Barbi Does Miami

mostly from my oxymoronic years between Miami and Milford

Author Archives: barbidoesmiami


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happiness – a luxury product

photo: iona gordon

photo: iona gordon

OK. so. this has little to do with me doing miami. but. its been on my mind, like second foremost, after TB. a friend sent me a link this morning to a study. about women and happiness, and apparently women are getting less happy all the time, even as i write this. when i get a link like that i always look who wrote it. M or F. check box. when its M i pretend that the study was conducted and written, not by say Madeleine Albright, Gloria Steinum or Hilary Clinton but by my husband. so. lets ask him if i appear happier then when we were first together, and he’ll probably tell you that he doesn’t think so. ask me and i will tell you that i am, just about one million thousand and three times happier now than twenty years ago. i still love him madly. i adore my kids. i just bitch more now, cause there is more to bitch about. then ask me what would make me  happier than, say yesterday and my answer would be:
1. if he remembered, after 15 years, that wednesday is garbage day. 2. if he put his cereal boxes back after use. 3. if he talked less about models  4. if i could make time to do some lucrative work/not feel so guilty about no longer being the superduper #1 breadwinner. 5. if i wasn’t constantly reminded by everything, TV, the supermarket, my kids, my job, my gay neighbors, other moms, ads on buses, billboards and facebook, that i’m no longer somewhere between the most fabulous, gorgeous, sexy age of 30-40. 6. I would definitely be happier if i could be less politically correct and not worry about swearing in front of playdates, enjoy secondary smoke, get drunk, get stoned, flirt outrageously, drive too fast in a snazzy car, leave the kids at home alone to hang with my friends more often, use plastic bags at the supermarket, drink lots of little bottles of Poland Spring (that have been in my hot car for weeks), worry less about hunger in africa, obama, peace/war, scream at rude teachers, actually really slap my neighbor, eat without thinking about what and how much, use aerosol sunblock on the kids, feed them high fructose corn syrup because its in EVERYTHING, did not have to kid-compete with other mothers/get them into the “gifted” program asap or else they’ll fail as human beings, and make a mess, and fall on my face and just screw up completely occasionally (and know that i’ll be ok). the other thing i think when i read happiness studies is al those women in the third world who hold a starving child to their chest.  not for one minute do they wonder how happy they are on a scale from 1-5. they may wonder how totally fucked they are on a scale from 1-5. and when i read the results of these pop-studies i reckon we, the lucky ones, score  a big fat 5 on the scale of increased privileged fuckedupness.


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infectious disease scare

kiki in her new IKEA bed

kiki in her new IKEA bed

leila in her new IKEA bed

leila in her new IKEA bed

a total panic moment this morning. visions of being quarantined, if not evicted from miami. earlier this week kiki and leila had a TB screening shot for school. if within 48 hours there was a welt on their arm I’d have to let the doctor know. after 48 there was no welt. just designer fiberglass burn – as far as i know not contagious – and i did not check again. until this morning i noticed a red welt on kiki’s arm. what’s that? its from the shot that nurse gave me. show me. it was worse on friday, she said. why did you not tell me? i thought it was supposed to do that. what about leila? hers was merely a slight discoloring. i went into denial. if i don’t tell anyone no one will ever know. its nothing. just look at them. they glow with health. lets go to the pool. but. the responsible mother voice said. what if.  i wished alastair were here. he would look at it and. and what. well at least we could look at it together. i called him. kiki tested positive to the TB test i blurted out. your kiddin’. well she’s got a welty rash. and on the internet it says she’s been exposed. it also says thats she’ll have at least six months of heavy antibiotics or possibly chemo. how did she even get it? we guessed at all the friends that could have given her the  bacteria (turns out we’re quite bigoted when faced with a dreadful disease). let me call AE alastair said. he’s the best radiologist in miami. i went on google. i looked at rashes and compared them by holding kiki’s arm against the screen. will i have to go to school tomorrow? have you been scratching this? no, well, only when we had the rash from the chair. AE called me. not to worry he said. false positives happen all the time. if the skin test is indeed positive then they’ll need a chest x ray and only 1% of those is ever positive. don’t panic he said. i love your blog he said. and welcome to miami and call the doctor. it’ll be fine he said. i called the pediatrics weekend number. how can we be sure the rash they have is from the TB shot? the nurse said before putting me on hold for five minutes, leaving me with her illogical logic. she came back on the phone, call us tomorrow to schedule a new test. phew. just another test to eliminate the side effects of our fiberglass chairs, while all along I’d feared instant action, beach-wide health warnings and being barred from school. the remote chance of the TB bacteria is clearly not anthrax. and. it turned out that the garden crepe at IHOP was surprisingly delicious but IKEA a predictable nightmare. over crowded. not a thing in stock that the website quoted as a green item at my nearest store. beefy but ignorant staff. couldn’t fit everything in the car. kiki ended up wedged between two mattresses, which, i told myself was safer than a seatbelt. and worst of all. very worst of all. there are now five chairs in the garage waiting to be assembled.


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no share the blogue

the morning light hits the roofs of  aqua like a greek village forming different shadows and angles on the pale pastel walls and balconies. after looking at trees for twenty year i find this view of color blocked concrete glorious. i have to be careful here cause i’m treading. alastair and i talk about this. treading. like a lot. his territory. my territory. like the brazilian bum. that was his. he saw it first. and i saw the russian boytoy first. but. architecture is his. no argument here. he may make me sign a disclosure. if that’s what its called. or get a restraining order. or a gag order. so. this is all on the architectural merits of aqua for now. BUT.  he got himself a blogue on wordpress the day after i did. and guess what! he called it alastairdoesmiami. now.  if thats not treading. don’t read it until he changes the name. you can always support him by going to his Wall Street Journal blogue called Wall to Wall. yeah right. its not like blogging hardship for him. he already has his platform. with, like a million hits a day. while I’m struggling here. the struggling blogger. thrilled with getting 150 views yesterday. for which I’m ohso grateful. off to IHOP for the girl’s -you’ve-done-great-in-school  saturday morning treat. go figure. after thinking that the country will make them into balanced humans IHOP is their favorite destination. to IHOP and IKEA. and maybe a test drive a groovy red convertible or two. I’m sure there’ll be a blogue in it that’ll be all mine. mine. mine. mine.


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r rated

DSC09448

sexy toyboys by the aqua pool both gay and straight, iona, without contact lenses, wonders if they are cute, cute enough for her, desperate to have a crush. no darling that one is not for you, he’s with the short, bold russian billionaire, and he’s a cokehead, see how he paces, white toweling robe over his shoulders like he’s redford/gatsby himself, never off his cell throwing his head back in affected laughter. no not the other one either sweetie. he’s with that older lady, no she’s not his mom, yes he does have an amazing six pack. lets go to the ocean.
where a large glistening brazilian bottom beckons twenty yards upbeach. she’s not wearing a bathing suit, mommy, actually she is, its called a thong. no she’s not, I cant see anything. well it kind off goes between her butt cheeks, iona explains. ohnogross! but the twins are mesmerized. so is a nerdy little guy who comes running by. he checks the bottom out. he slows down. he turns. he stops. he casually loiters to the water’s edge. sits down in the surf. he looks around. he cant help himself. the bottom appears to be asleep. he gets up. he runs twenty yards. he turns. he runs back and crosses the bottom from the other side. she looks up. realizes she has pulled. sits up. flicks her long black hair over her shoulder. runty guy keeps running, pretending not to look. she turns over. now tanning her front, legs spread apart. he runs back. he dives like baywatch into the ocean and drifts casually not far from us. i think he likes her mommy, kiki says. i sigh. i roll my eyes. maybe we should go home and watch tv, iona says. america’s next top model is on. good idea i say, opting for the lesser of the evils.


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high design rashes

aside from teacher burn we have another problem. so sorry its not all good news but we have a miami-cool-rental design problem. there are no chairs in this house. we have large eggs at the dining table, we have a long low couch without a back, like its verboten to be comfortable and groovy in Tiesto’s and now our “candyland bachelor pad”. yes, so? ok i’m writing this from my bed, which for a dutch guilt bunny like me is really hard at 10 am. i’m dressed and groomed however and look the part, if any miami-style-vice-police should check in (of course they’re all in nyc for fashion week). back to the seating problems — outside on our balconettes were some outdoor chairs. no not the plastic kind one gets at Lowes, but the kind one ogles (but never buys) at Murray Moss. we dragged them in. one for daddy so he could write. one for mommy so she could write. one for kiki and leila so they could go on their computer, one for iona so she could do homework.
these are funny chairs mommy, kiki said. they’re like static. really? yes sit down and try. i can’t feel it sweetie. yes, yes, mommy they are static.i dismissed the sensation they felt in their young and still sensitive skin . two days later, after swimming and going to the beach, leila had a rash all over her inner arms, her back, her legs. i had the cream. it went away/she stopped complaining. then iona started itching. then daddy complained of itchy thighs. finally, when school started, i had time to sit and write. in a short gauzy dress, skirt bunched up around my waist. by 3pm my butt and legs were on fire. a nasty rash spread. something started dawning. like why did we all have this weird reaction? was it stress? the beach? what about the designer chairs? those static chairs? I confronted them. all four pretty things. I ran my hand over their groovy white material. aha. they were made from fiberglass and shedding their glassy fiber until we were covered in micro splinters.

guess what? i’m off to Ikea, to get myself some practical scandinavian chairs and lots of fluffy pillows and fuck it if they’re ugly.

rash chairs....


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all it takes?

the fastest gordon girl

the fastest gordon girl

yesterday. We met them at their classroom when they came out. Timid and freaked out. we met the teacher. she said it was not fair that she’d been given two more students when there were other classes with less kids than hers. she felt that it was hard to do her job with 27 kids. We understood. Let us know what we can do to help we said. We went home. They cried. We hate spanish they said. The teacher is scary. He yells. We don’t understand him. we have homework but the teacher only had one workbook and we don’t know what to do. Fuck and other bad words are written in the bathroom. But there is one cute boy, no two. And one girl wants to be my friend. But we hate it. We don’t want to go back ever. Evvvverrr! We want to stay with you for always. We want to go back to the Hometead School. The Homestead is the best school in the world. We hate it here. We hate miami.

High drama all night. Higher drama this morning. I stopped the car three times on the way to school cause kiki was so nervous that she thought she’d throw up.  we made a deal in the parking lot. i’d do my best to see how i could make miami work for them, if they did their best  to make it work at school today. i went to see the spanish teacher. yo here. look at me. i’m a parent. no dont talk to me in your doorway. let me in. close the door. explain your class to me. what can i do to help? you and my kids. speak to me. he made eye contact his eyes were red like he’d been on a binge all night. no wonder they thought he was scary. he was a tough mf. back in the car i called my friend victoria. bless victoria. her kids go to a school in south beach and so she made some calls, took me around, introduced me, made me a possible alternative. at 2 i picked them up again. kiki ran up to me smiling. leila behind her. guess what mommy. what? we had pe and we are the fastest runners in the whole school and the pe teacher said, she’s really mean but she likes us, and she said that we are the best runners, she said you gordon girls you are ma girls, and it was fun.

oh?

Good!

yeah mom i think last night we maybe kind of over-exaggerated. so you think its maybe ok? yeah because that teacher said we were the best runners and we were her favorites and kiki won but just by like one little inch. no i won by a mile. no you won by just a little. did you get all your workbooks? not yet. the teacher said maybe tomorrow. maybe? then we picked up iona. iona is thrilled like she’s in a reality tv show. two boys wrestled in class she said and then the teacher called security and they took them out. iona is getting tested next week to get into the “gifted” program. the only way out of the regular classes. the classes where the teachers are  scared of some kids and call security. and i? how am i? i am a mother and a mother is only ever as well as her children. co-dependant. totally. so today i’m better than yesterday. and hopeful that those workbooks will arrive. that things will settle down. that they make friends. that they learn about change, and math and spanish and that different can also be good.


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deep breath

deeeep breath. puff. no deeper. let it go. just let it go. it’ll be all right. they will have a great time. but. but. but. that bitch. that bitch teacher. what was she thinking? she was thinking of HERSELF. there they were my crying nervous but brave twins and what does she say? i dont want them! i dont have ROOM for them. i heard her. did they hear her? will i never know? i wanted to walk out right there and then, while shouting well i don’t fucking want you either. but i didn’t. of course not. she was just overwhelmed. didn’t the (nice) principal say that there were so many kids from private schools that had come into the public system this year? but. but. but. i shook her hand. i smiled i said my name. she did not say her name. she was pissed. she was thinking how am i supposed to do my job with two, not one but two more pupils. where do i put them? i said this is kiki this is leila. it did not register. the class is with their spanish teacher she said, let me take you there. i think maybe you could make them feel a little welcome, i mumbled, i mean they are terrified, its their first day, they need some reassurance. again she glared. not my fault she thought. of course she said. and asked where they were from and off they went, their faces blotched from tears, looking over their shoulder at me, one more last kiss. yes one more last kiss before i too burst into tears. meanwhile alastair was at the middle school with iona. as soon as i saw him i cried. are we doing the right thing? the kids looked cool he said. they did i said. but shall we go back? talk to the principal? i dont want to tattle on that teacher. we can see her later. see what the girls say. who knows they may love her. they may be thrilled. you never know. but oh how i would like to be sitting here with a different feeling. deep breath. deeeep breath. let it go. it will be alright.


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calm before storm

leila in a womb of her own

leila in a womb of her own

went out to an intimate lunch party on sunset island where a large table was beautifully laid out  on the jetty but after five minutes we moved inside because the sun was simply too hot ( I’m  used to running inside because of rain or bugs but never because of too much sun). sat next to a gorgeous wealthy brazilian peneleope cruz lookalike who pulled a picture, better not show the national enquirer, of her and obama from her purse, looking like the happy couple, same wide white smile, leaning into each other, she’d organized a huge fundraiser on fisher island for him a year ago, and reward was the sexy photo op which evidently she’s carried around ever since and unabashedly shows off. I must throw all modesty and self effacing tendencies out with the bathwater, have a hunch it might be taken for “loser” here, and must meditate on what i’ll flaunt. meanwhile our house is great. very euro living four floors one function per “etage”: garage/laundry/office on one,  living/dining/cooking on two, sleep/wash and dress (our closet is size of the pattiserie and that includes mark’s kitchen) on three, kids on top floor with huge wrap around terrace. but still had a bout of homesickness last night until i visualized midwinter, four feet of snow and not being able to find any dry matching mittens and then i was ok.  tomorrow first day of school for iona, she’s so brave i can’t imagine feeling  her confidence at fitting in and being accepted. at almost six feet she’s not awkward, like me, but  poised and thrilled at he idea of hundreds of kids who dont know her. but undoubtedly will. the twins are less thrilled and ask me if kids are ever home-schooled in miami.

iona fragmented

iona fragmented


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home sweet DJ Tiesto candyland bachelor pad…

aqua pool and Indian Creek

i arrived 2pm on the dot  for my aqua orientation which included a list of everything the staff  will do for me: park, send mail, receive packages, send packages, get babysitters, schedule house cleaning, and what in return i should refrain from doing: make noise, invite more than ten cars over to my house, leave crap out on the balcony, replace the required white curtains with say indian saris, take anything other than my aqua towel to the pool, do not swim in the north pool since the tiles from the mural are falling off the wall and may hit swimmers on the head. There are only a handful of tiles left, that was some shitty glue they used, and I asked if the pool would reopen as soon as the last tile had fallen. we look forward to hearing the final one drop. Meanwhile the south pool, is the prettiest pool in miami beach, and  within walking distance. after  scheduling a full lock change, cause you never know, we were allowed to enter our crib. our crib of cribs. DJ Tiesto’s uber crib, which feels like we are now part of a reality tv show.  iona loves it. alastair and i pinch ourselves and each other. can two calvinists ever adapt to this indulgent yet modern extravagance? or will we be punished by the gods of humility, the arbiters of moderation? Our house is owned by a dutch mega DJ named tiesto who spent all of seven nights here, and was called a : candyland bachelor pad” by the miami design magazine that lies prominently, marked with a yellow post-it, on the Italian coffee table.  A trendy decorator filled the house with Moss furniture ; Ron Arad, Edra, Boontje and the likes. Our first family dinner reminded me of the haunted dinner party in beetlejuice, we sat in egg shaped chairs and ate with forks which resembled dental equipment, tiny and heavy and sharp off plates the size of  saucers. we even have an elevator! Its a minute mind-altering box with large china flowers growing from the walls  and astro turf on the floor which makes a ride to the fourth floor like a stroll in the woods. kinda.

toto, we’re not in milford anymore…

living room & view into dining room