Nikki's Notes

We've moved!!

2010-06-29T16:51:00.002-04:00

Blogger and I broke up. So I've moved in with Wordpress. Please visit Nikki's Notes at nikkinovo.wordpress.com.

Deal Breakers

2009-04-10T15:27:00.014-04:00

I think it’s safe to say: we all have deal breakers. For some people it might be smoking, for others maybe religion. I have one guy friend that would never date a girl with a fat mother because he’s convinced the daughter would, eventually, end up the same way. One of my deal breakers has to do with age. I try to “never say never,” but I don’t think I could ever date anyone that was more than a few months younger than me.

The other night I met a guy that was clearly younger than me. He was fun and sweet (I was drunk and bored) so I decided to put aside my rule for just this time. As we're hanging out, he asked for my number and I figured there was no harm in giving it to Underage. As the night progressed, he tried to kiss me and I, basically, turned my cheek. One would think, he’d get the point by now, but he still insisted in catching a ride home with my friends and me. In boy thought, this means: “maybe she’ll eventually give in and go home with me.”

So we get in a cab with my friends, and we head to my house. But before we make it home, made sure the cabby dropped off Underage at his place, to avoid any mix signals. I can understand a guy being disappointed, or perhaps, “blue-balled,” but I could have never prepared for his reaction. I will let the text messages speak for themselves. Below is an exchange of text messages we had after the cabby dropped him off. Please keep in mind; I have not modified any of his text messages. This is all his grammar and spelling. (It took a lot out of me not to edit them for print.)

Underage: Jesus, you are the lamest coward.

Underage: How much does your back bend… You don’t wanna fuck a groupe.

Me: I don’t understand what you’re saying.

Underage: Really…You fucking suck…

Me: You’re a 12-year-old weirdo. Talk to you in 500 mornings.

Underage: Wow…that’s cool…

Underage: Not that cool…Can we can hang out another time…?

Underage: Terrible idea…wish you were a normal girl.

Underage: I’m sorry…I miss you

So I guess this is why we have deal breakers?

Deep Thoughts Via IM

2009-03-30T18:18:00.003-04:00

The Douche

2009-03-15T17:42:00.012-04:00

I moved back to Miami two years ago. Like most kids that grow up in Miami, I have a love/hate for the city. Yet, there are so many awesome perks that come with living in the Magic City: Miamians can go the beach in January; we can do business a little slower than accepted in the rest of the country; and we can drink fruity drinks year-round. But like anything else, you have to take the good with the bad. Along with these great perks that keep a lot of us natives around, Miami also has a tendency to breed a certain type of person. Introducing The Chanchi and The Douche.

Every city has it’s own style of dressing, right? Well, Miami, of course, is all about color, bling and all things tack. This style ends up leaking into the wardrobes of every girl that grows up here. Sometimes, it even makes it into the closest of transports. My friends and I like to call this style of dressing, Chanchi. You know: flashy tops, tight jeans (that aren’t meant to be skinnies) paired with shiny stilettos (embellishments are always a plus). And, of course, the signature set of hoops. In case you are confused, Chanchies are a step up from Chongas (made famous a few years ago by the song, “Chongalicious”). Chongas are known to be a little more “gansta,” and tend to wear darker colors and lipstick than a Chanchi.

Now, being that Miami is the Chanch capital, we inevitably attract a very distinct male species known as The Douche. More often than not, the Douche is an expat. This style of being and dressing was, in fact, brought in by out-of-towners during the Ed Hardy movement whom eventually settled in South Beach. But, really, this is good news, because it makes it a lot easier for us girls to identify The Douche. It’s all in the shirt. Think slim and tight enough to show large biceps in an effort to divert your attention away from their chicken legs. This shirt is usually black, grey or dark blue. And most importantly, there is a douche bag emblem usually found just above the chest and sometimes across the back. This emblem can be a cross, eagle or flame, but they come in a variety of designs. For added douche bag effect, the designs are bedazzled. The Douche usually comes out at night in dark venues known as the mega club. They usually transport themselves in yellow Hummers and listen to “umtz, umtz” music (AKA techno). The Douche tries to attract his prey by offering up such details like, “I made all my money in real estate, but when the market was good…now I just hang out on my boat all day.” Translation: I had to sell my home after the market crashed and live on my boat, which I can’t take out because I can’t afford the gas; I can’t get a job because after I graduated high school I got a really lucrative job selling shady mortgages. Who needs an education? Just look for the emblem if you have any doubts.

Below is an example of what this emblem can look like. This example is actually of a girl's dress. The emblem is making its way into women's fast-fashion.

Now that you know what to look for, please spread the word to your friends. We need to work hard to make Miami a better, douche-free place. Just think about your kids.

Deep Thoughts Via IM

2009-02-25T15:23:00.000-05:00

I Choose Michael

2009-01-06T23:31:00.005-05:00

I’ve never considered myself to be tall by any means. According to my driver’s license I’m 5’6. I was 16 then, so let’s say within the last ten years I grew half an inch or, maybe, a full inch making me 5’7. Based on my internet research, the average height for an American women is about 5’4. (Please don’t ask where I got these statistics. I googled it.) So maybe I am above average, but I wouldn’t call myself tall. Alright, we got the point.

My first boyfriend, whom I dated through college, was 6’2. Then I tore his heart out, threw it on the floor, stomped on it and then moved to L.A. (Don’t worry, I’ve received my fair share of bad dating karma…hence the blog) For the first time in my life I found myself feeling tall. Did you know the average height for a U.S. male is 5’9? Sigh. The men in L.A. are all below average in height. If a guy is tall in L.A. he usually gets people like my mom asking him if he plays sports. “Nikki, the man is huge. He must be a football player.” I always think he might just be German. And I have a theory as to why the men are short in L.A. Okay, pay attention. A lot (not all) of short guys have little man syndrome, so they want to be cool, so they move to L.A. to try to be cool because in L.A. anyone can be cool with the right publicist. That was just a side note.

So I moved to L.A. and bought into the whole “it’s okay to date a guy shorter than you” idea. Our first date I wore these BCBG heels that I swore made me look skinnier. I was taller than him by about two inches. On our second date I wore a flowy Free People dress and lame gold flats (I don’t even remember who made them), which definitely made me look fat. It didn’t work out, but not because of the height discrepancy. One thing I did appreciate was he never made me feel oger-like. And the height never mattered.

Fast forward two years and I’m back in Miami. I meet this guy who seems to be my height exactly. I was okay with that. He invites me to dinner and I wear my brand new, tan Michael Kors platforms. It was love at first sight (the shoes not the boy). They give me an extra three inches in height, and again, I thought they made me look skinnier. As we’re walking from dinner to the car just-my-height guy looks at me and says “You’re really tall.”
Is this a compliment? “Thanks,” I respond.
“I mean, do you wear those shoes often,” he asks. “because this could be a problem.”
Exactly what do you mean when you say this? “They’re new and I think they make me look skinny,” I say sarcastically. He doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm.
“Well I think they make me look short,” he says half jokingly.
Maybe you are short? “Are you asking me to choose you over Michael,” I ask not jokingly.
“I just rather be the tall one,” he says.
So he’s a clinger and insecure. With my best fake disappointment face I respond, “I choose Michael.”

The Art of Multi-texting

2008-11-16T23:20:00.008-05:00

My good friend (who we will refer to as Sass Ass) has had a crush on this one guy for quite some time. He’s a great guy, and I can understand why she likes him, but really, he’s just your quintessential single guy living in Miami. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. He just has no desire to settle down, and well, what girl with a crush wants to hear that?

Sass Ass and QSG (quintessential single guy) have been textually active with each other for about seven months now. You know how it goes: He’ll send her a semi-flirting text to see if she bites; she comes back with something witty, etc. We’ve all done it. Hey, it’s one of my favorite pastimes. Although she does enjoy the rush, Sass Ass has been trying to end all textual intercourse with QSG for a while now because, well, he’s just all text.

After a few weeks of not really communicating, QSG textes Sass Ass “Are you doing anything for happy hour tonight?” Sass Ass thinks, huh, look at that, he wants to maybe hang out tonight. Being that Sass Ass has a freakish amount of self control, I would never imagine her dropping her plans for this guy—but she would definitely write something back witty enough to make him smirk. Turns out Sass Ass was working, so she wasn’t able to meet him anyway, but they do continue flirting back and forth via text until she finally lets it die.

This morning, Sass Ass and I meet up for brunch. Over a few mimosas and eggs, Sass Ass mentions her latest text exchange with QSG. I proceed to tell her I had a few text exchanges with him as well this weekend (don’t worry, QSG and I are friends). “Yea, we texted,” I tell her. “He just asked me what I was doing for happy hour.” A light bulb lights up in Sass Ass’ head. “Wait, do you still have the text,” she asks. I bring out my iphone and guess what it read, “Are you doing anything for happy hour tonight?” Ladies, it seems we have a multi-texter on our hands.

I told Sass Ass not to worry because I had a multi-texter too. I’ll get these texts from this one specific guy that usually come just when work is about to finish, or on the weekends when people start thinking about what they’re doing that night. He’ll text something like, “YOU going out tonight?” “What are YOU doing tonight?” I’m not sure if he knows I know he’s multi-texting, but I don’t mind going along with it since I don’t really know him enough to even be into the guy. Sass Ass on the other hand has reason to be offended. I mean, she was under the impression he was exclusively textually active with her. “How are YOU? What are YOU doing tonight,” she says as she mocks QSG’s textes. That’s just tacky.

When I multi-text, I make sure to use things like “What are you guys doing tonight,” or “Hey everyone.” Come on, guys, we’re not that dumb. It’s just so generic. Which brings me to the top three ways to know if you’re being multi-texted.

1. If he refrains from using your name and instead says “Hey YOU,” or “Hey girl.” Those are dead giveaways.
2. Timing is everything in mulit-texting. If the text comes in during lunch hour on a Friday or in the evening close to when people are making plans to go out, know that there might just be more than one “you.”
3. If the text involves any sort of inquiry about plans or what’s going on tonight, there’s reason to be skeptical.

So next time you receive a “Hey YOU” consider that he just might be adding recipients. Remember, simply ask yourself—or if you're Sass Ass, ask the texter— “Is this a multi-text?”

Mother Goose Blogging

2008-10-20T17:42:00.003-04:00

Sunday is family day. My two amazing brothers are off saving lives in other cities (well, mikey’s at school in UF, studying pre-med, and by saving lives, I mean holding his friends’ legs firmly when doing keg-stands to make sure they don’t fall on their heads), so I’m left with all the perfect-child duties. They’re not really duties. I love my parents, but driving from Brickell to Kendall can sometimes make me second-guess my dedication as a daughter.

This past Sunday, I met my parens at mass as usual. After an hour of entertaining myself by counting how many times my dad’s head drops as he fights falling asleep, the service was over and it was time for dinner. Sunday dinner with my parents is when I try to fill up for the week and make sure to order enough food that will get me through at least Monday and Tuesday. This time my dad picked a Thai restaurant on Bird Road near Tropical Park. Great choice, Dad! The restaurant looked more Chinese than Thai, but hey, they figure throw a few bamboo plants here, a fat Asian cat sculpture there, and bam, Americans won’t notice the difference.

A very young-looking Asian man escorts us to our table. My mother decides to sit next to me (because she loves me), while my father chooses to sit across from us. I immediately comment on how young the man looks. My parents agree, which led to a conversation about how all Asians always seem to look so young. (I still don’t think those girls on the Chinese Olympic team were a day over six.) Then I say, “Well you guys look really young for your ages also.” And they really do. My mother doesn’t believe me for a second. Then she goes off on some tangent (my mother’s best skill) about how all the Mirandas (her mother’s family) look young, because, of course, any good genes would never come from my father’s side.

My mother then returns the compliment and tells me how young I look. “Why thank you, mom,” I say. “I try to drink plenty of water, exercise and stay out of the sun.” At this point, I’m expecting more praise, but instead my mother mumbles under breath “And you act really young too.” “Um, excuse me,” I reply. And just like a person suffering from Tourette syndrome, my mother turns away from me and quickly blurts out “I read your blog!” I’m nonplussed. I begin to think of all my latest blogs, Serial Facebook Dater, Naked Men and Mud Balls…shit! So I asked her how she found me. Damn Google, ugh. “Nee-ke, why do you write those things,” she asks “It makes you look so silly.” As usual, my dad comes to my rescue. “Mercedes, all writers have a blog these days,” he says. “It’s how they market themselves.” You have to love my dad for keeping up with pop culture.

With that said, my blog might be a little more G-rated these days. And make sure your comments are Mercedes-friendly. She’s watching you!

Liz-Love and Special Sauce

2008-09-16T02:44:00.003-04:00

BFF Liz thought it might be fun to take part in a little hot sauce eating contest. I'll let the video do the talking.

When Ex’s Become Besties

2008-09-01T23:17:00.007-04:00

Can you ever be friends with your ex? Sure, if you weren’t a complete prick or slut. Kidding. But, based on my research, I’ve found that there really is no cut-and-dry answer. And, more often than not, the power remains in the hands of the dumpee.

Although I like to think all my past relationships ended mutually, with no dupee or dumper, there’s one person I dated - very close to my heart - who will flat-out call my bluff. In the words of 311, our relationship was nothing less than a beautiful disaster (also the first song on a mixed CD he gave me once). After two and a half years of on-again-off-again frustration we some how went our separate ways. Since the “break up” he has managed to be cordial with me always, but not without a hint of resentment and/or sarcasm (not to mention the occasional flirtatious whispers, only an ex can be entitled to, while my new boyfriend was in the same bar). I totally deserved anything he would throw at me, but I still wanted our friendship to be exactly what it was while we were together. As you can imagine, that didn’t fly with him.

A few months back, I received an arbitrary instant message from him. Yes, I’m still on AIM at the age of 26. How do you think I stay so connected (Lizazpr and n017nik BFF 4 eva)? I was pretty surprised, but so happy to hear from him. One arbitrary message turned into a daily exchange of random conversations between the two of us for the next few months. After hearing about his new girl friend and telling him about my dating experiences, I thought, “Are we crossing over? Is this when ex’s become besties?” We even planned to meet for lunch, which we never got around to doing, but I didn’t care, the simple fact that he was open to the idea made me so happy.

So, maybe the answer is when the dumpee has a new great, beautiful girlfriend - that has the height of a Victoria's Secret model and the legs of a runner - to throw in your face is when ex’s can really become besties. And it especially works when the dumper is conveniently single. Regardless of the circumstances I’m grateful we’re rekindling the friendship flame.

Ironically, he recently broke up with wonderful-tall-and-skinny-girlfriend. This time he was the dumper.

As I was ~~stalking~~ browsing on Facebook I realized that ex-become-besty's page still said “In a relationship.” I quickly went into crisis mode when I saw this. As his friend, I immediately IMed him to warn him about changing his relationship status on Facebook. See, I recently dumped my ex boyfriend on Facebook unintentionally. I had that gay connection thing where it links you to your significant other. “Nikki Novo is in a relationship with Hi-Stranger (that’s what we’ll call him).” I know I’ve just lost my credibility here, but try to stay focused. So when I was ready to change my relationship status BFF Liz warned me to change my privacy settings so my change of status wouldn’t show up on the news feed. But, what I didn’t know was since Hi-Stranger and I were connected I basically dumped him on Facebook before he had the chance to change his privacy settings. Before I knew it, my news feed read, “Hi-Stranger is now single” with a broken heart next to it. How mean is that? If he didn’t know we were over he does now! Never again will I show my relationship status.

I did not want this to happen to my ex-become-besty. So, I IMed him and he appreciated it. I did my friendly duty. And that, my friends, is when ex’s become besties – when you warn them of the evils of Facebook.

Serial Facebook Dater

2008-07-24T20:34:00.000-04:00

There are so many great things that come with being a single girl. First off, you’re able to go to Blockbuster and pick your chick flick of choice without getting a “aww. Not another one.” Or for those of you, like myself, that have Netflix random films with the word blood in the title stop appearing in your mailbox (note to self, don’t give your password to any boy). Second thing is the extra yoga time you acquire. Third, you can cross the street at places you shouldn't be and people stop. The last and most valuable thing about being single is the priceless material you accumulate thanks to all the weirdos you meet along the way.

A few weeks back I was at a friend’s party when a good-looking 30-something year old came up to me and sparked up a conversation. Based on our conversation I assessed he was a pretty normal, decent guy (BFF Liz is reading and thinking “They never are, Nikki.”). He was a lawyer (I didn’t hold it against him), Jewish (my shot at Jewbans!) and loved his mom – all check marks. I ended up getting distracted by Aaliyah’s “Rock the Boat” and eventually left the party without saying by to Jewban-making Guy.

Two weeks later, I get a message on Facebook from none other than Jewban-making guy. I smiled to myself as I read his message. Pretty basic stuff, “Hi, Nikki. I came across your profile while looking at XXX’s page. We met a few weeks back and thought I’d send you a note. I saw you on the dance floor, but was unable to join you due to inheriting my father’s two left feet. Anyway, I hope you’re enjoying your day and hope to see you soon.” I thought the note was perfect – he made the effort to reach out me and he mentioned his father so he’s a family man.

I decide to take a few days to write back, so it doesn’t look like I’m a crazy Facebook addict. I know, so mature of me. Within the days I’m playing my so strategic game I have dinner with a good friend of mine who later brings along four other girls I’ve never met. At dinner we talk basic single girl talk – clothes, jobs, dream jobs and boys. We all exchange deets on our most recent dates – the good, the bad and the ugly. The cheesy smile on my face gives away my excitement of Jewban-making Guy. As I tell my oh-so-innocent story one of the girls asked me his name, so I tell her. As soon as I sing his name all the girls at my table look at each other and laugh. I’m thinking, “Great, small package?” Instead they ask how we got to exchange contact info. I told them it was the magic of Facebook. Turns out each girl at the table knew another girl that had been Facebooked by Jewban-making Guy! This guy is Facebook serial dater! He can’t muster the balls to ask a girl for her number when meeting her, so he later finds her on Facebook (where only your best photos are posted) and sends her a cute, harmless “Let’s hang” message. That week he had sent messages to three other girls.

Am I only the person that finds this weird? Messaging is fine, but don’t go around sending multiple girls messages on the same night. What, it’s more efficient? Throw the bait out there and see who bites? Weird, weird, weird. I think I’ll go back to using Facebook for its original purpose - stalking (and more often than not our exes).

I'm back!

2008-07-22T13:33:00.000-04:00

Let me first start by apologizing for being MIA the last couple of weeks. I actually have a real job now and a real office to go to, which leaves very little time for serious stuff like blogging. The good news is I’m the new Associate Editor at MIAMI Modern Luxury! Yay! (Check it out! www.modernluxury.com). For those of you who actually frequent my blog, thank you. I promise to keep entertaining at least once a week.

Naked Men and Mud Balls

2008-07-01T12:46:00.002-04:00

The other day at Shop Miami between racks of clothing I was telling my friend about an experience with a naked man I had the past weekend at the Standard spa. Sounds much more kinky than it is, believe me. After telling her the story I expected her to be grossed out, which she was, but she was also a bit jealous. Not jealous that my friends and I had to experience a guy with mud covered balls, but jealous that strange things like that never happen to her. Then I realized, wow that happens to me a lot. In high school I walked in on a friend of mine’s dad giving himself some extra love with his hand while watching TV. If you’re wondering, we’re not friends anymore. A few months back, in my parent’s neighborhood, I saw an older fat guy with a stomach resembling the stomach of that lady that had sextuplets, wearing nothing but boxer-briefs, walking three giant golden retrievers. I know, so weird.

In Miami, topless women are as common as knowing someone that’s been evicted from their apartment due to their landlord being foreclosed on. But naked men? Not really. There is the occasional Naked Cowboy look-a-like on the sands of South Beach, but that’s about all the action us girls get. We’re not complaining.

Last week was BFF Kel’s birthday. BFF Kel and BFF Nai are known for their over-the-top birthday parties. BFF Kel once made her friends go skydiving in celebration of her day. Thankfully I was living in LA. BFF Nai is the queen of the hotel penthouse parties – think P Diddy yacht party in a pimped out hotel room. So, this year BFF Kel decided to rent a party bus (AKA tacky white Durango limo) and spend the night partying in Ft. Lauderdale. No one got car sick, so the night was a success. Of course the celebration extended through the weekend ending with a girl’s spa day at the Standard Hotel.

The six of us indulged in massages, mani & pedi’s, steam room sessions – all that good stuff. Since we were a large group, we were able to get the spa to throw in a free mud bath for each of us. BFF Kel and I were so proud of our negotiation skills. The five girls go downstairs near the pool that overlooks the bay to start their self-mud baths. I’m still upstairs taking part in what seemed to be a competition for the world’s longest mani-pedi ever. I finally make it to meet the girls and they’re just standing, staring at this little private area complete with tubs, outdoor showers, lounge chairs and two completely naked bodies! We thought about making a Oops- Sorry -We were looking for the clothed mud bath section-Uturn, but decided to stay in the name of my blog. The girls decide to move forward and paint themselves in red and yellow “mud” (we still think it was just colored Play-Doh). I decided to watch since my nails were freshly painted and because it was so much more fun to watch their reactions. On their way to apply the mud they pass the couple – the guy was painted in pink and the girl in yellow. The girls are trying to play it cool. It’s South Beach; that’s what people do here - get naked! BFF Els cannot hide her disgust and fourth grade giggles as the she catches a glance of the guy’s perfectly waxed balls painted in pink and the girl’s equally trimmed va-gi-gi painted in yellow. Can we say yeast infection? The spa attendant assisting the girls with the mud notices BFF Eli’s reaction and says “As you can see, clothing is optional.” Thanks so much for the clarification because we were just about to put a complaint into management.

Pink Balls is obviously not ashamed of his giant sack and not so big friend as he lies out with one leg bent and the other straight, leaving us no choice but to stare. Him and Yellow Vag whip out the camera phone to document this lovely day when my friends and I became traumatize. The pictures would make a great default pic on Facebook. The girls begin to apply their mud nonchalantly. “The red mud stains more than the yellow, so be careful,” says Pink Balls, secretly hoping BFF Kel and BFF Nai would get naked as well. I think it might have crossed BFF Nai’s mind when she thought about her $110 bikini. He continued to chat it up to the girls, but he might as well been the teacher from Peanuts because all they could think of us was giant pink balls.

Finally, the exposed couple decide to rinse off. Yellow Vag gets up and faces the girls sitting in a straight line watching her rinse and get dress as if they paid for those front row seats. The girls have nowhere else to look since they’re covered in this disgusting mud, with their fingers and toes apart, trying not to move. They were, though, very thankful that Pink Balls was not standing behind her. They thought too soon. Pink Balls walks over to the tub next to BFF Yvi. He plops his naked ass into the tub while BFF Yvi tries to think happy thoughts. While he rinses leaving himself slightly stained like an Umpa Lumpa, Yellow Vag is having trouble finding her bikini. How convenient? Pink Balls finishes his rinse, gets out of the tub and splashes his naked pink balls water onto BFF Yvi. She stays calm in a mud statue-esque form, trying to contain her anxiety attack as the splashed water drips down her face. The rest of us cannot contain our laughter while Pink Balls and Yellow Vag, simultaneously, give us the “Get naked. You only live once lecture.”
No thanks, pinky. Seeing pink balls and a yellow va-gi-gi is enough living for one day.

Happy Birthday Kel!

Elevator Music

2008-06-26T11:57:00.002-04:00

Until recently I was in a relationship that lasted a year and a half, almost to the day. When you’re in a relationship, I think you tend to not notice people and situations as much you did when you were minus a plus one. Last night I couldn’t sleep (comes with the break up). I managed to sneak in a few hours of sleep between 1 a.m. and 4:30 a.m., so when it reached 6 a.m. and I was still staring at the shadows on my ceiling I decided to go for a jog. My dogs were so confused since I rarely wake them before 8 a.m. Sleeping in (which is 9 a.m. to me) is one of the many perks that come with working from home.

The morning scene was fitting – mouse gray skies combined with Miami-summer-worthy-winds and the threat of rain – considering my mood. Good thing I read that article in Self Magazine last month about how to channel bad energy into something positive. Going for a jog was number two on the list only second to planting a tree in your backyard and naming it after your ex, preferably something really ugly that is destined to be dead in about three days. Okay, maybe I added that last part.

My jog was inspiring to say the least. The streets of Brickell were still quiet, setting the perfect backdrop for time to think. Before I knew it, I’m back in my building’s lobby after a three-mile run. Security buzzes me in past the lobby’s glass door leading me to the elevators. I see one of the six elevators, which usually four of them are broken, just about closing. Suddenly, an arm sticks out, risking being closed on. Wow. I didn’t think people were that chivalrous in my building. I love when people surprise.

I take off my headphones and thank the 30-something guy for his courteousness. “No problem,” he replies. I smile politely then bow my head hoping he doesn’t notice my flushed cheeks. “Looks like you just missed the rain,” he says. As a newly-single girl, I have yet to learn the difference between a guy trying to flirt with you and a guy just trying to make the ride up to the 36th floor less awkward. If this would have had happen a few days earlier I probably would have just nodded my head politely and continue to count the floors in my head. But, instead I decided to make some conversation in despite it being before 7 a.m. I thought it might be good flirting practice.

“Yep, just missed it,” I reply. “Although if you look at me, you would think I was caught in a hurricane. I tend to sweat a lot. You know, it’s humid outside.” I ramble as I pull my sweaty tank off my skin to display to Elevator Guy in case he was interested in getting a better look. Completely unnecessary. The guy was not asking for a weather report or my level of perspiration, he was just trying to be nice. “Yep, that’s Miami for you,” he kindly responds. This is my cue to stop talking, but I just can’t. Thank you, Mom for the talent of being able to continue a conversation even when the other participant is not interested in continuing. “Yea, seriously. And now when my dogs hear it’s raining, they’re going to be so disappointed.” Elevator Guy smiles as he thinks to himself, “Why am I not surprise you talk to your dogs and think they understand?” The elevator dings as we make it to my floor. Elevator Guy will now be requesting elevator music from the management, in hopes of not having to make awkward conversation again.

My Kind of Town - Week of June 23 - 29

2008-06-25T09:05:00.000-04:00

It's summer which means things are slowing down, but wanted to let you know about a few things going on around town.

Saturday, June 28

Not only is it the last day that the Grove will close at 5 a.m., but it's also the night where grove rats and common folk, alike, unite for a night of debauchery all in the name of a good cause. Head on out to the grove for the annual bar crawl, Alfest. A $25 donation gets you a coupon book for free beer at several of the Grove's staples- Sandbar, Moe's, Fat Tuesday, etc. Registration begins at 6 p.m. and the fun starts at 7 p.m. when you start rotating to all the other bars, every hour.

Your donation will benefit Camp Boogy Creek, but not that beer belly. Like you care? Please come out and support!

While bar hopping, make sure to stop by Butter Gallery for the opening night of the i love miami 365 exhibit.
Local photographer alissa christine shows her love for the magic city by capturing its essence everyday for an entire year through her daily photo documentary, i love miami 365. Alissa began her journey January 1st 2008, snapping photos each day then choosing a unique print to represent the spirit of Miami and its people on that particular day. With nearly half a year under her belt, Alissa will debut 167 prints in various forms - including lively 5x7 pieces, awe-inspiring diasec enlargements and recycled cigar box light displays - during the exhibit’s opening reception at Butter Gallery.
Butter Gallery, 3135 Commodore Plaza , Coconut Grove

A date with Em

2008-06-17T19:30:00.000-04:00

My newest friend Liz (I love new friends. They’re like a new pair of shoes. Inspiring and ready to take you places) introduced me a few months back to what has become one of my favorite authors, Emily Giffin. Em, as Liz likes to call her, is in my opinion one of the best chick-lit authors around. Whatevs, don’t hate on chick-lit. Fine, it might not be classic American literature, but the good ones are witty and entertaining. And, at least we’re reading something other than Perez Hilton’s blog entries titled “Gay, Gay, Gay.” Maybe Liz reads that? See, that’s why I love new friends! You’re still getting to know each other. Honeymooners.

I find out Em is coming to the Coral Gables Books and Books to discuss her latest novel Love the One You’re With. Of course, Liz and I decide to attend because one, we love her and two, it made us feel slightly cool and intellectual going to a book signing (regardless of the genre) on a Friday night. We show up to the neighborhood bookstore and they’ve converted one of the rooms to fit about 40 chairs. We’re a little late, so there aren’t chairs left and we opt to share a green ottoman hanging out in a corner – each of us resting only one butt cheek. Liz and I can’t control our excitement as Em herself walks up to the podium. She is so super cute, just like we expected – bright blonde hair, pale skin and a petite body that makes me wonder how she gave birth to two kids. In her perky voice, she speaks about how her new novel is revolves around “the one who got a way” and what might happen if you’d bump into him on the street one day. I know you’re thinking “Wow. Yea. What would I do?” You’d run the other way and go home to your adoring boyfriend, of course ; ) Or, perhaps stalk him, wearing a J-LO wig and Nicole Ritchie sunglasses while your BFF drives pass his house? Hypothetically speaking.

After the q&a session is over, Em invites people to come up and have their books signed. Liz and I paid for a copy each at the counter (even though we could have just taken it. Poor security at B&B) and joined the rest of entirely women fan club in line. We’re so excited to speak to her. We had so many questions. As we inch closer in line, Liz and I decide we're going to tell her about the book the two us are trying to write. Liz and I took a “Jump Start Your Writing” class at Miami Dade College hoping we’d get inspired to complete novels we both aspired to write. After attending half the classes, we realized we’d probably only be able to write half a book. And that’s how we became co-authors! (Excerpts of our book to come in the near future ;) )

We’re next in line. The girls in front of us are equally groupie-like. They pose with Em as I hold the girl’s iphone with my sweating hands trying to capture the moment for them. Those bitches finish drooling and it’s finally our turn. Our exchange of words was dreadful and cringe-inducing. With that said, I know you want the play-by-play!

Em: “Hi ladies. Thanks so much for coming.”
Nikki: “Ohmigosh! We’re such huge fans. You’re our inspiration for our book.”
Liz stands awkwardly silent as Nikki craps out of her mouth
Em: “Oh, that’s so great. What’s it about?”
Nikki looks at Liz as she paces with a smile plastered on her face. Em senses the awkward pause
Em: “Don’t worry, I won’t steal the idea.”
Nikki: “Well, it’s about these two girls. Yea, and like they live parallel lives. It’s like really funny. They have dogs. It’s like really cute.”
Em realizes Nikki is sweating above her lip and kindly asks for her name to sign the book, hoping to put an end to this misery.
Nikki: “Oh, I’m Nikki and this Liz. Nikki. N-I-K. Oh, yep, you got it right. Obviously you’re a writer! And Liz, is Liz, like Elizabeth.”
Nikki and Liz giggle like blushing 5th graders
Nikki: “Well, Liz, I guess you can say more about the book.”
Nikki thinks she’s being polite, but really Liz had no intention in speaking
Liz: “Well, it’s about these two girls that are opposites. One has a crazy PR job. Haha. Like me. I’m a publicist. My boss, well our boss. Nikki worked with me. That’s how we met. She’s our inspiration. She's crazy. The boss. Haha. Not Nikki”
Nikki jumps in
Nikki: “Yea, we met as publicists but now I’m a writer.”
Em smiles as she thinks to herself “Two 20-something publicists that want to write a book about a demanding boss. Hmmm, sounds vaguely familiar. I think it rhymes with The Revil Wears Trada.”
Liz: “It’s a great book. Like a great idea. Really great. You’d love it.”
Em thinks to herself, “I’m sure I would.”
Nikki: Well, thank you. We’re so nervous. Oh, how should we start our book? Do you do outlines?”
Em: “Just write. No outlines. Just write.”

Liz and I smiled in gratitude and Em has just left Miami a little bit dumb-er after that conversation.

My Kind of Town - June 5 Weekend

2008-06-04T14:42:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, June 4th

I heard there is poetry reading at Santos. Be part of the spoken word.
Santo, 430 Lincoln Rd., Miami Beach, FL 33139, 305-532-2882

Thursday, June 5th

There's always Nikki Coconut Grove extending College Thursday's at the Grove to the old alumni.
Nikki Coconut Grove, 2889 McFarlane Rd, Coconut Grove, FL 33133

Friday, June 6th

One of my favorite authors Emily Griffin (yay!) will be at the Coral Gables books and books reading excerpts from her latest novel Love the One You're With. Starts at 7PM
Books and Books Coral Gables, 265 Aragon Ave, Coral Gables, FL 33134, 305-442-4408

Cozy up with Miami.com with cocktails in BED
B.E.D., 929 Washington Ave, South Beach, FL

Saturday, June 7

Heard Amazing Race is in town for all those looking for adventure coupled with 15 mins of fame.
10:00am-2:00pm @ Festival Marketplace in Pompano
Festival Marketplace, 2900 West Sample Road, Pompano Beach, FL

If you're in the giving mood, I'm collecting books for Hands on Miami's Library project for Centro Campesino Farmworker Center. We'll be there from 9:30a.m. until noon. Contact me if you're interested in donating :)
Centro Campesino Farmworker Center, 35801 SW 186th Ave., Florida City.

Sex & the Girls

2008-06-02T16:57:00.000-04:00

I’ve been looking forward to this all week. Whatevs, I know it’s cliché, but I LOVE SEX and the city! My crew and I pre-game at South Miami’s Town restaurant with some din-din and, obviously, some cosmos. Call us what you want, but we were having a blast.

We head on over to Sunset Place to the AMC theaters and the place is infested with Carrie-dressing women everywhere (I, being one of them). Being the prepared young ladies we are, we purchased our tickets online, so all we had to do was pick them up once we arrived. One hour until show time and I’m sandwiched between BFF Nai and BFF Yvi, within a sea of cotton candy outfits and squeaky-speaking 20-somethings (I, again, being one of them). I’m starting to sweat above my lip. This is not a good sign. The crowd starts chanting, “We want sex.” Another, not so great sign. Finally, with only 15 minutes until the movie they let us in. The line - reminiscent of the line outside the Florida Room on any given night – begins to break loose, herding into the theater with high-fives and hand-in-the-air squeals. BFF Nai and I had already discussed our strategy to get our party of 11 seated together. She was to take one side of a row and I would take the other where we would meet half way. Once we finally passed the doors, it was anyone’s game. We are flexible with our strategy. I raced up the carpet stairs to the middle of the auditorium where BFF Nai had spotted and empty row with enough seats to fit our party. I trust BFF Nai as she yells “Niks, go, go,go!” My eyes concentrating on my heels (yes, I was wearing heels to a movie!), making sure I did not skip a step and becoming the pre-show entertainment. Mission accomplished! Enough seats for all, with the exception of two in the row below (for the boozers, Yvi & Ily. lol).

The energy during the previews was so intense, I thought Sarah Jessica Parker herself might appear. No such luck, but the film was amazing! After a rollercoaster of emotions, we headed on over to Bougainvillea’s for a drink. We cheers-ed to a good film, complete with the best accessories possible– great friends.

My Kind of Town - Week of May 26

2008-05-26T14:23:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, May 28

Ocean Drive en Espanol event at Blue Martini tonight with live performance by Jorge Villamizar! Enjoy complimentary Blue Martini's and hors d'oeuvres from 7pm - 9pm.
Blue Martini, 900 S Miami Ave, Miami, FL 33130; 305-350-5051

Thursday, May 29th

Fabulous shoe and accessory boutique, So Accesso off of Bird Road and 57th ave hosts a Sex and the City event that will having you splurging like Carrie in no time. Enjoy Carrie Cosmotini's, food and 15% off each purchase.
So Accesso Boutique; 5785-B SW 40th Street, Miami, FL 33155; 305-669-3085

South Miami boutiqe with international swag, Jolie Boutique hosts its grand opening Cocktail Party from 6pm – 8pm. Wine and hors d' Oeuvres
20% off purchases over $50.00 or more a Mystique Sandal Sale!!!
Guest Jewelry designer Mara Santalla
Complimentary salon services by Enrique
RSVP at 305.667.4850
Jolie, 1546 South Dixie Highway, Coral Gables, FL 33146

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL: ART AND ROCK AND ROLL SINCE 1967 exhibit opening with an Art meets Rock’n’Roll event at MOCA from 7-9pm.
There will be an after party at La Marea at The Tides (1220 Ocean Drive)
MOCA, Joan Lehman Building, 770 NE 125th Street, North Miami, FL 3316; 305-893-6211, www.mocanomi.org

Friday, May 30th

SEX AND THE CITY!!!

Saturday, May 31st
TBD

Engagement Toast Etiquette

2008-05-18T00:58:00.000-04:00

Today was my cousin’s engagement party. Her and her fiancé are refreshingly simple and low-key, so they chose to host the event in Crandon Park. There’s sufficient booze so, of course, people were letting loose. It came to that time when people were drunk enough to loose all fear of public speaking. Toast time! Since I showed up a little late and, as a result, was not equally tipsy the speeches seemed a bit painful to me. In honor of all brides and grooms to be, I’ve decided to make a list of dos and don’ts when it comes to engagement toasts.

1. Do ask the bride or groom for permission first. They will decide if you pass the one-slur-per-sentence-prerequisite.
2. Don’t bring up any ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriends. This makes me feels so embarrassed for the couple! Why to guys insist on doing this? It’s just wrong in every way.
3. Do make sure you’re wearing a clean shirt.
4. Don’t go up and give a speech unless you are a very close relative or friend. No one wants to hear about the time slutty Sandy the cubicle neighbor and the bride took body shots at Senor Frogs.
5. Do make sure you’re toasting a drink in a glass and not a Natty Ice beer can.

To be continued…

Running with Suits

2008-05-03T01:34:00.000-04:00

Today was the Miami Corporate Run (Miami Mercedes-Benz Corporate Run. Those MB peeps, I’m sure, paid a lot to get their name there). This was my 3rd year participating. Since I don’t have a corporate job, BFF Kel always sneaks me in under her company NCL. I just say I’m one of the 1,000 customer service reps, if anyone asks.

As I’m walking to Bayfront Park from my apartment, I immediately begin to encounter fellow participants. As I look around, I couldn’t help but think what a perfect Office episode this could be. There’s a group of four co-workers in their late 20’s, early 30’s. I’ve pinned them as Brickell job hunters. Each of them are carrying a red cup (the type you buy at Costco when you’re having a kegger) filled with what you would think is Gatorade, but we all know the dude on the right just brought back his fraternity hunch punch. How can I assume this? Well, I don’t want to be mean, but one of the girls, which I pinned as the “slutty receptionist” - her decision to cut of the neck and sleeves of her not-so-flattering Corporate Run T-shirt gave her away – was tripping all over herself. I’m thinking post-event foursome?

I meet up BFF Kel and BFF Nai at the NCL tent, which is a bum’s dream. All you have to do is show up there dressed in active attire and they’ll feed you, lots and lots of food. One of Miami’s best kept secrets! Anyway, we’re in the middle of a herd of people waiting for the announcer to tell us to start. There are so many people that in the beginning you can only walk. Eventually the slow-pokes (love that childhood word) begin to weed out and the runners take off. I’m runner. Can’t you tell? Ten minutes into the race, BFF Kel passes us with that hilarious little run she has. Legs turned in, arms tight over her chest, small, but fast steps. It’s been making me laugh since the sixth grade. But, whatevs, she’s so much faster than me. BFF Nai has to take a breather. This is totally acceptable because she has one of those unexplainable perfect bodies, which is exempts her from ever having to be competitive. BFF Nai’s sister-in-law and I are keeping a steady pace, so in our minds we make a pack to stick together.

I’m trying to keep myself distracted, so I start people watching. I decided that my favorite runner is the senior partner at the law firm trying to show the young associates he’s still in shape. He’s wearing the same sneakers he uses for Thursday night softball, evident by orange clay stains on the shoelaces. I feel bad for him because he’s trying to keep a conversation with a younger associate, but he’s clearly out of breath. And just to be a dick, the younger associate starts jogging backwards to be face to face with his boss. Did that get you a raise or a pile of papers on your desk the next day?

BFF Nai’s sister-in-law and I finish the 5K without stopping once! We’re so proud. I’m exhausted and hungry. On the way to the tent my mind wonders to slutty receptionist. Is she hooking up with a financial advisor douche bag in the port-a-potty. And backward jogger, maybe he’s in the stall next door throwing up from exhaustion? It makes me laugh. That was mean. I blame it on the stress of competition.

A day at Jury Duty

2008-04-16T22:54:00.000-04:00

I’ve been called to jury duty four times. I’m convinced they had my letter stamped and sealed, just waiting for the day I turned 18. Sure enough at the age of 18 and a half I was summoned. My dad told me about the student loophole, so I used it – twice. The third time, my excuse was California dreaming. After the third time I thought for sure they forgot about me. Yea, no such luck.

Last month my dad called to give me the news. My dad gets this strange pleasure out of telling me I have bills, parking tickets, jury duty – anything in the “annoying mail” category – waiting for me at his house. I just don’t get his amusement of my suffering. Anyway, there was no getting around it this time. I had used up all my get-out-of-jail cards. So, I figured it was my civic duty to report anyway (ok, maybe those were my boyfriend’s words).

So, here I am, on Rob’s birthday (happy 28, brother!) doing some public good.

Since I was being all “public” and stuff I figure I’d take public transportation. I actually really love the metrorail. If I could take it everywhere, I would. Why deal with the hassle of trying to find parking, dodging my fellow immies on the road, the traffic and the gas prices (my dad stopped paying my gas card three months ago)? It’s just makes sense and we need to support local transportation. Ok, that’s my sales pitch. Back to the point. As soon as I get off at the Civic Center Station, I see a cute older lady with a bag that screamed teacher. You know, the little red tote bags with the alphabet swimming around the front and random yellow school bus riding through it. When I saw her stop and look around, I knew I had just found myself my first jury buddy. Her name was Sally Myers. OMG! If that’s not a teacher’s name, I don’t know what is. Love it! Together we followed the crowd (and my little cheat sheet map I had) to the courthouse.

It’s 7:55a.m. and I a m beyond proud of my promptness. The cute little security man asked me to take off my boots. Of course, my socks don’t match. Oh, the horror. Once I pass security screening, the cute little old security man thanked Sally and I for making his morning brighter. I told you he was cute! I flashed a smile and was off to perform (as the judge would say it) my VERY important job.

I arrive to this 70’s brown colored room, with rows of chairs reminiscent of your middle school days, already filled with a mix-match of people. And I thought I was early. I scope out the room looking for the perfect place to set up tent. I walk just a little off to the side, and there it was, the VIP lounge. There weren’t bottles of Crystal popping or anything, BUT there was tables! You’re probably wondering why I was so excited. Well, because I was smart enough to bring my laptop and I needed a place for it to rest. To my surprise and excitement, when I opened my laptop there was free wi-fi. Jury Duty’s best kept secret.

The jury duty video began to bore me, so I drifted my attention to the older gentlemen with a silky grey ponytail and his conversation with a 20 something year old guy dressed in his baggy jeans and colored Nautica shirt (his Sunday outfit) speaking with in what I like to call, a Westchester accent. I think to myself, what do these two possibly have in common? They seem to honestly be enjoying each other’s company. I listen a little harder and I solved the mystery! Weed! That’s what they have in common. Honestly, the young guy is chatting it up to hippie ponytail guy about how “he don’t see nothing wrong” with a little pot smoking. Hippie ponytail guy agrees. They begin to exchange experiences and how it’s made them who they are today. What, two dudes with brain cells small enough to talk about smoking marijuana in a courthouse? Whatevs, it kept me entertain. And, it brings me to my final point.

Jury duty is one of the strangest things I’ve ever experienced. It’s a bunch of random people that have very little in common other than their residence. Half of these people barely spoke English. But, the funny thing is, it’s just like when a hurricane hits. No electricity and common circumstances force you to talk to people you otherwise wouldn’t have spoken to. I started up a conversation with an owner of several golf courses, an accountant and a technician at Miami Children’s. The weed guys were so cliquey and wouldn’t even look my way.

Eventually, I was picked to be a juror. I knew it, too. At least it was an interesting case. Possession of cocaine. We founded her guilty :/ And, if you’re wondering, the weed pair weren’t chosen. Go figure.

Officially a blogger

2008-04-15T17:04:00.000-04:00

This is officially my first posting! Yay!
So, here's the part I'm supposed to say a little something about myself. I won't go into a detail story, like those people that give you their entire life story on the "About Me" section of myspace. It just seems so self serving to me. And, exactly what is a blog
In a few words, I'm just a girl that happens to live in - at times - one of the country's most exciting cities. I love to observe and make up stories in my head. Maybe that's why I decided to become a writer? A writer. What does that even mean? Everyone is a writer, really. I'm just crazy enough to try to make a living doing it. As you can see, I love to go off on tangents. It's a talent I picked up from my mother. Although, she will always hold that trophy and I will never complain.

With this blog I intend to document everyday occurrences in this crazy city and everyday feelings a girl like myself, or maybe like yourself, might experience. That's it in a nutshell. Oh, and I also hope to have a little "Things Around Town" guide for those looking to do something different. No whining about this city! If you seek, you shall find. We must believe.

Deep thoughts by Nikki Novo :)