Barbi Does Miami

mostly from my oxymoronic years between Miami and Milford

Category Archives: being wife


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the muse is not amused

a desk, a chair

a desk, a chair

its hot here. in case anyone is wondering. its 93, 96, thunderstorms and ohso muggy, no hurricane so far (just read Zeitoun, freakin’ myself out). this is not the month to move to miami for the weather. its the month to move to miami for school.
i have another child you know. my muse. and she’s pissed. i haven’t paid her attention in weeks. packing, driving, school issues, TB scare, not having a chair or desk. excuses, excuses she wails in my ear. my inner ear. i tell her i have a blog you know. its getting 200 hits a day you know. i’m not your fucking blogging muse and if you think i’m a mere blogging muse then i’m fuckin’ outta here she screams. thats the thing with muses, they can threaten to leave. kids dont. at least not yet. so i tell her. tomorrow. we’ll work on the novel tomorrow (i’m sneaking the next blog in now). she’s huffy. doesn’t believe me. arms crossed tight against her chest. not looking me in the eye. we’ll see she says. you have that principal at 11. i don’t see how you’re gonna fit me in. how we’re ever gonna finish those extra 10,000 words debbie (my agent) wants. its all forming in my mind i tell her. bullshit. a book doesn’t write itself, she says. thats my line i say. and i’m very very excited about it and debbie understands. you wish, she mumbles. i appreciate you. i sweet talk. she likes flattery. goodnight, i say. she doesn’t answer. i hope she hasn’t left.


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she – he

she: why am i here?

he: because it’s a great idea to move to Miami for the winter–to write, to swim, to observe the vibrant flora and fauna…. to expand our daughters sense of the world.

she: so when are you comin’? we miss you. i need you, i haven’t had a conversation with an adult in a week.

he: next tuesday, its gonna be great, hang in there, i miss you too.


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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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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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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


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leaving with luxury intent

amber and her snake wall, bye amber be good

amber and her snake wall, bye amber be good

car packed. girls in it, too sleepy for tears. alastair and iain in the driveway waving blowing kisses. outta here and ready for miami via washington savannah and vero beach


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the day before we leave

beautiful last day at home

beautiful last day at home

my studio in hibernation

my studio in hibernation

why am i leaving here? the most beautiful home, the most fabulous friends, the best bakery, the best school, close to NYC. so why?
is it a stupid idea? am i fucking with a good thing? a great thing? panic grabs me every morning before everyone wakes. the twins feel as i do. freaked out. mommy they say, miami is too grown up for us. like it is r rated and they should not really be allowed in. they have a point of course. they always do. iona wants r rated. iona, age 13 craves r rated. alastair, age 56, also craves r rated for pretty much the same reasons iona does: action, attention, parties, nubile topless bodies, sun, sand, and the unexpected. neither is much interested in packin up and gettin ready. they just want to be there already. as a result i’m packin and gettin ready. all before the party later today. the party that will be a good party not a good-bye party…