Here I am, in (on? I always wondered about this) Miami Beach.
One year later…one year after the TB scare and the rashes from the fiberglass chairs.
Like one year ago is when we came down for our nine-month get away…
As in, lets try a school-year away from Milford with its six-feet-of-snow winters when I need a focus-group to determine how to best get from the front door to the car to pick up the kids, where we have crazy neighbors who shoot at eight-year-old twins (or at least try to hit a target that stands about ten feet in front of their neighboring twins) and then try to get the mother (moi) arrested for shoving the neighbor for almost shooting my twins (one day I’ll be ready to blog you that whole story), getting away from having Obama signs stolen five times from my yard, being called a commie for trying to have a library built in town and having to spend at least 1/3 of my life in the car driving for every little brain fart.
Anyone would agree that these are plenty good reasons to try something else for a while. And as you know, from 12 months of blogging, we did.
WE. I said.
We, as in husband and me and our children, Kiki, Leila and Iona.
So, if you’ve been a faithful follower of this Gordon de Vries adventure, you know that, based on mainly but not solely, Iona’s acceptance into DASH, we went for the second year. A second year in DJ Tiesto’s bachelor pad. Tiesto loves us, despite the fact, or because of the fact, that we’re not bachelors, we dont wreck the place every Saturday night, but instead the “Dutch Cleanser” has moved in, one who occasionally slips into heels and a mini, but still reports every toilet blockage.
I’m here. Kiki is here, very popular in her grade. Leila is here, very popular too, Iona is here, loving DASH.
But where is husband? I’ve been looking everywhere! The closets, under the bed, the garage, by the pool, in the car (maybe he locked himself in?), the fridge, the gym, the jacuzzi?
He’s not here.
He’s in Milford!
Yep, believe it or not, he’s there.
Next to the crazy neighbors, who reportedly are building a moat between them and us, like they’re the bridge and we’re the water (one day I’ll tell all…)
And I miss him. Husband, not the neighbor.
He’s there because of work. Like suddenly, isn’t it always like that, like you think you’re in the shitty check-out line and you move and then the register in yours breaks and the other, previous, line turns out to have an additional bagger, well this year he, husband, happens to have loads and loads of work in New York. He HAS to be there. Meetings every week. New editors, new jobs, new websites who want him, launches and openings and suddenly New York is where its at.
Like now I’m a single parent without benefits.
Like I go out with my single and divorced girl friends but I don’t get to flirt, exchange numbers, and pretend to be BAD.
I’m so good I bore myself.
Sometimes, when husband calls at midnight on a Saturday night, just when I’ve come home and read his e-mail saying “call me when you get home”, I pretend that I was bad. But, to be honest, I don’t even know how to do this…
So between now and Halloween Barbi does Miami, alone.
Do you have my number?