the way he wrote it to me. He uses proper spelling and grammar even in his text messages. LOL)
My friend Robbie said: "should have shown her yr vag." Believe you me, if this had taken place at a bar, and I had already drank the two beers it takes for me to get super-buzzed, that woman would have come face-to-face with my knockers. Not my "vag," because I have body image issues with the lower half of my body, but my boobs. My boobs are great. Trust.
My girl Savina was more aggressive with her reply: "WTF indeed! You don't look like a boy, what the fuck is wrong with people?!" If I ever get in a fight, Savina's definitely my number one choice for back-up. That girl can get feisty as fuck!!
Then we have my super-pragmatic friend Alex, with his goddamned logic: 
"Lmao!!!!! well you are dressed like a boy and you have short hair so if the lady was super old i can see how that could happen." For the record, the lady was not super old, maybe early-to-mid fifties, and she had super short hair herself!! She seemed very beige, like she was probably from Nebraska, or wherever it is that beige people are manufactured.
My cousine Goldie Hawn was very cut-and-dry with her response. She is a very busy librarian and doesn't have time for bullshit: "That lady is a fucking idiot." Again, another perfect-spelling-and-grammar text message. I guess it runs in the family, along with our passive-aggression and paranoia.
I have to say though, that my favorite reply was from my friend Nicole, who is the sweetest lady I've ever met. She wrote, "If u were a boy u would b the gayest looking pretty boy i know," adding, "That lady was probably heavily medicated." 
When I got back to work I told my co-workers what happened. Some got a good laugh, others were more like, "What the hell? Maybe it's the uniform, but you really don't look like a guy." For the rest of the day my buddy Rashaund kept calling me lady, woman, girl, or female. He would say, "You are such a pretty WOMAN," or "Hello GIRL, how is your day going?" LOL!!! He also loves serenading me in front of passengers and telling them that he loves me so much. It's funny and sweet, and the passengers that aren't there to verbally attack us enjoy it too.