SoBe it cubed

…So there was no final table. Paula was pissed. Angry that the Viking mixer signed by all the Food Network folks auctioned off for less than 3 grand. Bummer, girl. My sister salted away our chips with the determination of a lion to get to that “final table.” Uh-oh. No final table was to be had. Paula, Deer, was pissy. So she opted for the fine print on our tickets that read, “Talent subject to change without fucking notice, bitches!” CRAP! I just fuckin’ sat thru four g-damned hours of poker and shitty food for this?
Screw Paula. AND her whitening strips. At least her husband shook my hand and recognized our joined boredom.

Fast forward to the brunch honoring Jamie Oliver. It was happening at the Loew’s Hotel. I ran into Emeril. No really. I RAN into Emeril. I was out for a smoke when Ffej texted me that the show was starting. I dashed for the escalator when I smacked into a hefty dude. We simultaneously apologized. I never recognize folks on tv without their chef coats…bam THAT.
We had a blast, me and Ffej. Blast in the moments between here and there. We rode busses and drove my car and sped along the ocean blue, walked and stalked and mocked the natives. We tanned and swam and dreamed of netherlands. We read and ate and laid about. I like food. I like attending the the Wine and Food Fest. I missed Alton though. I loved my sister. I drank her up-all her glory. That’s what Miami Beach is for, right? Honoring the glorious? I love that Ffej had a reprieve. It makes 80 degree winters so hard to leave. Thanks for coming, sis. I love you the most.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 5th, 2008 at 5:56 pm and is filed under Deetails, Food. Hell yeah!, Humans. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.