Welcome To Miami* (Part II)

The first attempt to open my eyes was thwarted by a heavy does of fatigue. The second by a wave of laziness. But on the third try, my eyes opened to sunlight filtering through the curtains. The bride to be was buzzing around the room and the matron of honor had left to run an errand. The usher was still asleep next to me in an alcohol induced coma.
"So what's the plan for today?" I asked.
"We're going to the beach today, then Opium Garden tonight," the bride to be answered.
"I'm hungry. I need to find food." It was after noon and the pancakes, cheese eggs, and turkey bacon I'd devoured 8 hours earlier were long gone from my system. Food would need to be administered soon before my stomach began eating itself. The situation was urgent, so I sat down at my laptop and checked my email for the next hour. Ooooohhh, look! 12 new comments on the blog. Woohoo!!

Showers, outfit selection, hair and makeup for four women took over two hours. But by 3:30 we were suited up

and ready to go
The heat blanketed us the moment we stepped outside. Desperate for relief we hauled ass into a nearby drugstore and picked up some essentials. Towels, shades, sun screen, soap opera mags. Two blocks and 5 minutes later we were at 8th and Ocean.
Teddy and the twins were nowhere to be found, but we did happen upon 1/2 off lunch specials. French toast and eggs quieted my rumbling stomach and gave me a touch of gas, which I promptly released into my chair's cushion. I felt a thousand times better. Beach time!! A brisk walk across the street and there it was in all it's glory. South Beach!
I raced towards the Atlantic, the bride to be several feet behind me. The other two stayed by our umbrellas, lest a drop of water touch their hair. The bride to be and I frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called....wait, wrong reference...we frolicked in the surf. The waves pounded against us, moving us further out to see before bringing us back towards the shore
It was all good clean fun until a tidal wave crashed against my back, denting my perfectly rounded, coily fro. I admitted defeat and exited the ocean.

(Halle Berry ain't got nothing on me)

I needed a breather, so I found a chaise and lounged.

A few minutes later we were South Beached out. We gathered our belongings, rinsed off our feet and headed back to Ocean Ave. I wanted to shop. Unfortunately every store I entered only specialized in stripper couture. $500 for butt floss? I don't think so. After unfruitful stops at several stores along the strip, my body begged for a break.
"Hey guys, I'm gonna head back to the hotel. I'm tired."
I retired to room 412 and passed out, but not before downing 2 slices of extra cheese pizza and a lipton iced tea.
I awoke to a headache and a mean case of the sniffles. Wet hair, plus artic air conditioning equals post nasal drip. The others arrived back in the room to find me buried underneath the covers.
"I'm not going out tonight," I announced.
"What's wrong?" the bride to be inquired.
"I'm sick. And my head is pounding."
"Oh, it's probably from being in the water this afternoon."
Really? Why didn't I think of that? They plied me with Tyelonol and fluids in the hopes I would feel well enough to go to Opium Garden. We were on the list (for real this time) and would be sure to get in free without waiting on line. That is, as long as we arrived before 1 a.m.
By 5 minutes to midnight, I was feeling no better, so they headed out without me. At 12:15, my fog cleared. I raced to the shower, hoping I could get ready in a fraction of the time it normally takes me. I rubbed some Dove on the essential areas, rinsed, then toweled off. Lotion was applied to the parts visible to others. I wrangled myself into a pair of too tight jeans and put on a wife beater that read "He didn't forget your number. He's just not that into you." I slipped on a pair of low heeled sandals and dashed out the door just as the bride to be was calling to tell me to get my ass to the club in the next five minutes or don't bother coming at all.
I dashed down Washington, made a left onto Collins, and damn near sprinted the 8 long blocks to Opium Garden. I found my party immediately.
"Why are you still waiting outside? I thought we were on the list."
"We are. Along with everyone else out here," the matron of honor replied.
I looked around at 200 hundred plus bodies standing on the sidewalk waiting to gain admittance. FUCK!
Then a drop of water hit my left arm, followed by another on my right, trailed by a torrential downpour.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" everyone screamed.
The bouncer, opened the velvet rope and we rushed inside. Leaving the other party goers drenched outside.
"20 dollars," the lady in the front vestibule stated.
"We're on the list," said the bride to be.
"Nope, the list just gets you in, it's $20."
Conference time. The four of us huddled in a corner to determine our next move.
"Should we stay?" I asked.
"I'm not paying that just to get in," the usher chimed in.
"I'll figure this out." The matron of honor walked towards a burly dark skinned man with a clipboard. He bent down and she whispered in his ear. 30 seconds later, she waved for us to come through. We were in!
We walked across the threshold into a rainy mist. There was no ceiling. Palm trees and exotic plants were planted throughout and techno rang out in the air.
"Umm, I thought it was hip-hop night," I said to no one in particular.
"I think that's in the upstairs section at Prive`."
"Well how do we get up there?"
We approached a bouncer, 6'4 250 with flowing locs.
"We want to get into Prive`," the matron of honor announced.
"You need a wrist band to get up there."
"Well how do we get wristbands."
He looked to his left, then his right and lowered his voice.
"Look, I can get you up there for $20 each."
"WHAT!!! But we're on the list," she said.
"That list don't mean shit. $20 a piece and you're in there."
Time for another conference.
"How much do you have on you?" the bride to be asked.
"Okay I can cover you," the matron of honor offered.
We scrounged together $80.
"We got the money."
"Shhhhhhhh, not here," the bouncer whispered. "Wait 10 minutes then meet me near the bathrooms."
What the hell type of stealth operation was this? The exchange went down exactly 10 minutes later.
"Now don't put these on out here. Go into the bathroom and do it," he instructed.
The four of us crammed into one stall and affixed the bands to each others wrists. Then we hustled towards the steps that led up to Prive`. We got in without a problem.
It was packed inside the roofed in structure. Girls danced on the bars and men watched from below, cheering them on. 50 Cent blared from the speakers. So this was the hip-hop section. Only one thing was missing.
"Yo, where are the black folks?" the bride to be wondered.
I was thinking the same thing. An hour later we found them in VIP. The bouncer let us in because we're cute. We found a spot on the dance floor and dipped it low. When my feet began to hurt, I removed my shoes, hopped up on a platform and grinded my body against the wall for several hours. One bouncer even got me a free bottle of water just for dropping it like it's hot. Thankfully there is no photographic evidence of my behavior that evening.

*The Miami Heat suck sweaty goat ass