August 29th - Las Olas Riverfront

As much as I wanted to hit South Beach in Miami, I never made it. There was plenty to do right there in Fort Lauderdale. In downtown Fort Lauderdale there is a never ending strip of bars and nightclubs that feature ridiculously cheap or free cover, liquor sponsors passing out free drinks and plenty of dance music to foster a respectable thirst for the happy, frolicking lush. It was pretty absurd of us to scoff at the five dollar cover at the first place we visited. I've never heard of a cover being five dollars. Alas, we were on a mission to party for free. We landed at Sidebar. After leisurely drinking a couple of vodka cocktails, I danced with friends and my boyfriend's brother Matthew to a medley of Michael Jackson hits. That man left us far too soon. I hope we celebrate his birthday every year the way those Elvis freaks do. (Ha! Someone will be calling me a Michael Jackson freak in twenty years.)

I have no idea why our party decided to leave Sidebar. I was having a fine time dancing with this cat who had absolutely no dancing abilities whatsoever. But then again, the idea was to club hop in Fort Lauderdale and I guess that would require visiting more than one club. Outside, the sidewalks thronged with party goers all dolled up in season appropriate fashion. I'd never been more proud of myself for wearing flat shoes. Gone are the days of sacrificing comfort for good looks. Give me a matching flat and I'll show you a happy, 30-plus camper all night long.

Our host, my bf's youngest brother Anthony, wanted to show us one particular club known as Living Room because of its swanky setup. However, he was reluctant to go because it was gay night. The rest of us assured him that we were all cool with partying with the gays but I could understand why he, a hetero, would be apprehensive. If I were a gay man Anthony would be the first guy upon which I'd hit. Additionally there was far more female eye candy at the other spots. However, he and I really needed to use a restroom facility and we knew that Living Room would absolutely let us in for the sweet price of free. Thus, we ventured into the Vegas reminiscent nightclub swarming with slim, good looking men wearing brightly colored polos. LOL. Everyone looked to be having a great time. There was no pushing or shoving. Just smiling and effeminate neck posturing.




I pushed my way to the front of the bathroom line and was met with a rather interesing issue. The line for the men's room was filled with men.The line for the ladies' room was filled with men. For some reason, the men's room seemed to be moving faster. I stood my female ass in the men's room line. There were two urinals and one stall. I let the guy behind me know that he was more than welcome to take the next available urinal. He felt that I should lay claim to that urinal and offered to give me a boost if I wanted to squat over it. I respectfully declined despite urging from two other lisping gentlemen in line. When the men's stall became available, I realized why the ladies' line was moving at a snail's pace. Two men came flouncing out of the men's single stall as if they had just completed some very important business. It was a sure bet that the stalls in the ladies' room were also occupied by those seeking a special kind of privacy. I peed, washed my hands and then scooted out of there before I saw anything that I didn't want to see. Men.

Afterwards, Anthony and I went looking for the rest of our party in the other rooms of the club. I captured some pretty interesting video and photos. For instance, the lady (who was really a man) dancing on top of the bar with the really cute skirt or the lady (who was really a man) that was dancing on top of a platform in the circular shaped room. Then there were the bartenders who wore nothing but speedos. I was pretty sure they were being tipped well. Also, there were the shemales who were far too hot to put on clothes and were proud to show off their hairless bodies by writhing frantically in front of us all (see video below). Good times.

We left Living Room after reuniting with the rest of the bunch and went to a club playing reggaeton. I hate reggaeton. It seems like a music I should like since I like both latin music and reggae music, but I don't. After going to that club, I hated it even more. As I made my way toward the back of the bar, I was accosted by the incredibly drunken Andre. We've all encountered an Andre in our lives. He's that guy that is initially polite when he asks you to dance but soon reveals his inner creep by being way too touchie-feelie and refusing to take no for an answer. I made sure I took a photo of him in order to warn any other visitor to Fort Lauderdale from Atlanta or abroad. He's a molester! Don't dance with him or even look at him. I left reggaeton bar and went back to Sidebar where we soon ended the night about fifteen minutes later. Except for Andre aka Chester, I had a great time. I'll be back.

August 27th - Fort Lauderdale Beach

Living on the east coast of these United States has many benefits. Neighboring states are just hours away...each with their own, distinct personalities and attractions, almost like alien planets that one can reach out and touch, discover and explore. Admittedly, a ten hour drive does have it's challenges but the prize that awaited us on Florida's southern coast was well worth it.

We touched down in Fort Lauderdale right around midnight after passing about a kajillion evangelical billboards and paying an arm and a leg worth of toll on the turnpike. In the night, the ocean was a mysterious, dark whisper flanking our hotel. Eight hours later, it was a sunlit and sparkling utopia luring us sleepy heads to its shore.

I hadn't been to the beach in what seemed like ages. I lived in Long Beach, California back in 2000 and sadly took it for granted. I'd recently enjoyed a bonfire at a San Franciscan beach during an unusually warm night but that doesn't count. Going to the beach means taking a beach towel and an umbrella, wading out into the water, tasting the salt of the sea and then baking in the sun on glistening granules. We crossed the street from the hotel and removed our sandals before stepping into the sand. The morning air was not cool but instead warm like socks out of the dryer. My feet sunk into the sand with each step towards the water. I stopped to pick up a couple of seashells, perfectly formed and brilliantly white. Tentatively touching my toes (I love alliteration) to the foaming water, I was surprised out how warm it was. Like bathwater. I waded out a little deeper, drawing up the hem of my dress, mistaking little blue fish for seaweed as they rubbed against my leg.

Oh goodness, no wonder why people retire here! Wouldn't it be nice? To be old and overweight and not giving a damn as you bare your half-naked sagging and flatulent body to the sea and the southern summer sky. Your grandbabies are of no concern to you as they flit about the beach flinging sand at each other. Let their hard-headed parents worry. Oh yes, this your time at this lovely beach, thinking lovely thoughts until it's time to visit a buffet.

I turned to my boyfriend and asked when we would return to this paradise, to which he replied "as soon as humanly possible."