I'm Still Sunburned, Yo

Welcome to Miami, Benvenido a Miami!

Sorry. It was in my head for the entire trip. Apologies to the Lady as well. Because I know I was annoying. I know this.

I left Reagan on Saturday afternoon, connected in Charlotte, and arrived in Miami at 6 p.m. Also, side note? The bitchiness of US Air flight attendants cannot be matched. Good Christ.

Right. The Lady left Detroit, connected at Dulles (ironic, no?), and arrived in Miami at 8 p.m.

Except that she didn't.

She got stuck at Dulles overnight and I was stuck in the Miami airport contemplating my night alone. K-10 pointed out to me that maybe it wasn't the best idea to be hanging around the Miami airport by myself, and so I rented the car and drove my nerve-shot ass to Weston, FL.

We had reserved a room at this hotel, though upon arrival I realized was more of a condo/timeshare kind of place. Customer service? Not so much. I called the place before I left the airport just to be sure that I would be able to check in under the Lady's name. It was booked on her credit card, so I was nervous. They gave me the green light, so I drove the 45 minutes there.

The 18-year-old asshat at the front desk gave me crap from the get-go, and that was NOT the thing to do to the Donut, especially after her day. After two different douchetard "managers" came to talk down to me, they finally agreed to give me a room. As long as they could charge me a $100 deposit.

The fuck?

By now I was in tears. The place was already booked, and the Lady's card was ALREADY CHARGED, but they made some assumptions that I was under 25-years-old (I'm guessing) and treated me like a child. Upset I was.

Whatever. After driving around their insane complex for ten minutes, I got to the room and attempted to relax. It was actually quite nice:


It was apartment-sized with a fully-stocked kitchen, living room, and bedroom. I had both televisions on at the same time. Just because. It would have been nice for the Lady to actually see this place, but ah well. I promptly ordered a pizza and some Coke (no, not that kind. Though I was close to Miami), decided to be proud of myself for getting through everything all by myself, and then passed out on the couch watching The Parent Trap. I know.

The next morning, I had to be out of my room by 10 a.m. But that's early! So I drove from exit to exit on I-75 in search of a mall of some sort, only to discover that Florida loves strip malls just as much as southeastern Michigan. I found a Panera for lunch, horrifyingly browsed through a Marshall's and a Ross, read my book in a Home Depot parking lot, and got green tea at Starbucks.

FINALLY, the Lady called and I hauled my tail to the Miami airport to pick her up. I flawlessly maneuvered through the wreckage of the airport grounds (seriously - was it recently bombed? It was a complete mess!), and we arrived in Fort Lauderdale in less than an hour. We checked in, changed clothes, and practically ran to the closest place that served alcohol:

Guess which one was mine?

Then we went to a few of the beach shops that all boasted the exact same merchandise and all came complete with a certifiably insane owner. Our last stop was an Italian restaurant that was trying waaaaay too hard. Techno music? At 7 p.m.? No. Jerkoff waiter? Check. Overpriced wine? Check check. Just a note to Spazio: cut it out. You're just not that hip. We're just not that into you.

We effectively lost a day, thanks to the fucktards at US Air, so Monday was our beach day. And what a day it was. We left our hotel to walk the block to the beach:

Okay, not really our hotel, but a still-hurricane-damaged hotel located just a few paces from ours. Bummer, dude.

This is the sun that greeted us. The merciless, evil sun of Fort Lauderdale. It did create picture-perfect moments like this:

... but still managed to burn us to crisps in under two hours. We are retarded. Apparently:

Donut: Not amused at the camera. Or the sun. So pink!

Just a few quick pictures of our hotel room. It looked much better online, let me tell you:

Yep, that's the dumpster right outside of our window. Awesome!

The furniture was lovely! And chic! And rounded!

Oh my gosh, this place. It was surreal. Each and every time the owner spoke, she called The Lady "Sweetie" and it was seriously every other word out of her mouth. When she wasn't smoking, that is. She told us no less than ten times that she had to clean the fridge after the last guest because he had spilled some milk and it had "coddled" under the fridge. Coddled? I think that she meant "curdled," but I'm just guessing. What do I know? Anyway, she said this ten times, along with the fact that she just put blankets on the beds. She also brought us a space heater. Um, isn't this Florida? Again, what do I know? She was eccentric. And precious. And smokylicious.

We avoided her from then on. Because, scary!

For our last night, we were exhausted from the sun and had sizzled like bacon all day, so we ordered sushi. Oh my gosh, the sushi:

I must give props to his adorableness for introducing me to this gastronomical amazingness. I seriously cannot get enough of the sushi. Or the edamame - that stuff is beyond addictive.

I know that it seems like the trip totally sucked, but it was SO NICE to get away from the snow and the 20-degree weather and hang out with the Lady. My worst day in Florida (or getting to Florida) was still better than my best day in DC.