update: scroll down a few miles
The hurricane season is just about to poke its ugly, wind-blown head into the city and Miami bloggers have been discussing preparedness. Rick is contemplating buying a generator and MKH is relieved that his favorite rum is so good, he can sip without ice.
Manola, on the other hand, is desperately seeking the most important hurricane accessory of all, which by the way, is not available at any hardware store ... not even that 24/7 Home Depot on Calle Ocho (although the arepas and coconut water are so tasty) ... No, it's not what you'd assume ... not Manolo Blahnik flip flops or batteries for a vibrator ... Manola needs
Why? Because last year, I spent the first few days after Miami's brush with Katrina alone. At night, without enough light to even pluck eyebrows or do a pedicure, oh my Lord, one humid, dark steamy night after another, with nothing better to do than sit on my bed lashing at mosquitoes and asking "why?" or talking to myself like Rain Man and then wondering: if I'd have a man around, we could be making major strides on page 69 of the Karma Sutra! Damn it!
It was SO humid here at Apartment 17, that after a few days, the tile floor was literally covered with water. I kid you not. Would've given sex on the kitchen floor a whole new meaning. Fun when slippery road sign would've been necessary.
After my apartment turned into a wading pool, I packed my ass, my mini-macaw, a toothbrush, the remaining unspoiled broccoli and a family-size bottle of Ketel One into the humble Toyota. Made the tedious drive over to the old folks on the mainland, trying not to hit a fallen ficus. God bless the old folks and the fact that we all still had our lives not to mention a roof over our heads -- as opposed to blue tarps -- but staying with the ma and pa was definitely an exercise in sensory deprivation and boredom!
Where was Mr. Thinks He's Huge? MIA as usual. (And no, he wasn't at the airport.) To be fair, the night Katrina hit he had to tend the home where his ex and two children resided. Of course, I wouldn't have had it any other way -- I wouldn't have loved a man who is an irresponsible father.
Nonetheless, is what it is, right? Mr. Thinks He's Huge had never experienced a hurricane and apparently he took a big dump in his pants (his actual words) while also dumping his responsibilities as Manola's man. Didn't see hide nor hair of him for a month, when I needed him the most. (I know, who really wants to see hide or hair of any man unless it's Brokeback Mountain?) But still, men who love rights and not responsibilities need not apply.
While enduring Katrina's aftermath and for the entire hurricane season thereafter, I realized how much I had taken for granted having a man around the house -- A REAL MAN WHO NOT ONLY LOVES MANOLA, BUT IS ALSO NOT AFRAID TO COOK A FRITTATA AND PUT UP SHUTTERS. It's not just about sex and the beach, it's about enduring the aftermath of a hurricane while STILL enjoying sex, capiche?
But I digress. Ladies, fear not. A gusty woman can spend a hurricane alone. It's not the storm, it's the aftermath that humbles, challenges and toughens even the weakest spirit.
single south beach woman hurricane plan, evac optional
• PANIC: "Oh my God, who's getting the vodka? THE VODKA! HELLO? Bottled water, wait, but ..."
• FRANTIC GUILT: "Why did I procrasinate? Was I too busy masturbating to Colin Farrell? Oh, shelves at the store just gutted! No more bottled water. But wait, here's 50% off Revlon dipstick and OMG! Colin is on the cover of People!"
• FREAK OUT THAT'S NOT LE CHIC BUT OH-SO HUMAN: "Bryan Norcross, I'll marry you, even though I think you're gay."
• DEPRESSION: "I'm a Scorpio. Why did I go off Zoloft?"
• STINK: "If I have to take another shower today with contaminated water, I think I'll just become a lice-pickin' chimpanzee."
• ICING ON THE CLOUD: "Well, at least I don't own a home. Look at those insurance rates! I could buy twenty pairs of Blahniks, please!"
Ladies, after a hurricane, you'll never complain about PMS again. PMS is a walk in the park!
Manola spent Georges -- the gay hurricane, remember? -- alone on a corner oceanfront apartment of the seventh floor. The building shook, rattled and rolled, but my parrot and I hunkered down in the living room and woke up rather refreshed, actually. If it doesn't kill you it makes you stronger: NOTHING can compare to Andrew. 8/23 is as etched in my mind as 9/11.
So this season, I'm RENTING A REAL MAN!
Ladies, Colin Farrell may be well-endowed, but can he drill a hole and put up hurricane shutters? When it comes down to brass tacks, you need a man who can do it all!
se busca un mucho super macho man
why colin farrell?
Manola recently received this email:
Date: April 19, 2006 7:01:51 PM EDT
Subject: Re: Colin Farrell's sex video
"Sorry for disturbing you. I just saw your comment in this site:
I Don't Like You in That Way.
And I just want to ask you, can you please send me that Colin Farrell video? I'm really looking for it everywhere but can't find. Can you please send it to me or upload on www.yousendit.com?
I received a snippet of the now infamous Colin Farrell sex video from a friend who works for paparazzi. To be honest, after I re-inserted my eyeballs back into their sockets, which popped out from the shock of seeing that Irish lad's huge schlong (he doesn't think he's huge, HE IS HUGE) -- I promptly deleted the video clip because it was really quite boring. Colin's ex gf, a second-rate porn star with bad hair, had the audacity -- and the bad manners -- to try to bank on this very personal moment.
Oh, and yes, he is sizzling hot!