Miami, Part II

When last we talked, J and A and I had just been invited up to Pearl, where there appeared to be a private party going on. We had heard rumblings throughout the night that Mr. Mike Ditka was supposed to be in attendance, but when we asked at the bar, we were informed he had left already!! But no worries, we drank our free mojitos from our new "friend" and danced on the tables anyway (seriously, ON the tables - though I think they were there just for that purpose). Shortly after escaping our rather creepy new "friend" (who stalked us outside the bathroom until he resigned himself to the fact that we weren't coming out until he left) and scoring some more free drinks from a man with teeth stained purple from red wine, who spit when he talked, we finally ran into our L.A. friends, who rescued us from the scary, yet generous, people. At one point, one of them asked us, "Hey, did you see Mike Ditka? He's right over there." Much squealing and fumbling for cameras ensued, and we made our way over to his table. J asked him very politely if he wouldn't mind taking a picture with three lovely ladies from Chicago, which he did graciously ... but not without grabbing A's butt first. Yeah, he was rather intoxicated. It was awesome. :) Maybe, if I can figure out how to put pictures on here, I'll post it. If you're nice. After more table-dancing and other shenanigans, we eventually found our boys from DC down in the Nikki Beach VIP area, and were able to chat with them again, as well. So yeah, that was a fun night. Exhausted from partying our bootys (booties?) off, we (meaning, J, A, Tom-the-L.A.-boy, and me) headed over to Jerry's Famous Deli for a late night nosh. I think they have, like, 600 things on their menu. It was pure insanity.

That was a very late night. I can't be entirely sure what time we got home, but my guess is somewhere around 5:30 a.m. Yep. It was fun. And funny 'cause A and I told just about everyone we met that J had run the marathon that morning, and everyone was so impressed! So much so that J became known as "that girl who ran the marathon," which I think she started getting a little annoyed by. Sorry, hun. :)

The next day, Monday, we vowed to take it a little easier. I can't recall exactly what we did during the day, the days kind of run together after so much time has passed by. But I can guarantee you it either included a walk down to SOBE, or a trip to the beach/pool, or both. (Actually, upon further consultation with J, this was the day we went on a quest to find a lunch spot in our hotel's neighborhood, which turned into a disgusting tour of the filthiest Jewish delis we'd ever seen, and an episode of what I can only describe as racial discrimination based on the fact that we were the only Non-Jewish people in one of the restaurants we walked into. We received stares from every person in the place when we arrived, no one spoke to us, and twice, I was unnecessarily knocked into by a waitress who did not apologize, or even seem to acknowledge my presence. Never in my life had I been so uncomfortable in a place, and felt so unwelcome. I so wanted to connect with this neighborhood - to say I'd found this great little cafe that I'd return to on every visit - but apparently, the neighborhood did not want me. We eventually found a little French place that, though the service left much to be desired, had excellent sandwiches, which we brought to the hotel pool and devoured. Yum.) That night, we decided to go for dinner at a seafood place we happened upon, which, even though I was the initiator of the seafood idea, I unfortunately regret. Apparently something I ate at dinner (or possibly something before dinner, I'm not entirely sure), did not sit well with me, and I started feeling really ill. Incidentally, I do not recommend the Scallops Marsala at Grillfish. Even if they had not made me sick, the wine in the sauce had saturated the mushrooms, and made them taste like pure alcohol. I opted to return to the hotel directly after dinner, even missing out on the fancy shots we had been given by some patrons at the bar (See what I mean about the free drinks??), and I believe J and A met our L.A. friends again at a nearby bar or club. What transpired there, I will never know, but I think they had a good time. Me, I was stuck in the hotel, feeling not-so-hot. I did get to talk to my Mom for a little while, though, and relate our adventures so far, so that was nice. Needless to say, I went to bed early.

The next morning, feeling nearly back to normal, we decided to make a trek down to South Beach again to see what we could see. We walked all along the boardwalk again, marveling at all the Super Bowl tents and stages for ESPN and whatnot that were being set up, and then cut in to where all the restaurants and shops were. Did a little window shopping, and stopped for lunch at one of the many places that shoved their menus in our faces as we walked by. :) Okay, they didn't really shove them in our faces, but practically. Unfortunately, not being in "summer mode" and not being in a bathing suit where this may have occurred to me, I neglected to put on any sunscreen, and was wearing a deep V-neck shirt, so I got myself a wee bit sunburned. Didn't really realize the extent of it until that night when I got dressed to go out, but it was pretty red ... and funny-looking. That afternoon, we were feeling a bit loopy as we bought some junk food at our neighborhood convenience store, and some delicious cafe con leche at this little deli/diner thingie, and decided that the name of the hot sauce on the table was absolutely hilarious: Chilly Willy, "Try me! I'm hot and tasty!" This was to be J's slogan for the night. Can you say slap happy? We even returned to the convenience store to see if they sold it. Sadly, they did not. Otherwise, everyone reading this might now be the proud owner of a bottle of Chilly Willy hot sauce.

Up next: The final installment, in which we say goodbye, and I experience a terrible loss. Oh, and there will also be hookers.