The Starbucks Encounter

I just returned from a trip home to the Midwest for the holidays. So nice to see friends and family but I could do without the chaotic airline travel. I'm inevitably delayed, re-routed or stuck. I also realized how much money I spend on coffee while waiting in airports for my flights. Holy hot latte! I don't drink as much coffee on a weekly basis as I do in one day of travel. Crazy.

But I was reminded about a run-in I had with a homeless man at my local Starbucks a while back and this leads me to yet another Miami miss-adventure...

Like many people, I need a little jump start in the morning and when I'm feeling particularly "saucy," I'll swing by the Starbucks in my hood for a latte. I ordered my coffee concoction and chatted up the cute Coast Guard guys in line behind me (an added perk).

As I was leaving the Starbucks and headed for my car, I saw a strange (read: homeless) man standing by my vehicle facing the driver's side. Since I was approaching from the opposite direction, I slowed down a bit to try and figure out what he was doing. Was he breaking in? Was he dragging a set of keys along the door? Straightening my mirror?!?

With a decent dose of horror I realized the man was urinating on my car door in rather artistic-like swirls and curly-ques. No, no, no....

I had a couple of options at that point:
1) Let the man finish his business.
2) Yell at him about proper etiquette of relieving one's self in public - we've all done it but there is a right and wrong way people!
3) Confront him and try to get him to stop.

There's never much time to think in these situations and homeless man was quickly making his way towards the back of my car. So I did what any rational girl in my situation would do. I started by yelling "HEY ASSHOLE!!!!" then followed that with a string of other obscenities, then confidently walked up behind him, removed my Prada shoe and beat him about the neck and shoulders with it (I didn't want to get too close or actually touch him). Perhaps this would not be most people's first choice when it comes to a weapon...but for me, fabulous!

(The weapon - See? Fabulous!)

This did not seem to phase him much because he turned around and stared at me with glazed eyes and his "tool" for creating his masterpiece still "exposed" and at the ready. I should have dumped my hot coffee on him (or on "it" to be more precise) right then and there. I just didn't want to waste a $6 cup of coffee!
I continued my tirade - "Are you FUCKING crazy?!!?!?" - Clearly, this was rhetorical (and rather obvious) and I should have come up with a better question. Maybe something about impressionistic art?

I put my shoe back on and since he was still standing there, with no intention of moving, I started beating him with my LV bag and kept cursing at him until he found the energy to walk away. I then began to point out the other places he should have peed including the nearby fence, fountain, curb, alley, tree or the crummy Kia parked behind my car. Loudly. Loud enough for the 30 to 40 people standing in the shopping area to turn and stare at me while I continued yelling and homeless man ambled away.

As I was surveying the new creative addition to my car, a kind member of the Coast Guard (who was trying to contain his laughter - along with the other people watching the Prada shoe beat-down) handed me a bottle of water and some napkins. Nice and all, but not enough to clean what homeless man had left behind...maybe just enough for me to touch the door handle though.

Needless to say, my car was thoroughly detailed later that day and now I go to a different Starbucks with a drive-through. Although I did end up going out on a date with the Coast Guard guy but it didn't work out. I think he thought at any moment I might slip off my high heel and beat him and I was wearing four inch heels that night.

Dating Do's and Don'ts

Okay...so I've been seeing a great guy for about a month now and things are going rather smoothly and this is a bit scarry. For the last year and half I have had nothing but a string of frightening first dates and strange dating encounters - most of the time I'm just grateful that I live in a secure building with 24 hour security guards on duty.

I give you ...the best of the worst. Enjoy!

The Pool Boy
I met "pool boy" on-line and agreed to meet him at bar on South Beach one sunny, Sunday afternoon for cocktails. After about 30 minutes, we both agreed there was absolutely no attraction between the two of us. I thanked him for his time, paid for my vodka and headed to the restroom for a quick stop before heading out. He was waiting politely for me when I emerged and I followed him towards the exit.
This is where I should point out a little feature of Monty's (the bar we were at). It's an outdoor bar and they have a pool. I think you can see where this is going.

As we're leaving, a gentleman seated at one of the tables around the edge of the pool pushed his chair back to get up - just as my date was passing behind him. Yep. My date fell into the pool rather gracelessly. I did manage to get out a strange "oh" sound but it was too late.
I asked if he's okay and immediately started to giggle (I certainly wouldn't offer to help him out for fear he'd pull me in). The gentleman who had inadvertently knocked my date in the pool immediately apologized and pulled him out and gave him one of his towels. Rather than seeing the humor in the situation (and I can barely breathe by now), my date started to yell at the guy (in front his wife and two small children) and demanded that the man pay for his dry cleaning. My date was wearing khaki shorts and a polo. Date over.
But not before he tried to hug me goodbye.

The Fireman
I met the fireman about a year and a half ago and we immediately had a great connection. He was funny and hot (a great combination in my book). One night we meet up for drinks at a bar and closed the place down. We followed that up with a makeout session in my car when he suddenly said two words every girl hates to hear - "Uh Oh."
How do I put this? The fireman had removed his personal hose and he was unable to control it? Bad sign.
I was so shocked that all I could tell him was that there were some Starbucks napkins in the glove box. He was so embarrassed that he grabbed the napkins, opened the door and practically dashed to his own car with his pants still undone.

The Cell Phone Abuser
I met the "cell phone abuser" at my local grocery store. Turns out he was a lawyer (read: ambulance chaser) and we exchange numbers. He called later than night and we had a fairly normal "get to know each other" thirty minute conversation.
It all goes wrong the next morning on the drive to work. Very wrong.
I received a text with a photo which simply said "good morning" - the photo was of cell phone abuser sitting at a kitchen table. Immediately, red flags are waving around for me. 1) I'm pretty sure there's a rule about how soon you should send pictures of yourself to someone. 2) I'd already met him in person. A photo of him eating breakfast was completely un-necessary. 3) We had chatted a total of 30 minutes - tops. Not sure what part of our conversation indicated this was an appropriate next step.
Within another minute or two I received text #2. Wait for it ladies...cell phone abuser was laying in bed, shirtless, posing in (what he believes) is a seductive way. I nearly drove off the road I was laughing so hard. I don't know what bothered me more: the fact that he'd sent this nasty image or that he was covered in a cheesy, pink floral bedspread and had on two gold "Guido" chains. Ewwwww.
This would be when I started forwarding the images to my friends.
Shortly thereafter, text #3 arrived. This was truly meant to be cell phone abusers crowning moment. I actually pulled off I-95 and stopped at a gas station to go to the bathroom because I was laughing so hard. Cell phone abuser was completely naked (with doughy, barrel chest predominantly puffed up) and was flexing in front of a mirror - all while he took this gem of a self-portrait.
By the time I got to work, he'd sent me a quick message indicating he was unsure why he was still single and was really looking forward to hanging out. I kindly texted back that he was going to remain single for a very long time and I had no intentions of seeing, speaking or texting him again. Ever.

The "Florist"
While at the beach one weekend, I meet a really nice guy. We chatted for a while and I agreed to meet him for drinks the following night at a restaurant about a block from where I live (easier to make an escape should that be necessary). We had a great time getting to know each other, went for a walk after dinner and agreed to meet again later in the week (this was on a Monday).
On Tuesday morning, I got a call from the front desk attendant who saidshe has a delivery for me - she thinks. I asked what she meant and she explained that a man bearing a dozen roses arrived at my building today and wanted to leave the flowers for (and I'm quoting here) "the smokin' hot tall blonde who has a Pug and a Dalmatian." Did I mention he walked me home? Never again. I told Jess (the front desk attendant) that I was allergic to roses and she could keep them.
The next morning I got another call from Jess. He'd delivered ANOTHER dozen roses. This time he'd offered to deliver them to my door if Jess would just tell him what apartment I lived in. She politely declined.
This continued...until Saturday. A dozen roses every day for five days in a different color each day. Over the week, I received a series of texts about how much the florist wanted to date me, wanted to be exclusive, etc. Ummmmm...no thank you.

The "MMA Fighter"
I met the MMA Fighter on-line. We chatted on the phone a couple of times and we agreed to meet for a drink after work. By now, I had moved all first dates to the restaurant in my building where the bartender knows me and had actually started helping me ditch bad first dates. It helps to make friends and leave a big tip.
When we met, a few things struck me. 1) He is not anywhere close to 6 feet tall. Maybe 5'6...on a good day. 2) He was a little "larger" than the pictures I'd seen - this was my first "you look nothing like your pictures" experience. 3) He seemed really excited to see me. Yep. Really excited...
I asked my date (who's actually a lawyer) about where he went to school and what his short term and long term career plans were (I figured I needed to make at least 30 minutes of conversation before I could leave). This was the moment when he explained his true dream was to become an MMA fighter - and he had tears in his eyes.

And then he whipped out his iPhone and proceeded to go through SEVEN photo albums with pictures of himself at the gym from the last seven months. Some albums/files included video of MMA fighter lifting a lot of weight. Riveting. It was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Actually, if I'd had a blunt object I would have gladly gauged my eyes to avoid this unneccessary usage of a camera phone.

Let me interject here that clearly there is an epidemic among men who believe it is okay to share that many pictures of oneself with someone they just met. Brett Favre - need I say more? We must find a way to end this.

I ordered a shot of Jack Daniels and a Diet Coke (a sign to my bartender that he needed to intervene quickly), knocked down the shot and started sipping my Diet Coke while MMA boy finished going through album #6. We'd just started album #7 when the bartender casually mentioned to my date that he had food in his teeth and he may want to go fix that in the bathroom. My date quickly headed to the restroom and I made my escape. I tossed my bartender a much deserved $20 tip and practically knocked over the bar stool trying to get the hell out of there before my date got back.
When MMA fighter returned, my bartender explained that I did not feel well (silly shot of Jack Daniels) and I had to run (literally).

The "Exporter"
I'd known the exporter for about two years. Great guy who managed to make me laugh on a regular basis so when he asked me out, I agreed. The first couple of weeks were great. We had a blast and I was totally into him.
It was not uncommon for him to stop by at night and hang out. What was unusual was what happened one morning after one such visit. As I was getting out of the shower and headed for my closet to get dressed, I realized my Pug Riley was pushing around a piece of paper. To be a Pug means never being able to tentatively "smell anything" - you pretty much just have to face-plant into whatever it is you want to check out. And on this morning, he face-planted into a small wrapper filled with a white, powder-like substance.
I immediately took a photo of the "illegal substance" and sent it to my friend who's a nurse and agreed that I indeed had in my possession the one item you can find almost as much of here in Miami as you can expensive European cars and surgically-enhanced women. I immediately flushed everything, threw on shorts and T-shirt and rushed the little guy to the vet clinic.
Upon arriving, I realized that I may have to explain why I was there and why I was panicked that my Pug was about to go into a cocaine coma. The words, "I'm not sure what it was because it wasn't mine" left my mouth as I showed the vet the picture I had taken earlier (see below). I'm sure she believed me.

Let me give you the cliff notes. Riley was fine. Never better! Had a $500 spa day while they watched his vitals, etc, to make sure he had not inhaled any of it. I could have killed the exporter.
Now it was time to confront him about why he would 1) Have cocaine on him 2) Bring it to my house and 3) Be so careless as to leave it around. His excuse was so pathetic I won't even repeat it however, he did pay me cash for the vet bill. That's right. Cash.
I was reminded of a conversation I had with him prior to this incident when he explained that he had "exported" items from Miami to friends and family back in whatever country he was from. At the time, we were talking about clothing and designer bags (two of my favorite subjects) but in retrospect...how could I have been so blind? Lesson learned.

The "Candy Man"
I met the candy man at a networking event and we immediately hit it off. Really bright guy that was incredibly driven professionally. We'd been dating for a few weeks when he decided to come over to my place after a business meeting.
We were sitting on the couch chatting and talking about work when I heard "rustling" from the dining room area. I called out for Riley and Paris knowing my two room mates were probably interested in my date's jacket hanging from the back of one of the chairs (I believe he'd dined at a steakhouse). The noise subsided and we returned to our conversation.
A few minutes later, I heard the noise again. It almost sounded like the crinkling sound a candy wrapper makes. I called out for Riley having just heard Paris get up and lay back down again in the bedroom. I turned to my date and asked if he'd picked up any mints when he finished his dinner meeting. He said no. I called out for Riley again since I could still hear the rustling of the wrapper.
It was at that moment that my Pug came trotting around the corner of the couch and began to shake something dangling from his mouth rather vigorously. Riley, had proudly brought us a half a dozen condoms he dug out of my date's pocket. The packages were nearly shredded and had holes punctured throughout them like he'd been gnawing on them for some time.
I immediately took the condoms from Riley and held them in front of candy man. "What the hell?" I asked. "Did you bring these?" (Stupid question, I know. Riley clearly hadn't purchased them himself).
Candy Man: "Ummmm...yeah."
Me: "We're like sooooo not there yet. And what the hell is that smell?"
Candy Man: "I know. I just didn't want to be the guy that was unprepared if and when you were ready. And they're lambskin. Maybe that's why Riley liked them?"
Me: "You've found Riley's kryptonite. His Pug-nip. And we won't be needing these so I'll just throw them away for you."

The above stories are truly just a sampling of what I've gone through. There have been many other dates that were just uncomfortable or unenjoyable but not worthy of repeating here.

Ratatouille With a Side of Pepper Spray Please

So walking the dogs on Monday morning, I bent over to do that scoop thing when I suddenly felt something wet on my leg. I realized that while bending over, I accidentally pressed the top of my pepper spray dispenser which was now leaking the red fluid down my right side and causing a serious burning sensation.

I tried to hurry the other four-legged roommate who was taking his sweet time with his morning routine and then hobbled back into the building and sat in a warm bath trying to get that shit off me. It occurred to me while soaking that the pepper spray dispenser (with purple tip) just hadn't worked right since I used it on the rat several weeks ago.

You know I'm cursed when it comes to animals and this rat has by far been one of the creepiest, most awful thing I've encountered in Miami (other than a few first dates but that's another post for another day).

The run-in with Ratzilla occurred around 6AM when it was still pretty dark out. Clad in running shorts, an old concert T-shirt, flip flops and my eye glasses I took the roommates out for their morning stroll. We typically head over to an area about a block away that has a lot of green space and then make our way through an alley of sorts towards Brickell Ave (the main drag through downtown Miami) before heading back to the apartment.

On this particular morning, the dogs had finished what they needed to do and we were headed down the alley when I saw something running towards us.

My first assumption - "A dog! I wonder why it's not on a leash? hmmmm" (please remember I'm tired, it's dark and I'm wearing glasses)

My second (and last) assumption - "Maybe its a cat. Or a raccoon?"

OH MY GOD!!!! IT'S A DAMN RAT AND IT'S GOING TO RUN ME OVER AND DESTROY THE DOGS!!!"

People. IT WAS HUGE. No exaggerating here - it easily would have out-weighed the Pug.

I immediately picked up Riley and threw him under one arm like a football - after all, he can't see more than three inches in front of him so how would he know friend from foe; dog from rat?

I only had a few seconds to go through my options:

A) Run the other direction but towards wherever Super Rat was going? (umm pass)
B) Make like Carl Edwards and hurdle Ratatouille with a Pug under one arm and the Dalmatian restrained somehow...in flip flops? (complicated but possible)
C) Turn the 10 year old Dalmatian loose and hope she can take him out? (totally not gonna happen given that in her lifetime she's only killed frogs and a sick dove)
D) Spray the damn thing with pepper spray and pray that it impales the creature enough for us to get around him.

So we went with a combination of B and D which seemed to make sense at the time. With the Pug securely under my arm, Paris' leash tightly held and my pepper spray at the ready...I unloaded an entire container of that shit on Ratatouille. Let me tell you what I learned:

• Pepper spray does not really slow a rat down but does make a rat scream.
• I curse a lot.
• Dalmatians fear rats.
• A rat recently sprayed with hot magma innately knows where the assailant is and chooses to move in the assailants direction. No matter what.
• When afraid, I run like a Muppet away from danger.

As I was making my escape (again, please use your powers of visualization here), I ran right past a security guard who apparently heard screaming and was coming to my aid - too late I might add. The man is doubled over and can't breath. As I hit Brickell and start to turn towards my building, he gets out "You Okay?"

Ummmmm - NOOOOO!!! I don't think there's a recovery program (for me or the dogs) for giant rat encounters.

Life Lessons in a Pet Store

Okay...so I spend a great deal of time and money at Petsmart. I should own stock in Royal Canin. Each four-legged roommate requires a different formula perfect for their delicate digestive systems.
So I was on one of my many trips to Petsmart earlier this week to stock up on supplies. When I got to the appropriate food isle, I realized there were only small bags of "Pug Formula" instead of the larger bag we require in my household. With arms loaded up with multiple, small bags of puppy chow I headed back to the front of the store to retrieve a shopping cart. I'm good but I'm pretty sure weilding the 50 pound bag of "Senior Formula" with the other bags would have been pretty much impossible and totally laugh-able.

As I'm walking towards the doors, the fishtanks caught my eye...so pretty! I watched a beautiful, small stingray swim gracefully in its tank. Clutching my bags of food I wondered if I should consider starting a saltwater tank but I've heard they're horribly difficult to maintain and one high maintenance item in the house (moi) is enough.
While pondering the "to fishtank or not to fishtank" question, the stingray gracefully glided up to the side of tank exposing it's pale underside, slapped its body against the side of the tank (trapping an innocent by-stander fish) and began to slurp its prey through an opening in its abdomen. It was disturbing. I stood there with my mouth open, clutching my precious Pug Formula and watching this sloppy eater devour a precious, little fish.
I was not the only one watching. I looked down and saw two little girls who could not have been older than four or five, holding hands watching the scene much like I was; with their mouths open and in complete shock.
The older of the two turned to me and asked "That mommy fish just put that baby fish in its pouch, right?"
How am I supposed to answer this? My sister is a vet so she's pretty open with my three year old niece about life and death - maybe I should be? But what if it freaks them out and they start to cry? I don't want an angry parent chasing me down! Besides, I wouldn't be as nimble loaded down with dog food.
My Answer: "Well if by "baby" you actually mean "prey" and by "pouch" you actually mean "mouth or gullet," then YES! That's exactly what happened!"
I did a quick sweep of the area for their parents and then I darted for the carts to complete my dog food mission. This also settled my delima on whether "to fishtank or not to fishtank." I'll choose "not" so that I don't have to have these daily life lessons.

The Story That Started it All...

Okay...so my co-workers have finally convinced me that I need to start writing down the things that happen to me and one of them even named this blog (thanks Sean) and may have threatened to steal my stories and write a book if I didn't do this - I didn't realize they were that good. So here I am trying to figure out this whole blog thing and thought there was no better place to start than with the story that started the dialog about documenting these stories in the first place...the Iowa turkeys story.

Prior to moving to the beautiful city of Miami, I spent a year and a half in Sioux City, Iowa. Also known as Suck City to the locals. I became a vegetarian during my time there. It smelled bad. Really bad and nothing like bacon as I was originally told. It had an odor like a set of nun chucks to the olfactory senses. Also, nothing in the brochures indicated that when it snowed in October, IT DID NOT MELT UNTIL APRIL. This should have been disclosed somewhere. Shame on you Sioux City Chamber of Commerce. Do you see now why I moved to Miami?

My apartment was surrounded by nothing but undeveloped land overgrown with grasses, weeds and all sorts of strange fauna I couldn't identify if you paid me. Paris and I would often walk at night after work (this was prior to Riley joining our pack in June 2009) and at the conclusion of our two mile workout was the uphill 1/2 mile climb back to the apartment complex.

On one such walk in July 2008, Paris started diving into the brush. This was typical bad dog behavior as she searched for discarded candy bar wrappers, fast food items and half empty slushie cups thrown from vehicles ensuring that she would remain sick the rest of the day if she ingested one of these found "treasures." On this morning however, she spent more time than usual searching the brush and had completely disappeared while I held onto the other end of her retractable leash.

She suddenly emerged, quite pleased with herself, and fiercely shaking what looked like a pigeon. I uttered some inappropriate words and managed to get her to drop the poor thing which turned out to be a baby turkey. This is when the first of several bad things occurred - all within about a minute.

1). The brush began to vibrate and started moving in a way not natural to Iowa breezes.
2) I could see tail feathers pop up before my eyes but being a city girl, had no idea what I was looking at.
3) A fireball of feathers flew (yes flew) out of the brush and attached itself to the side of my Dalmatian still pleased with herself over her find.
4) Paris suddenly collapsed to the ground and began to shriek in pain as she wrestled with the strange feathered beast.
5) I, in my infinate wisdom and experience with wildlife, dropped kicked the feather ball from the side of my dog causing her to yelp in even more pain.
6) More than half a dozen turkeys (read: feathered gang members) emerged from the foliage to defend the honor of the Butterball football I had just punted about 10 yards away from me.
7) The gang of turkeys started to ATTACK ME!!!

In a moment (which my co-worker affectionately calls the "Platoon Moment") I tossed my bleeding and wounded Dalmatian onto my shoulders - her front legs and back legs dangling from either side of my neck - and started running....up hill. People, this was not pretty.

A kind neighbor sitting by her garage heard the commotion (turkeys are LOUD when they're pissed!) and rushed to my assistance with the only weapon at her disposal. A lawn chair.

She said...and I quote "You go ahead and I'll hold them off!" She was very serious and I was not about to argue.

I reached my building and headed for the vehicle, tossing my dog into my car. As I pulled out of the apartment complex, I watched in terror as my sixty year old neighbor swatted at a dozen or so turkeys (more had joined the ranks of the unruly) with her LAWN CHAIR! Sadly, her grandchildren sat nearby laughing.

As I sat in the vet's office waiting for Paris to get stitched up (sidebar: I did not know turkeys had tallons) I tried to explain how she got her injuries to the vet tech. Who laughed at me. A lot.

Unfortnuately, Paris' stitches re-opened the next day and she had to be taken back to the Vet where by then, the whole staff had heard about the story. I would have thought these people would have seen turkey attacks more frequently but I was wrong.

Paris has fully recovered from her run-in with a gang of turkeys but her story lives on...and now thanks to me, will live on forever in a blog. Best dog mom ever!!!

But we do love a good Thanksgiving turkey...