Seriously, what could be next? So far we have live brass, illicit drugs, stunning sunsets, thumping bass, & wanton sexual encounters. Like, seriously, how much more can balcony life provide? Oh, more, I assure you! And so we find ourselves at “Part 3”.
This final chapter is an ode to the “F You’ of South Beach living. While beautiful folks jetted in from beautiful places there were still those representing a dedicated (as opposed to the more commonly seasonal) residency. While the velvet ropes and “guest list” checks at the majority of establishments judged us we were busy doing the same, feeling superior in our ability to indulge in pizza, beer, and comfort from above minus a $30 cover charge for equal – if not better – entertainment. Oh, and don’t forget we get to have pizza & beer! A model’s life is not one I envy. Kate Moss once said, “Nothing tastes better than skinny.”. WRONG! Gurl, you haven’t had a slice from Bona Italian Restaurant in Wilton Manors. I may envy your paycheck but I KNOW you envy my pepperoni! *nom*nom*nom*
Moving to South Beach was a large culture shock despite the fact that I moved there from just a few states away and was just what I wanted. I found the overwhelming melting pot of nationalities fascinating and incredibly intriguing. On any given day, a few blocks stroll in my neighborhood meant encountering an average of five different dialects spoken by those sharing the sunny sidewalks. What I did not anticipate was the unexpected and unfortunate degree of pretention prevalent & practiced within this Pastel Paradise. As an ex-pat from “The South”, unapologetically representing real people and real life, I gravitated towards the residential anomalies that shared this shockingly rare similar philosophy & outlook. With that, we find ourselves at Part 3, though involving two chapters.
Chapter One: TOM
Tom and I met and established a quick and easy friendship when I moved into the balcony apartment next to his, the same one previously referenced in Parts 1 & 2 and that serves as the stage for this final tale. Together we shared and lorded over our erroneously coveted and shared perch, our balconies divided only by a whisper of metal division. Privacy was not an option when it came to the pursuit of outdoor zen time due to our coinciding schedules regarding geographically elevated enjoyment. Fortunately for both of us, we shared a friendly, welcoming, and conversational attitude that found us quickly graduating from frequent, unintentional encounters in our shared space to intentionally coordinated outdoor, collective, chill time spent swapping tales, discussions, and laughter.
We shared a kindred spirit and “buck the system’ attitude towards South Beach living. Rather than bend over backwards trying to blend into a world of “champagne & caviar” we defiantly waved our pretzels in one hand and beers in another. I will never forget the day that we’d both had it up to *HERE* with the South Beach pretention & “pretty people” and both dressed up in loosely construed costumes – me in “cowgirl” attire, him in “Jimmy Buffet” mode, big straw hat and all. We grabbed some sidewalk chalk that I had and graffitied the sidewalks of Ocean Drive until the pavement got boring so we drew on one another’s faces for a canvas change of pace. Whiskers, moustaches, etc., etc., and then meandered into one of the outdoor hotel bars where…shockingly!….we couldn’t get served! We waited & waited, giggling non-stop and ever harder as the bartenders continuously passed us by until I looked at Tom and said, “Gee, do you think they think we’re not cool enough?”. Skip to us cackling all the way out and you’ve got a solid concept of our shared attitude with no apologies and that I’d do all over again! (Kardashians, take note – put down the selfie phone mode and pick up some sidewalk chalk. You’re missing out!)
But I digress. After uncounted days & nights spent in our shared outdoor space, Tom came up with a way to entertain himself from the balcony one evening, a friend of his riding shotgun. Lucky for me, I happened to be present and a witness to the harmless, gleeful, additional middle finger he gave to South Beach one night.
I can’t remember the day of the week or even how late into the day it was, all I remember is walking onto my balcony to find Tom & his friend leaning over the railing on the opposite side of our dog gate height divide, both doubled over with stifled guffaws. To set the scenario that added to my confusion, Tom was holding a fishing pole over the side of our third floor plateau. Though it took a moment, I digested (with glee) that Tom was dangling a transparent fishing line baited with a five dollar bill for the sidewalk salmon. As I settled in to the Mischief Section, time and again he would lower the line until it laid gently on the concrete within enticing focus of those in transit below. And then….wait…..
Like a lion to its prey with bets hedged, here comes the next pretty buck and/or gazelle and, let me tell ya’, “See a penny, pick it up” ain’t got NOTHIN’ on a five dollar bill, ESPECIALLY one that “magically” whisks away when “oh so casually” reached for.
“Was it the wind (even though there isn’t any)?”
“Should I try again?”
“WHAT IS HAPPENING??”
I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination but, trust me, if you are ever bored and happen to have a balcony, a fishing pole, and a five dollar bill handy, I promise you that “bored” will no longer be a part of your evening.