Thunder and Lightning

This is my Happy Hour post for Friday. It's finally here. I have the same bunches of paper on my desk that I had on Wednesday and I am not even caring, believe me. I made coffee and I was present, that is about all the man is getting from me today (as well as most other days too). My only defense is that I am underpaid grossly.

Outside my window is a MONSTER storm in tropical Miami. The sky, which is all I can see because I'm on the fourth floor, is a roiling mess of black clouds fighting each other for territory, and the rain is pelting the glass on the windows. Scary, but that sentence turned out really purty, didn't it? It is thundering and lightning and the earth is shaking every time. The last bolt hit somewhere near us because I was trying to count One Thousand, Two Thousand between the lightning and the thunder to determine how many miles away it is and I only got to "One Thou" and the thunder split my eardrums. Please, those of you who were not aware of this method, feel free to use it, I do not charge for giving out this sort of information. But it does work.

So, here I am, feet plopped on my hard drive, slurping coffee sloppily while I cast sideways looks out the freaking windows. Wondering what form my bangs will take when I make a run from the office to the car to head to my beloved Happy Hour. Let me explain this: I have very wavy and frizzy hair. The only part of it that I try to tame are the bangs because when I don't blow them dry I tend to notice people looking at them when I talk to them, the same way some men look down at women's breasts when they are trying to focus on what they are saying. So I blow dry my bangs (come back to the subject at hand for just two minutes, please) and they are gorgeous and straight, and, I think, very cute (some may argue this point). As soon as I step out the door, and the hot Miami vapors surround me and carry me off to the car (this consists of three steps from the door to the car) my lovely bangs are already ruined and they have transformed into frizzy, crazily shaped tendrils on my forehead. Sigh. I want you to know that I have repeated this ritual every morning for as long as I can remember. Some day I will sit down and try to see why it is that I do it.

So today after work, with all this rain I can just imagine how I will look for Happy Hour. I really should bring a hair drier and a round brush to do them here at work but I don't want to become obsessed with my bangs (as if I wasn't already).

Happy Hour: Don't laugh but my (single) sister and I, both fifty-something babes, meet for happy hour every Friday right after work. Yeah, we go to a very nice place in Little Havana called "Casa Juancho" that has a nice Spanish-style bar and a very "senior" attendance. Imagine how senior the attendance, if we feel like hot chicks...But they have keyboardists (three of them, and they each have their shifts and their fans who tip them) that play latin music and believe or not folks, these older people dance and flirt and jostle at the bar to get the best spots (near the dance floor). It's a riot and I am glad I am alive and kicking to experience it, even though I am aware of how comic it must look to younger people!

And every Friday just like my sister and I will not miss Happy Hour there, the same characters come in, order their drinks, flirt shamelessly with the new fifty-something or sixty-something hotties, dance, and generally have a wonderful time. There is the mature woman I'll call "Stella" that has "gone out" (to not say "done") every guy there. She is fifty-something but she looks great and is a happy and friendly person. My sister and I love her and are always happy to see her. Well, we get happy anyway, thanks to the Bacardi Limon on the rocks, but we like her a lot, she livens the place up. Then there are assorted older gentlemen (some married, thanks Stella for letting us know who is married and who isn't) very suave-looking in guayaberas or jackets, as well as assorted sexily-dressed female vampires out looking for an available guy or meeting friends to make asses of themselves dancing after a couple of drinks, but it's all for fun.

You are all welcome to join us when you are in town. Just promise me you won't laugh at my bangs, actually please don't even look at them.

Have a great weekend! Enjoy!