Can't you see the writing on the wall?

Today I felt like embracing the hipster wave.
I woke up with the urge of putting on my dropped crotch pants, wear my thrift store T-shirt and walk in my commercially responsible shoes.
And where to find the perfect habitat for that kind of mood if not Wynwood and the Design District here in Miami?
So I blow dried my hair to achieve the "put together but I don't really care" hair do, grabbed my hubby and headed to the hood of art and style.

I was surprised when I found out that the land of milk and honey was only a block away from the land on french-fries and Pepsi. Here is dress for less Ross, and a hop and a skip away ( that's how homos hike ) you can find Hugo Boss in the flesh. From zero to hero just by crossing the street. From Honey Bo-boo to Donatella Versace with out stopping by the plastic surgeon.

Very civilized.

You must know that when I am surrounded by coolness I tend to geek out in direct proportion.
I can't just admire a remarkable graffiti or a state of the art high end retail space. No.
I have to show my love like a dog would. I will make you aware that I am deeply into the surroundings by peeing everywhere or dry humping your leg. Figuratively.
I will take pictures and also ask my husband to take the exact same frames but with me in them too.
Unfortunately my hubby always manages to make me look like a crack-whore in the pics he takes.
I make him look like he just got back from two week at the Canyon Ranch spa, I even manage to makes the color of his eyes pop. In exchange he makes me look like I have three chins and a lazy eye.
Lately he has shown improvements but Annie Liebovitz is another thing.

I gave him rigorous instructions on how to take this picture. Still under the glasses there is a lazy eye.

 We decided to experience a bit of everything the area has to offer, so when I started feeling peckish we sat down at Harry's little hole in the wall to have a carafe  of wine. I am on a liquid diet.
For the first time since we got to Miami we were waited on by an English speaking guy. And not Julio Iglesias's English. He even called us "gents". It was quite refreshing not having to break through another language barrier ( trust me, I have been there many times as a native Italian ).
Mark, our travel size waiter, also embodied the spirit of the district by sporting dreadlocks fashioned in a "put together but I don't really care" bun, and a 50's glasses frame that made him a cross over between Bob Marley and a character from "Mad Man". He told me he has been growing his dreads for 9 years. But we didn't get anymore personal than that. As I said I only shared ONE carafe of wine.

Mark.

This hood is a magical place I tell you. They even have educational hopscotch painted on the side walk. Some of the writing on them was a bit bipolar-ish but hipsters are not scared of such things.

The self awareness hopscotch.

To make it all even more magical we even spotted a Hermes tapestry unicorn. Very rare this time of the year. But we couldn't feed it. He only eats very expensive silk scarfs. And he is French. Quite the snob.

Hermes tapestry horse.

The pawn shop was as glamorous as any other high end retailer. Makes pawning your granny's gold less mischievous.

The Pawn Boutique.

The only time I got confused today is when I entered a home decor store called "Design Within Reach". I thought it meant that they offered great pieces at accessible prices. I was wrong.
It means they cram all the cool designer stuff under one roof. But you still can't afford it.
Here it is for you to gorge your eyes on. But you will leave feeling as hungry as you arrived. Famished.
But they give you a complimentary tiny bottle of water the moment you enter. Very thoughtful since I am still on a liquid diet. And you can grab free design magazines so that when you get home you can still reminisce about what is too expensive for your pockets. Adding insult to injury.

At this point I was feeling a bit distressed but luckily Tom Ford came to the rescue. He is coming to Miami to make the rest of the homosexual feel more inadequate than ever. I couldn't resist. Before heading back home I had to dry hump his advertisement board and mark my territory.
Nobody puts Tommy in a corner.

Tom & I.

On our way to the car we found this on this on the ground

Magic wand.

This hood is truly a magical place.

Ciao for now.

Say it with a shell.

You can find Christmas in everything.
And I mean everything.
And it can come in many forms. From funny, to creepy. Stylish to tacky. Chic to kitsch.

On my last trip to Home Goods I found the eternal fountain of supplies concerning home decor and decor abuse.
A stuffed cornucopia of marked down items crammed on shelves in the hope of being picked up and  given a new home. Just like sad puppies in a municipal pet pound. Or happy puppies, depending on their looks obviously. The ugly puppies know they better have a nice personality or it's over. A pretty puppy can afford to look sad. A not so cute one must put on a good show. Wag that tale, walk on two paws, dance to "Who Let the Dogs Out" kind of routine. There is no business like adoption business.

I was ready to make part of our family ( all my sisters and me ) an unfortunate reject of the retail business. I was looking for the "Annie" of Christmas decorations. An off beat item, but with personality. Preferably with musical skills included.
A Christmas ornament that said Holidays but with a Miami/Puertorican/Cuban twang. A statement piece that reminded me that it really is the "most wonderful time of the year" even though it is 80 degrees outside.
Well I was in for a treat.
I actually found more than I could handle.
But images in this case do speak volumes so here we go with the first one.

The "the bigger the better" ball.

Here in Miami everything must be of a sizable dimension. From boob implants to what is hanging on your Christmas tree. No excuses. People need to see what you've got. Astronauts orbiting the planet have to be able to see the Great Wall of China and your latest purchase.

We can't have Santa Claus thinking we are of modest extraction. Go big or go home. As long as it is at least 2000 sqf.

The "gilded nativity snow globe".

A touch of Caesar Palace in Vegas and Versailles never killed anyone.

The "politically correct nativity".

In Italy the Vatican ( and all their famously bonkers homosexual painters ) have always brain washed me into thinking that the Holy Family was very Caucasian. Aryan in fact. I am glad I had a hard dose of reality. Live and learn.

Chuckie the snowman.

Probably it will come to life on Christmas Eve and try to strangle you with his fuzzy scarf. Available in central America only. T&C's applies.

Say it with a shell.

A maritime twist on your otherwise boring tree. And you can hear the ocean too.

The life size Reindeers.

Because if you are not going to creep out your children who will?

Also available the adult version "Exhibitionist reindeer" with fully detachable coat ( male specimen only ).

The "transsexual deer".

I am what I am
I am my own special creation.
So come take a look,
Give me the hook or the ovation.
It's my world that I want to take a little pride in,
My world, and it's not a place I have to hide in.
Life's not worth a damn,
'Til you can say, "Hey world, I am what I am." Hohohohohoh...

The "I know it's Christams but you still need to wash your hands after you've gone to the bathroom" soap dispenser.

Make your effort to fight germs more festive.

Take your "crazy cat lady" life style to the next level.

The "truck in a globe"

If you need to connect with your butch side. Or you if you are Chad Bono.

The "grumpy nutcracker".

The "grumpy bee-keep nutcracker".

You wouldn't be so happy either if you had to spend your holidays cracking nuts.

All I want for Christmas is a Jew.

   

Can you drink eggnog in those?

Shalom to all our Jewish friends.

But most important never be afraid of interpreting the holidays your own way.

I still don't know what this holiday season has in "storage" for me but for sure I know I won't put the decoration back into storage until mid February. Guilty as charged. Whom is without procrastination throw the first stone.

Ciao for now.

Ghosts of ThanksMerryGivingChristmas Past.

People I hope you are keeping pace with celebrating times passing by. My hallway still smells of Turkey but I am already knee deep in candy canes.
Fast and furious.

The echos of the gobble-gobble are still fresh in the air yet the radio waves are already saturated with Christmas carols.
Full force.

It's time to put away the stretchy pants you sport the whole of the 27th and start thinking what the hell you are going to wear for your office Holiday party. Classy but with a hint of slut ( and don't forget a new pair of spanks, the bitch from accounting must die of envy).
No time for looking back.

Shove the autumn decoration in the storage room and start de-tangling last year's tree lights.
Back to the future.

Lick your wounds from black Friday and start gearing up for the wrapping saga of the useless presents you are recycling. No shame in being thrifty. You go girl.

And even though it's time to store the poultry and get on with Rudolf,  I need to make some sense over my Thanksgiving,  by writing down the series of events that brought me to dive into the Christmas decorations like a Mexican refugee into California.

My Thanksgiving was all about birds...
I cooked and celebrated Thanksgiving with a friend and my hubby - none of us actual Americans.
All legal but holding respectively a German, a South African and an Italian passport.
I will summarize how we went about the day, please feel free to give me constructive criticisms so that next year we can take it up a notch.

• Watched the Macy's parade on TV. Nick Jonas and the Rockets. Cirque du Soleil and Broadway shows. Lots of half naked performers in the less than pleasant New York November weather. I hope they were all given an adequate supply of Imodium. And of course plenty of balloons. A floating army of gassy characters. Imodium for them too.

• Only the Turkey breast was given the honor to trot into the oven. Stuffing was home made as was the gravy. I dressed it all with a reasonable quantity of tears due to the chopping of a very unforgiving onion. I suppose tears are intrinsically tied to the holiday since you have to usually meet and greet and mingle with members of your family whom you wisely moved far away from many years ago. Tears of joy, rage, laughter, remorse, fear, humor, frustration.And the ever so popular crocodile tears.

• Actually before and during the preparation of the sacrificial feast a river of Prosecco was drained. But don't worry we didn't drive home, we crawled.

• Eventually at around 4 pm we sat at the table and ate our "we have so much to be grateful for" meal.
  I am still trying to digest it.
  Pumpkin pie followed and we ended up being bloated like the Publix Pair of Pilgrims

•  While still under the effects of the turkey curse my hubby and friend convinced me to attend the projection of "The Hunger Games: Mockingjay part 1". The first 20 minutes Jennifer Lawrence only opens her eyes VERY wide and whines over PEEEETA. She does not speak a word.
  Then they make a commercial to promote the rebellion with Lawrence all dressed up by the late designer, Lenny Cravitz. They end up filming a whole reality show about the revolution against the Capital.
  And release a perfume and a clothes line. Lawrence and Julianne Moore also find the time to have their wigs always photo shoot ready.
  The movie ends with Lawrence still wide eyed and about to lose her shit over a bleached Peeta who now really wants a piece of her. Preferably her head.

THE END

Wishful thinking.
It's not even the end. We will be graced with part 2 and god willing part 3.

Nothing really happened in two hours of movie apart from the evacuation of the cinema we had to endure due to a fire scare. Twenty minutes into the story.
Unfortunately it was only a scare and we had to go back in the theater to enjoy the remaining 1 hour and 40 minutes of the cinematic epic.

So much to be grateful for.

As I said my Thanksgiving was all about birds, to be precise a Turkey ( just the breast ) and a mockingjay. The turkey gave me digestive coma, the mockingjay just the coma.

I perked my self up with a Home Goods shopping spree...sea shells bonanza.

But that's a story ( and pictures ) for tomorrow.

Ciao for now.

Dr. Miracle Case

Take a moment and think about your cartilage.

Visualize it all.

Helping your joints not to scream like a Valkyrie in baroque opera.

Well I had minor issues with mine.
Elbow issues.
Left elbow issues.

I am not going to bore you with the details on how it all happened, suffice to say that I used to be a performer and I used to fly. Spiderman like. Well I wasn't protecting the masses but I was at least providing amusement in exchange of a paycheck.
So I was protecting the masses from boredom.
I suppose it's a life calling.

I had to endure many months of pain and discomfort including the going to the latest Cher concert in a cast after surgery. The dream of a life time spiked by this ugly piece or cardboard that was keeping my harm in a very Barbie like 90 degrees position. This pale DIY arts and crafts paper mache concoction had to be on my left limb while in presence of "icon".
Yes the cast was as stiff as Cher but for sure not as bedazzled as her.
I couldn't even turn back time properly.
I wasn't strong enough to wave my hands in the air.
I believe in life after endoscopic surgery but I was supposed to dance like a gypsy, act like a tramp, and like a thieve steal a night to remember.

I truly looked like Mrs. Potts...

Instead I had to send my 60 years old Jewish friend to get me the tour T-shirt. He doesn't stand in line ever so it didn't matter to him. By the way it was thanks to him that I ever managed to see Cher live in concert. The Jewish cookie factory owner from Chicago with close connection with the original Rat Pack in the golden Las Vegas days was my kosher god father when it came to Cher.
Should you require further information over the last details inbox me...

Anyway...

Today I had the final follow up after surgery ( not like Cher's farewell, actual FINAL follow up ).

I was allowed in the presence of the ever so charming,
ever so handsome,
ever so talented,
ever so "I have to many certificates for these walls",
Dr. Bond ( obviously that is not his real name...privacy people...also fear of legal repercussions...but I do find it quite fitting. Slightly dangerous but with that ever so stylish British connotation. His actual name has a much more distinct Latin sound, like maracas or Gloria Estefan...)

He will leave very little scarring.
He will go in, do what he does best, and leave while you are still asleep.
Just like your last one night stand, minus the shame ( no judgement ).

Meeting Dr. Bond require going through many etiquette musts.
Firstly you are let in by the radiologist, have your "picture" taken and you will be escorted in one of the consultation room waiting for his grace to appear.
Shortly after, the assistant in a white doctor coat with the Bond logo on comes in and tells you how well she thinks the surgery went. Just a halo short of a miracle.

After a very theatrical suspense pause a Star Trek sliding door opens and Dr. Bond descend into the room accompanied by an even number of cherubins, also known as his interns.

Dr. Bond looks at my CAT scan and proceed to auto-compliment himself for the beautiful work he did on my joint. A one man show. Copperfiled meets Madre Teresa.
We looked at the CAT pictures of my elbow the way that our mothers look at their wedding photo album.
He even promised to make my joint famous by taking its pictures on a orthopedic tour.
I was thinking I could have my own reality show on his TV Channel.
Keeping up with the Arthritis.
Yes, Dr. Bond even has his own TV Channel: OrthoNOW TV. True story.
We don't brush the dolls here.

Dr. Bond flashes the mandatory pearly whites a couple hundreds times and I am on my way into the world with a designer elbow and a promise of orthopedic stardom.

On my way out I bump into a Panda in recovery.

It's true then, EVERYBODY go to Dr. Bond.

A name, a Brand, a guarantee.

Ciao for now.

Found in Translation

I always managed to get the message across.
The expression "doesn't translate" never really played a role in my quest to say it like it is.
And since I am 100% Italian ( my made in Italy label is available for viewing after the third white wine spritzer ) I have to full fill my duty to say it like it is always. No matter what. Opinionated doesn't quite describe me. Wrong and strong perhaps, but never bland.
I also embellish my arguments with colorful hands gestures. Very theatrical. I am sure you would enjoy the full show. And probably get smacked in the face...

I have recently moved to Miami with my husband.
He works I play.
To be quite honest I am not completely sure on why I agreed to this move. I supposed it was time to be in one place for longer than 6 months at the time. My clothes needed a home. My bags demanded an appropriate display setting. My shoes wanted more than a cardboard box for a home.
And my husband was tired of living out of a suitcase.
We were both done with the ever challenging task of remembering on witch side of the room the bathroom was located when in need of a night pit stop.
Another suitcase in another hall.
Take your pictures off another wall.
Where am I going to...
( if you know where these lyrics are from you win a hand full of glitter and a disco ball ).

This is not going to be a Julie & Julia kind of blog...Although I love my self a bit of Julia Child 's arteries clogging, butter smeared, involuntary self deprecating mess I am not going to cook my way through your hearts.
I much rather win you by default.
Like a nagging yet adorable ball buster.
It's all a matter of perspective.
The degree of separation between treasure and trash is very little. In some cases it's an unfortunate thing but very democratic.

The goal of my verbal diarrhea  is to show you how you can find yourself in translation.
No matter where you are.
No matter where you go.
No matter how different you feel.

I am trying to give a whole new meaning and connotation to the concept of "sticking out like a sore thumb".

Only by filtering all that happens to us through our own personal taste and sensibility we can truly form a thought that exclusively belong to us.
No matter how silly.
No matter how peculiar.
No matter how wacky.

What ever I will experience I will report.
From doctors appointments to the search of an actual job.

We will laugh, we will cry, we will wish I didn't have internet connection or that I did have better writing skills.

Let's hope for the best.
Finger crossed.
Legs crossed...no easy laid...

Ciao for now.