Friday, April 23, 2010

The Miami Strikes Back (Part III)

Scene 8:
Saturday, I awake at the responsible hour of 8:40 thanks to a semi-deflated air mattress and my body's increasing resistance to Lorazepam. I stroll into the kitchen where Auntie begins to pour me a cup of coffee but, you see, no. Cannot just spoil a boy with double cappuccinos and then give him regular brew like that. Does not work that way. Silly Auntie. So, like a guy whose girlfriend has stopped mid-handjob out of laziness, I shake my head and gently but forcefully guide her hand back to the lever. Ew. So wrong, David.

After my cap, we drive to Epicure, a smaller and pricier version of Sobey's, to get fixins for grandmaw's birthday brunch. We first stop at the bakery counter to purchase my father's imminent heart attack pastries and my aunt yells at the two ladies behind the counter for not having an almond & cheese ring. Customer service in Miami Beach is appalling, so it came as no surprise when they give it right back to her, being all, "Well, why'intchyou order it in advance, ya stupid white bitch?!" Just kidding. They didn't call her white. Cause that's racist.

Meanwhile, I become fixated on a particular batch of sugar cookies with sprinkles on them. These are the cookies of affliction which our forefathers ate in the land of Egy- no, wait, shit. That's matzoh. Mah bad. Ne'er mind. They were, however, the cookies of my childhood and begot what everyone knows to be my lifelong fixation with all things sprinkles. Except those hard little round ones that ice cream cones are dipped in. Those are the devil. BUT EVERY OTHER KIND. Once, when I was about 5, this old lady who used to make me call her Auntie Doris even though she wasn't my aunt and had a lot of upper lip hair gave me this huge cookie COVERED in rainbow sprinkles (sidenote: gay is caused by neither nature nor nurture; it's sprinkles) and I was the happiest (and flamiest) little kid you ever did see until my aunt (the real one) went and gave it away to her aerobics instructor Carmen's kids cause evidently they were "less fortunate" than me and she didn't want them joining a Puerto Rican gang. Listen up, lady. Sprinkles are worth their weight in gold. Actually, they're worth more than gold. I'm thinking of introducing my own Sprinkles Standard to the National Fed. It's worth THAT much. Those kids were fucking millionaires!

Inner Voice: Uh, did you just write an entire paragraph about sprinkles.

Illustrious D: Pssssh, wha? No. Why? What are you even talkin abo- I love kitties. Did you see this week's episode of Glee?

IV: Not yet. DVR. How was it?

ID: Um, only okay. Like, the musical numbers were pretty good, though Like A Prayer was sorta weak, but maybe the recorded version will be better. But the plot was just kinda lame and the dialogue was borderline ridiculous.
IV: Bummer.

Our excellent service continues as we approach the cheese counter, universally regarded as the best counter. True story. Our request to sample a honeyed goats cheese is met by the attendant with a "Sure," and a saunter away from us in the opposite direction. Auntie and I do not really know how to react to such blatant disregard for cheese. So disrespectful. I mean, he pretty much raped a cow*. But calm down, it's okay, cause we totally manage - wait for it - to pick out a cheese ourselves. Right?! NAILED IT! After that drama, we grab a cubic metre of smoked salmon, pay $10.00 for four tomatoes and leave, just as soon as Auntie returns to the bakery to berate the counter ladies for not giving her a baker's dozen of bagels. Woman just bought an Armani bag but wants a free bagel. Clearly my perspective on life is genetic.

*To find this, I typed in "cheese cow" into Google image search. Any attempts to act as though you are not totally in envy and awe of my life will be met with a haughty gaze. Haugh. Ty.

Scene 9:
Back at the condo, we rouse the youngins and scramble to put together the brunch. All attempts at artistic interpretation on my part are thwarted by Auntie, who attempts to jazz up the pastry platter by plucking three glittery butterfly ornaments from a nearby orchid pot and tossing them on a strudel. Further, my plan to place the two cheese knives perfectly parallel in opposite directions is promptly rebuffed in favour of - get this - the SAME direction AND one of them is off of centre. It's like she lives to torture me. My revenge is sweet, though, and by sweet, I mean mimosa, and by mimosa, I mean champagne with a couple atoms of OJ.

Much to my delight chagrin, Pichu breaks not uno but duo champagne glasses and sends my I-ain't-payin-for-no-dawg-cateract-surdgreez aunt into a tizzy. Who's crying over their South American surprise now, huh? HUH?! Yeah, you, dat who. And guess who becomes the angelic parallel-knife setting hero. THIS GUY:

After brizzunch, Grandmother skoolz us in rummy before taking her mid-day 17 hour nap. However, this skool be elimentree because she keeps trying to cheat! She's all, "Oh hey, I'm really old and maybe my diaper be full so let me just put down this 8 of spades just cause."

Shit Starter

Okay, I think it's becoming obvious to everyone that I'm pretty much flailing on these Miami vignettes now. So here's some further highlights:

-Going out to eat at Barton G's, a really overthetop South Beach resto where the food is generally served with statues and shit. My father nearly came to blows with the Maitre D about getting us a round table. I nearly asked for blow just to get through the whole thing and then later got a look from a waiter suggestive of another type of blow, which I ignored lest I break yet another Cuban's heart/loins.

-Watching Twilight: New Moon on the plan ride home surrounded by the also returning Vancouver White Caps. I will fully and shamefully admit that those movies totally get to me, as I had those exact same emo-romantic constructs as a teenager and still do, somewhere deep down inside, to this day. I mean, it's just so pretty and everyone's so beautiful and tortured and...ach, it's like they filmed my brain.

-Getting picked up at the airport by Flight Attendant Nick after nearly tossing my cookies all over a Whitecap during landing. As if picking me up wasn't awesome enough, he chauffeured my ass to Kensingston Market to buy groceries, though I think he was a bit taken aback that people can buy food in stores smaller than a cubic block. I believe the exact quote was, "It feels like we're in a foreign country." I feel I held my own though, as I accompanied him, in return, in the purchasing of a Celine Dion album, Madonna concert DVD and Ann Murray's autobiography. Commence application for beatification now, people.

Now that this shit is all wrapped up, stay tuned for next time, wherein I get reamed out by someone bordering on mental retardation and then post his contact info!


Pat Tillett said...

Ann Murray's autobiography?
What a trip that was! Not the book, your adventure in Miami...

Boo said...

bahahahaa...LOVED the photos espesh.

Boo said...

also, please note I figured that shit out.


be proud of me.