Just help out - 7/3/07

This morning I had the pleasure of visiting some of the finer government offices here in Miami. The entire story is another post for another day. Like many downtown areas, parking is a bitch. Even though it meant I would have to backtrack almost all the way home after my appointment before heading out to work, I figured it would be worth it to take public transportation, ie the Metrorail, not to have to promise my next child, an arm and the title to my car to the parking attendant.

Despite this wonderfully wonderful climate, people here are still pissy 24/7. But of course they are, they still have to go to work unlike the tons of people I see scamper past our building on a daily basis (I work on South Beach). The ride into downtwn was uneventful, meaning, thankfully, no one tried to strike up a conversation. I handled my business in a manner befitting a single mom who is completely fed up with the system and wonders why said system makes it so difficult to track down a deadbeat dad. (Thank goodness for loving and supportive boyfriend.)

As I was standing on the platform waiting for train number 2 to get back to my car, I noticed an older gentleman in an electric wheelchair. It's possible that he was paralyzed from the neck down, but I didn't ask. I stepped onto the train while keeping an eye on him. He seemed to be waiting for the crowd to clear before attempting to board. When the time finally approached for him to get on the train, he started moving forward but he got stuck. You'd think that train stations would be a little better designed, but they aren't and so stuck he was. (His front tire had turned sideways and was stuck in the gap between the platform and the train.) At that moment, I held my phone in one hand, briefcase in the other. It only took a split second to realize that of this train full of people, more than 60 percent male, no one was going to help. God bless Miami.

After cupping my phone ear to shoulder and slinging my briefcase over the other shoulder, I got behind his chair and tried to get him on the train. Those chairs are heavy. Way heavier than I imagined. Or I'm weak. Way weaker than I used to be. Either way, I had damn near thrown out my back and blew out a knee (note to self, don't try it in heels next time) before any of the lazy bastards on the train got up to help me. It's amazing how people have no respect for others. I wonder how much longer he would have been stuck if I hadn't helped. It's scary here.

This post has no end.

I heard it on a ski lift.... - 1/8/2007

I have recently returned from a WONDERFUL, albeit minimally snowy vacation to Tennessee. Our group contained myself, an African American, my daughter, half AA, half German, my boyfriend, Cuban, our former roommate, half Cuban, half Mexican, and his girlfriend, Honduran. Why do I go through the ethnicities? Read on.

Please, put aside your preconcieved notions that all of our southern states are places only for WASPs, for that is not true. Even a small town like Gatlinburg, a resort town, found its fair share of culturally diverse crowds. We ran into many people who spoke Spanish, French, German, and even Russian (we think). There were even quite a few black folks out trying out this snowboarding sensation. (Keep at it! Don't leave me out there alone!)

All this and more I tell you only to relive the funniest thing I heard all week. It's funny in a sad sort of way, but I laughed as did all in my group when I relayed the story, which in turn, allows you to laugh too.

Skiing/snowboarding is quite the social sport. Either that, or I must have a sign on that only other people can see that says "I want you, a compete stranger, to tell me everything about yourself and ask you everything there is to know about me." Long sign, I know, but I must be wearing it. At any rate, I've been off riding by myself for a while as my daughter is in a lesson and my poor baby is home sick on the first day of our trip. I've made fast friends with 2 girls from TN that just love me for some reason (am I Token?), as well as several other kids. I guess it could be that I look younger than I am and act nowhere near my age, but I digress.

On one particular lift ride, I had the opportunity to ride up with a southern gentleman and his son. I can say southern with absolute certainty because not only did the accent give it away, but he flat out told me that he was from TN. The conversation started as most do on a lift ride. Hellos, weather, first time, etc. Something like this:

Him: How y'all doing today?

Me: (Wondering if I've multiplied) Fine thanks, you?

Him: We're doing great! Great day of skiing.

Mind you, his son says nothing this entire ride.

Me: Good to hear.

Him: So where ya from?

Me: (Because I've told this story many times today, and many times at Club Med) Pittsburgh originally, but now I live in Miami.

Him: Oh yeah? What do you do down there?

Me: I'm an Administrative Assistant.

Him: Oh? Where at?

I think that's one too many personal questions at this point, but....

Me: A property management company.

Him: You been down there long?

Me: (Is this ride over yet?!?!) About 3 years now.

And now, the moment you've been waiting for.....

Him: You gotta learn to speak mexican to live down there, huh?

Me: (Blank stare.) Guffaw!

First off, I didn't capitalize Mexican to accentuate the way in which it was said. If nothing else, I do know punctuation and capitalization (as I hit spell check). Secondly, the brunt of the Hispanic population in Miami proper is Cuban although we do boast a large Mexican population. Third, my newly made redneck friend, if you're going to be stereotypical, at least get it right, because learning to speak SPANISH goes a long way here.

He didn't say much after I giggled in his face and thankfully, the ride was over shortly thereafter. By the way, southern gentleman, where did you get that gaiter? It's such a lovely shade. Oh, wait, that's your neck.

Speaking English in Miami - 12/14/2006

It's lunchtime. I brought my lunch today but every once in a while, I just need to step outside of the office. For a little while, I want to not breathe the recycled, recirculated, germ-laden air in our office. I want to see the sun, feel a breeze. (I work in the South Beach area, which means I'm breathing the urine-scented, probably even MORE germ-laden air, but I digress.)

I step outside into the nice warm air that is a million times warmer than the refrigerated air that is pumped into our office via a vent directly over my head. I contemplate crossing the street but I don't want to walk to the corner and a Miami Beach officer just pulled up and it would be just my luck that he'd harass me for jaywalking. (On a side note, do police still do that?)

SIDEBAR: If you haven't had the pleasure, opportunity, bad luck to venture down Washington Ave during the day, here's what you're missing: real homeless people asking for money, pseudo-homeless people asking for money (the fake ones are way too clean and tend to have new sneakers on), sorry to be so un-PC, but crazy people, talking to themselves and bumming smokes, driving on the sidewalk (bikes, boards, skates), walking in the streets, and about every half block, someone trying to give you a flyer for something be it a club, religion, new music, whatever. Get on a plane! This can't stay here forever!

I think that I've made it through steps 1 through 6 and am about to take step 7 outside the building when I am approached by a flyer guy. It went a little something like this:

FG: Aaaaaay, mami, you peaki pani?

Translation: Pardon me miss, do you speak Spanish?

Me: rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (while squeezing my eyes shut and shaking my head like a dog that just got sprayed with the hose)

FG: Uhhhh. (walks away quickly)

I am one of the few people in Miami that doesn't speak Spanish, apparently. Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against the language or the people. I lived in Mexico for almost 2 years (and yes, I still don't speak Spanish) and the love of my life is of Cuban decent. It's such a melting pot here, but I can't quite understand why people automatically think that I speak Spanish. Granted, I don't look like Buffy from the country club (African-American, loc-ed hair, sadly, no ghetto booty -- why am I the only black girl on earth with no ass??), but why not shoot for English first? Honestly, if I'm in Mexico, I shoot for Spanish when I ask questions. In France, I'd give French a shot, but give up quickly and head on home for some Freedom Fries from McDonalds. So why, in the US, can we not go for English first?

By the way, it isn't just Spanish that people assume I speak. I think that I get mistaken for Dominican and that's where it comes from, but I also get mistaken for Haitian because often enough, someone will start going on in Creole until I start giving them the dog spray.

I'm not going the way of the lunatic from Colorado who thinks that Miami is a "third world country", far from it. I hope. I certainly don't want to be seen as "that girl". I just want people to respect our country and our language just like they would any other country or its language. Is that so wrong? Talk amongst yourselves.

Get out of my lane, Miami! - 10/20/2006

I am, what most would call a good driver. In my 16 years of driving, I've been pulled over about 5 times and ticketed about twice. I've wrecked twice. One completely my fault where I was late for work, driving too fast, and tapped the lady in front of me at about 5 mph. (Of course this did not stop her from trying to get $10,000 from my insurance company for damages to her person and her car. Just for future reference, lady, they take pictures of the cars. My car didn't have as much as a scratch on it and neither did yours so quit trying to SCAM!) The second wreck involved only me, my car, a rainy day, and a freshly oiled stretch of pavement. (Yes, in PA, they OIL the roads. Oil + water = skid, slide, BANG!)

Last month, I got a ticket for failing to come to a complete stop before making a right on red. Again, I was in a hurry. So much of a hurry that I completely missed seeing the cop. Oh well. I took it like a man. Or at least as much of a man that's possible as I'm not a man. Did I aggravate the officer? Probably. Did his question, the ever popular, "Do you know why I pulled you over?" deserve to be answered with "Because I cut you off?", probably not. At least he didn't nail me for not having my seat belt on.

This was my first ticket in FL and lucky for me (NOT), the most expensive one outside of speeding. DON'T RUN A RED IN FLORIDA PEOPLE! Anyways, $200 later, I figure I'd better take the traffic class so that the points aren't added to my license and therefore jacking up my insurance rate. As I've been going through this class online, I finally came to a part that everyone who gets on the ramp to 836 east off of NW 27th Ave northbound between 7:20 and 7:30 am should know about:

Drivers should be advised that highway on-ramps are for entrance to and preparation for highway driving. Drivers must no longer travel at the drastically reduced speeds suitable for city driving. Drivers are called upon to increase speeds to that of the highway traffic and use the on-ramp and subsequent merging lanes as a means to get into the flow of highway traffic. The driver is called on to signal, increase speed, and merge safely into traffic.

Do you understand what this means, people? Just in case you don't, let me break it down for you. We have a few hundred feet of space to get up to the SAME speed as everyone else that is late for work. Said late folks are NOT going to slow down so that you can creep, grandma-style into traffic. You are going to cause a major accident. In case that wasn't clear enough, let me elaborate. Everyone else is going between 65 and 150 mph. I use this ramp to have my Ricky Bobby moment for the day, wherein I blow out all the dirt that's hanging out in my injectors by redlining it in first through about third till I get up to speed. Now, what do you think happens when you, turtle shell, are in front of me?

1. I am deprived of my Ricky Bobby moment for the day.
2. My baby Honda must choke on dirt for an extra day.
3. You PISS OFF everyone within a half mile radius of your car.
4. Quite often, you cause an accident.

You may not think that numbers one and two are important, but ask any 6 year old how important number one and number two are, and even they will know the answer.

So please, Mr/Ms. Honey-I'm-So-Scared-To-Drive-Here-Because-Everyone-Is-Going-So-Fast, either get on the track or stay in the pit!

Sights of Miami - 10/27/2006

Hungry Homeless

South Beach and Miami in general has a ton of homeless people. Some of them are war vets, some drug addicts or alcoholics, and some are literally flat out crazy. I often wonder how one gets to this point and then I feel so blessed to not have gotten anywhere near that point. I don't typically give homeless folks money, simply because I know it isn't going to go to good use, but I never hesitate to buy anyone that's hungry some food, providing I have the capability.

(I know I jump around a lot and I'm working to make that better.)

A couple of days ago, when driving home from work, I broke my personal rule about not handing out money. On the corner of NW 12th and the off ramp, there's a traffic light. And with that traffic light, comes a variety of homeless men (and on occasion a woman) with their signs asking for money. Typically, I keep my windows up on that corner, because, let's face it, I'm not a big girl and someone who's strung out has the capability to possess super-human strength. This day, I had my window open and some cash on me (which I also don't usually do since I have a tendency to lose money) and there was a gentleman coming towards my car. His sign wasn't anything out of the ordinary: Homeless, hungry, veteran, please help. But what got me is "Freedom isn't free". With so much going on in the world, that really struck me. That's not what got me reaching in my purse though.

Quite often, I see homeless people that I just don't believe are homeless. I think they're scam artists. I don't say that to be mean and I understand that there are shelters where people can get clean and get clean clothes, but sometimes, they're just dressed a little too well with sneakers that are too nice. Not this man though. He wasn't overly dirty or overly clean, but he was genuine, that much I felt. He also had his veteran badge on from the VA hospital and it had his picture, so I know at least that part was the real deal.

As he came by the car, he almost didn't make eye contact with me, as if he was thinking that I was just another young person that didn't care, but I surprised him. I got him over to the car and gave him a 5, it was all I had, but more importantly, I thanked him for serving our country. I think he wanted to hug me, not for the money, but for the thanks, and if it were in a different situation, maybe I would have, but the light turned, and it's Miami, and if you don't move your car within a half second of the light turning, you might get killed.

I kept on with my drive home and I felt good. Good that my little bit might help, good that my words were probably more valuable to that man than my money, and good that my little part of the world is safe and sound with a roof over my head, food in the fridge, and love in my heart.

Because playing with my money...

...that's right.  Is like playing with my emotions.

Today, I threw my former gynecologist's office right under the bus.  Then I backed up and ran them over again.  I've been going there for nearly four years as they came recommended by someone that I trust.  Also, they speak clear English and that's really important to me when it comes to my medical care.

They've requested-until-I-caved-in me to have a couple of procedures in the past that I knew I didn't need.  I've had these parts for 36 years and I know how they act.  Sometimes they need a procedure, but most times they do not.

The shortest straw has been drawn for me and that straw broke the relationship.

I am fortunate.  I have health insurance (right now).  And for this pleasure, I pay with my soul, but that's another story.  I know how insurance works.  This is not my first time having it.  SO, Doctor, I know that I pay you the co-pay and you bill the insurance.  They don't pay you everything you charge because you overcharge like bars in a strip club.  But this is not my problem.  Until this year apparently.

You see, you've decided to change your policies.  Instead of me paying my lovely co-pay, you've decided that ALL patients should pay you $150 up front and (I shit you not) if after you bill the insurance, you'll cut me a check for whatever I overpaid.

Have.  You.  Lost.  Your.  Everloving.  Minds?!?!?!

I'm sorry.  Never once has one of my bills come back to you.  Never once have I owed your office money.  And this is the shit you're gonna pull?  You tell me I have a deductible (which isn't listed on the card, you had to look online or call) but  you couldn't bother to see that I have a co-pay and you can't rape me for $150 thinking I'm some other moron down here that isn't gonna throw you under the bus?!?!

Get under the bus, bitches.

Yeah, that's right.  I called my insurance company.  I peppered them with questions.  I know you're wrong.  I also know that what you're doing is in violation of your contract with the insurance company.  And I reported your ass.  You know why?  Cuz times are hard, motherfuckers.  While you're living in your big ass house, driving your nice car, some of us are just getting by and trying to stay healthy.  How can you charge someone $150 in these times and expect them to wait for you to send back the extra?  I know that I wouldn't have seen my $110 for over a month and that's only if you didn't try to steal more of it from me.

Not everyone is gonna call you on this, but I did.  What you're doing is uncalled for.  It's filthy and I despise you for it.  I know it isn't common practice either.  I've been to many doctors from dermatologists to chiropractors and EVERY OTHER DOCTOR has been about helping the patient, not screwing them.

Karma is a bitch.

Turkey Trot Countdown! T-24 days

Well, it is official. Today I registered for my first 5K. So, on the morning of Thanksgiving, when most of you will either still be sleeping or beginning to slave over the day's dinner, I will be out putting in 3.1 miles on the road. It's funny, 3 miles doesn't really seem like a lot, but for someone who, for her entire life, has thought of running as the worst possible form of torture, this is truly an accomplishment! I have a Nike Mini to prove it!

It's hard to believe that 8 weeks ago, I probably wouldn't have run to the bathroom and just this morning, I put in 3 miles. I'm also starting a glucosamine/chondroitin regimen since my knees have seen better days and my Q-angle is just plain huge! I have no doubt that the right knee will need scoped before I turn 40. I'm currently just hoping to get it strong enough to make it through a week of snowboarding over Christmas.

I had been "dieting" for a couple months and no matter what I did, it just didn't matter. I looked the same. I weighed the same. I started to wonder why I was bothering. Granted, I know that I'm just a SOLID young lady. I stand just under 5'2" and I stay around 130 pounds, but that also includes a good 3 pounds of dredlocks and 2-3 pounds of boobs.

Running (or at least the process of working my way up to running) has given me the figure I always wanted but could just never achieve. No more muffin top and no more looking like I just finished off the whole turkey when I just had a sandwich. Yes, I'm super vain like that, even realizing that I'm just cute ('cept to Lovey of course), but it's been a long time of growing out hair, going to the dermatologist, and one time under the knife to get to this point where I can be happy.

Back to the Thanksgiving speak, we have an office shindig every year. This is year four for me. The first two years I made Gram's kick ass mac and cheese and they tore it up! Last year I deviated a bit and made a three bean and sausage casserole. For a bunch of hispanic people, they were awfully shy about having some beans. No matter though, I kept a pot at home for me and the rest went to a shelter for the needy. All good.

This year, I'm making a huge ass pot of greens. I don't care if I have to wipe out 3 grocery stores to get it done. Do you have any idea how delicious greens are? If you don't, man are you missing out. But, this is also coming from a person who's been eating them for nearly 30 years.

So, in case you hadn't noticed, my blogs tend to ramble on and jump a bit, but that's how my mind works. Be happy. If it worked in straight lines, I would've taken over the world by now!

MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Flying high again!

Ladies and gentlemen, MiamiShyner is hitting the skies tonight and will be flying high again.

That's right, after a way too long hiatus, I'm heading back to the rig to fly tonight. I'm sure I'll be just a smidge rusty but that doesn't really matter since I'm not allowed (no one is unless you work there) to fly without the safety lines at this particular rig. Does it make a difference? OMG yes! I can only assume that it is equivalent to the difference in feeling with/without a condom for guys? Unless that's just one big load of bull, lol. What do I know? I've been with the Lovey for nearly five years; we don't need 'em.

This morning, I asked myself what would happen if I started just doing some stuff for me. Then I asked out loud on Facebook. The answers I received were: Happiness? Independence? Satisfaction? And you know what, those answers are right.

I've spent a lot of my time here in Miami worrying about doing for others or only doing the things that don't upset others in the least. I am not saying there's anything wrong with that, but it hasn't gotten me where I want to be. I'm no more stretchy, I've no more circus skills, and I'm no closer to being a fitness instructor or a massage therapist. However, I AM a mere four months away from finishing a degree in IT. So, boo for me and congrats to me.

Starting here, starting now for the rest of the time I'm in Miami, I'm going to be selfish. I'm going to *gasp* put myself first. I'm going to take the time to read my three bookshelves of books. I'm going to take the time to blog and write in general. I'm going to fly, spin, twirl and do everything that I want to do (that doesn't break the bank).

Join me as I chronicle my ascent into a new level of happiness. :-)

Best (stuff I almost didn't) Buy

Oh! Hello there. Remember me? Blog owner/neglector? Well, I'm back and I have an amusing story for you. Or at least it was amusing to me.

Let us begin.

In case you don't know or don't remember, I rock a 94 Honda Accord with on again-off again AC but pimped out 17s (I bought it used) and a nice factory sound system. Now, said sound system is comprised of AM/FM/CASSETTE! Ha, yes, you know those things that aren't even made any more. Well, for the most part, this is just fine. My drive to work is only 30 minutes on a good day. The problem lies in the fact that the radio in Miami sucks. My. Ass. This can make for a loooooong drive.

Do you know where all of my music is? Yes, it's on my phone. I would love nothing more than to hear some of my tunes or Pandora or hell, a podcast on how to speak Spanish, while I'm driving rather than the blah, blah, blah that falls out of the mouths of DJs. How does one go about getting this done?

I think one would start at the brand spanking new Best Buy that opened recently over on the beach. I had one of those old skool cassettes that you plug in and the other end is like a headphone jack for portable CD players. (Let me tell you that I feel like I'm 90 right now talking about this old technology.) Problem with said setup is that at some point, the wire got eaten and so it only plays out of the right speakers.

How am I to impress Miami Hood Rats with my sound system booming from only one side?!?!

As I walked into sparkly new Best Buy, I was greeted by a huge security dude. Hi there very large black man wearing yellow. I will NOT try to sneak anything out past you. I headed back to the section that I thought would hold my treasure. An associate watched me walking around. He actually followed me around for a couple minutes without saying anything. I was in my work clothes so I don't think he thought I was tryin to steal anything.

I got to the point where I couldn't find what I wanted and I was about to leave but the associate chose that moment to ask me if I needed help. Why yes, yes I do. Better late than never. I explained to him what I wanted and he told me that he was sure that they didn't carry the item. He did, however, walk me around to show me a bunch of other things that I could use until he realized that my car is OLD and doesn't have an auxillary jack. Dejected, I headed towards the door.

Enter security dude.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked.
"Sure did not," I replied.
"Well what is it that you need?"
"Something old skool for my old skool car."
"Okay, what is it?"

At this point I told him what I needed then said that an associate helped me but the store didn't carry it.

I. Am. NOT. Making. This. Up.

Security dude moved his magic camera joystick and then zoomed in and pointed to the screen and asked, "Is this what you need?"

Motherfucker! Sure as shit it was!

He pointed me in the right direction and I was able to bump music the whole way home. Security dude said to me that this was the reason that he should be on the floor. I totally agree. I don't know anything about Best Buy's hiring practices and such but I think that later today, wait, not today, today is Metallica, but tomorrow, I'm going over to that store to speak with a manager to let him/her know what a great job that security dude did. I won't throw the associate under the bus since that's rude, but let the big man get some commissions! He knows more than the people you have on the floor!

Gotta run, there are tunes to be played in the car. :-)

I Got A Guy or IGAG

If you're from New York (and I'm sure some other places), you've probably heard and/or used the phrase "I got a guy". If you aren't familiar with the phrase, it's basically like saying, "Don't call that expensive contractor because I know someone who will get the job done for you for way less."

Now, in NY, I believe that this system works. Here in Miami, however, if someone tells you they've got a guy, RUN as fast as you can in the opposite direction. That contractor might cost you an arm and a leg, but in the long run, it will be worth it. Let it be known that when we move and my name is on the mortgage/deed, we will not play IGAG.

We've been playing IGAG in the house for sooooo long and more often than not, it's been a mess. First it was IGAG for painting the house. I understand that painting a house is a big project, but these people took FOREVER to get it done!! Oh yeah, and they got crap all over my kitchen window that they didn't bother to clean.

Next round of IGAG puts up the privacy fence around the house. At least a month to get that one done. The fence is still standing though. *knocking on wood, but not the fence*

After the first two rounds of IGAG outside, I was hesitant to play IGAG inside, but again, it wasn't my decision. First stop, the downstairs bathroom. We had been using it more or less as storage. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to have a second bathroom as no one ever has to rush out of one. And sure, the light fixture is nice and the new toilet is fantastic. But seriously, if you have to fix the toilet less than 2 weeks after it's been installed, you've been IGAG'ed. *sigh*

Our kitchen was a little outdated..still is to be perfectly honest, but we got a little upgrade. Drop ceilings with new ceiling tiles. New sinkage. New fridge, although that's just because the old one died. We even have track lighting in there now. Don't get too happy about it though, because less than 2 weeks after it finally got finished, I went into the kitchen and turned the light on and got nothing. IGAG'ed again. No, it wasn't the breaker or the bulbs, just something the guy screwed up. Oh, and he moved to Naples or Tampa or something, so we've been without an overhead light for MONTHS!

It seems obvious that we might have learned our lesson by now, but guess again.

The house is old and doesn't have central air. This is fine by me because I hate the air conditioner anyway. Well, we have heard from a reliable source that once the A/C gets installed, our electric bill should go way down. I swear to you that this installation process started two months ago. And yes, we've been IGAG'ed again.

The first time the guy came, he didn't have the right stuff. Then he couldn't do it the way he planned. So he left the wrong stuff in my living room where it sat. And sat. And sat. He eventually returned and did one part of the job. Then it sat for a few weeks. Yesterday he returned to "finish". Needless to say, he didn't. He did, however, come in with his partner, make a complete mess of the house (I was dusting and mopping the floor after 10 last night), stink up the house (I know it's hot and all, but dude(!) take a shower!), and the biggest insult was that he used our bathroom. He used our bathroom and missed. Thanks dude. Now I have to mop a stranger's piss at 10pm. I suppose it's better than having the bathroom stink, but have a little common courtesy you fuck. And he still has to come back today to connect the electricity.

I realize that getting a legit contractor in Miami is equivalent to getting me to eat okra/asparagus/liver. Impossible! But man, IGAG isn't much better.