Exclusive! Video Interview with Matt Passmore of The Glades

We already mentioned Matt Passmore's character, Jim Longworth, as a potential Hurricane Season Boyfriend and we are pleased to report he is still in the running!

I had the opportunity to interview hunky Australian actor Matt Passmore yesterday evening at the landmark Fort Lauderdale hotel, Hyatt Pier 66. Passmore was quite friendly and so was his lovely girlfriend Rachel. We didn't really talk about the show very much, but rather his experience in Florida -- he first visited years ago on a backpacking trip that included distractions due to many mojitos (we already love him for this). Recently, he's been busy, of course, shooting on location throughout the state, including (we've heard from VERY reliable sources), some choice locations in prime Fort Lauderdale neighborhoods, as well as Pier 66.

Passmore also told me that the trained alligator he worked with on the set for the pilot was so docile that he had to be insulted to get angry (you know we love us some good gator wraslin' ... I hope the screenwriters get all cracker on us at some point!). Unbelievably, Passmore has yet to visit South Beach because he's been terribly busy filming, which I hope he will do soon, and give us something else to talk about besides bloody Lebron James. As for hurricanes, Passmore delighted my ears when he said he'd pass on that "cheeky pleasure" (that's what hurricane novices always say) so that the oil spill won't go from tragedy to worse.

The new A & E series The Glades reminded me of a Carl Hiassen novel with the same kind of gritty characters and outlandish plot twists. (Interestingly, everyone I spoke to at the premiere last night had never heard of the renowned author.) Jim Longworth was indeed hard to get along with, perhaps because of his annoying persistence. The script is funny, actually, and Longworth, along with his police pal Carlos Sanchez (played Carlos Gomez) deliver lines with witty, sarcastic punches.

I'm not going to give up more, but I will say I'm tickled pink that this show does feel like the real Florida because it doesn't seem to be going in the direction of South Beach. The opening scene with the camera panning in a swamp sets the backdrop for what promises to be a refreshing departure from heavily photoshopped Miami CSI, which as we all know, rarely films in Miami. I mean seriously, what investigators show up in stilettos and pant suits in the heat and humidity? At least Longworth looked sweaty and he does get bit by a gator. I did wonder, however, why the actors were not told to swat mosquitoes.

(Ironically, part of the pilot was filmed in Georgia because, as a little birdie told me, Florida wasn't giving film companies tax breaks at the time. The rest of the pilot was filmed in Tampa as far as I know.)

Ben Johnson, National Account Manager for the Hyatt, was very happy to accommodate the cast and crew for filming on location. "We have a lot of history here," he said. "We represent Fort Lauderdale with the intracoastal background. We're more of a water culture rather than a beach culture."

Kudos to the Hyatt Pier 66 and the Broward Film Commission for welcoming the cast and crew. Geez, everybody's talking about LeBron James putting a dent in the economy, but no one want to talk about how important it is to have a film industry here and how great it is that the show is utilizing many local actors.

But we digress ... and the search for Hurricane Season Boyfriend candidates continues! We'll see how Jim Longworth performs in the next few episodes as he gets his Chicago honky ass used to the ways of nation's dicktip. We wouldn't want him to run out on us when the wind is blowing.

As for Passmore's looks and charisma, let me quote myself, referring to the alligator bite: "I can think of a lot of women in South Florida who would probably want to take a bite out of you."

The Glades: Sunny With a Chance of Hunkiness

Matt Passmore as Jim Longworth on the set of The Glades, tenderly holding a marsh rabbit. You know what rabbit (conejo) means in Spanish, right? Think the "p" word.

It's about time someone replaced Horatio Cane in the pantheon of South Florida TV crime fighters. Don't get us wrong, we love Horatio. Heck, we already know that every savvy woman carries a Horatio Cane amulet in her purse for protection.

But just like mosquitoes, we need fresh blood and The Glades might be the answer. Step in Jim Longworth (played by hunky Australian Matt Passmore), a disgruntled ex-Chicagoan who moves to a sleepy town in the Sunshine State for a good game of golf in between solving murders.

Like many folks new to South Florida, Longworth soon realizes that not everything is at it seems here in paradise, and if you've truly experienced the real Everglades, you know that's true: the water seems shallow, but step in it and the mud will suck you in.

According to the press release, Longworth is a "an attractive, brilliant, yet hard to get along with homicide detective," and we hope he will not disappoint. We are excited about Longworth not only because his name is ridiculously phallic, but because if he proves to be tough in the swamp, great in the sack and an asshole only when he needs to fend off gators and criminals, we know he'll make an excellent Hurricane Season Boyfriend.

Those biceps would make an excellent addition to any Hurricane Preparedness Kit.

What excites us even more is the fact that unlike Miami CSI, this show was actually filmed in Florida, according to sources. But we shall see; ehem, we can spot a fake Florida outdoor set 3,000 miles away.

Sex and the Beach will hang out with some cast and crew this weekend during a private premiere party at the fabulous Hyatt Pier 66 in Fort Lauderdale. The intracoastal resort property was a location for several scenes in the first four episodes of The Glades. Stay tuned for a report!

"Sunny with a chance of homicide," The Glades premieres Sunday, July 11 at 10PM ET/PT on A&E.

Photo credits: Gene Page

Hurricane Season Boyfriend Nominations '10

You just never know what the turbulent Atlantic waters are going to bring to South Florida each year. Yes, this is actual driftwood, photographed at Matheson Hammock Park in Coral Gables.

Ladies, it's that time of the year again! Hurricane season starts June 1st and all us single women are left to fend for ourselves in gale force winds and the aisles of Publix.

If you're a new reader and don't know what a Hurricane Season Boyfriend is, here's a recap:

Since 2006, Sex and the Beach has been searching for the perfect man to accompany us from June 1 to November 30. He should be great in bed, handy with tools, devoted and loving even when both of you have to sleep in a mosquito-infested tent in the backyard after law-enforced curfew, exhausted from walking two miles to buy a price-gouged bag of ice that melted by the time you got home.

If you've experienced a serious hurricane followed by an eternity of power outages, you know there's nothing else to do in the aftermath besides boinking and counting the no-see-ums staging a circus on Wonder Bread slathered with peanut butter. Single women without lovers are cruelly cheated by fate and miss out on this endearing experience!

So here's the thing: you can't nominate your cousin Pepito who works at the Walmart in Hialeah (not that you would know he's great in bed) or the metrosexual valet guy from Yolo's (whom you wish you could find out if he was great in bed). Nope. Preferably, our ideal Hurricane Season Boyfriend is someone well known whom we can all share in our collective imaginations.

Past Hurricane Season Boyfriends have been luminaries in the pantheons of grace and disgrace.


Last year, we featured hunky priest Padre Alberto, a man of the cloth who put the "loin" in "loincloth" if you know what I mean. We don't really care about his fall from grace because he's hawt and honestly, if anyone could put in a good word with the Lord to steer that category five mother fucker out into the Atlantic, it'd be him.


We've also given props to Harry Connick, Jr. because who doesn't want to be rescued in a flood zone by a crooner with great biceps?


And speaking of biceps, we never doubted Chef Robert Irvine could command and deliver.

So you get the picture. Put your thinking caps on and think of one famous (or infamous) man you wouldn't mind spending the next six months with. Leave comments below!

Holy Papi Chulo! Hurricane Season Boyfriend 2009

No mojito here. Perfect weather for a Dark and Stormy (rum and ginger ale).
Photo by Pelle B

We're about one week into hurricane season and Miami has already seen some epic storms blow through town, leaving South Beach more bloated than a hungover tourist, which proves once again that no one should ever be complacent about these crazy little things called hurricanes.

Last Friday was a weather reality check. Hail, pelting rain, lightning and quick, rising water took the barrier island by surprise and was less welcome than Kim Kardashian's camel toe, believe it or not. Multiply that by ten, and keep "Club Storm" open for a few more hours, and you have yourself a world-class weather disaster destination.

Oh, and speaking of things that should never happen (like camel toe), it seems that part of of a ceiling structure at the Fountainbleu Hotel collapsed, which makes us believe that Paris Hilton was the head engineer in the bazillion dollar remodeling project of this iconic Miami Beach property. Perhaps it was just pasted up with paper-mache and fake eyelash glue?

In any case, time will only tell how many hotels and condos are not built up to hurricane code, if the whole city falls apart after a couple hours of serious rain. Taxi drivers sitting on the roofs of their cars. Traffic backed up on the causeway for hours. Whew! A typical summer cluster fuck afternoon thunderstorm wreaks such havoc on Miami Beach ... imagine a threatening mass of horror looming over the Atlantic!

So in true South Florida fashion, instead of actually building safe structures at the edge of barrier islands and improving civic engineering, let's muster all our resources and avoid hurricanes altogether ... which brings me to the big announcement. Who shall be this year's Hurricane Season's Boyfriend?

THE ENVELOPE PLEASE ...

Ah!

You see, this year, we aren't just going to pick a Hurricane Season Boyfriend. We're going to pick a Hurricane Season Man of God. And who, my friends, who better than this than Father Alberto Cutié? He not only got his wafer, he got to eat it too!

Just look at him! There he is ... it's so obvious he's got a private mobile phone line to G-O-D. He'll keep our beaches storm-free and the lifeguard stands standing!

Father Alberto Cutié, a man of the cloth who makes women stick their tongues out in hopes of receiving enlightenment, was caught in flagrante delicto by paparazzi while he was fooling around on a beach with his lover. The scandal broke about a couple of months ago, right before hurricane season. Coincidence? I think not. God does work in mysterious ways!

The holy man has since moved on and is spreading the word of God through the Episcopalian church, currently as a lay minister. Rumor has it he will also marry his lady friend.

You see, at this point, we don't want to prepare for hurricanes! We want a sexy hunk to actually pray to God and keep those suckers from reaching our shores. Good Lord! Even though we know Holy Papi Chulo is getting some, surely he's not succumbing to earthly delights every red hot second of the day. For Christ's sake, he's Father Alberto, not Ron Jeremy!

All of that celibate energy can go toward a good cause, so let's pray the hurricanes away. And who better to finger those beads against these menacing storms than someone who inspires tempests of passion in the hearts of devoted women?

And who are we kidding? Truth be told, in the real spirit of Christian compassion, we don't give a shit if the storms hit somewhere else, we just want to breathe that collective sigh of relief: "Whew, thank God it wasn't us this time! Holy Papi Chulo, crack open that wine and come minister to me!"

STRONG ENOUGH FOR A WOMAN AND MADE FOR A WOMAN

There are other reasons I chose Father Alberto. God has good taste and is a practical deity. Those nice biceps bulging through those crisp white cotton shirts? They're just just right for putting up shutters. But Holy Papi Chulo also has the gift of gab, which means he can rally volunteers and help those in need, like people who lose their homes in storms, as well as single sex-starved women -- you know, real emergencies.

And what's more, if the man was willing to engage in carnal knowledge on the sand (what? that's another way of saying Sex and the Beach, people!), what kind of blessed communion wouldn't he be willing to do during a storm? After all, if he can own his mistake in an act of contrition, 'fess up and marry his lady friend, he's already doing a lot better than some assholes out there who act holier-than-thou but don't have a blessed bone in them. Surely, this is clear evidence of God's handiwork!

At the very least, us single ladies can fantasize about this while the tiles are being blown off the roof. Look, what better cloth to hide under in times of peril? Call it the Frock of Ages.

I'll stop now ... before God strikes me down for bad puns.

I wish everyone a healthy, happy and uneventful hurricane season. I also wish everyone a healthy, happy and eventful sex life now and in all weather situations. That includes you, dear Father Alberto. God bless.

OTHER NOMINEES

I would like to thank those who nominated other great machos for this season. These were:

Lollicock

I nominate myself. I also accept the nomination and promise to do my hardest to be a good HB.

Yoli

Where is a picture of you and Vin Diesel?! With this much heat, you need a man who will be able to handle the Manola hurricane inside!

Mario

Manola, Your Hurricane Boyfriend has to be Father Alberto Cutie, everyone's favorite naughty priest....but you're going to have to share him with the beach woman.

Ashley Jude

If I was a gal, I'd nominate that wild and wacky Russell Brand or so intellectually funny Eddie Izzard to hunker down with. Brits are always good for this — funny, kinky, sometimes intelligent, like moi. And like a box of chocolates, you never know. . . Oh, and Hurricane Barracuda is a great name. But how about Hurricane Izzard? We just have regular quakes over here. . .so good luck with Hurricane season!

BohoPoetGirl

I nominate Dean Winchester from Supernatural on the CW- he can kill demons, he can certainly handle Hurricane Barracuda!

Christina

I nominate Johnny Depp - A timeless classic, at least in my mind. He is fiercely sexy, intellectual and quirky, all of which would culminate into hours of deeply passionate, creative..... conversation (get your mind out of the gutter! well, no, you know what I was really going to say) Best of all, he is from here, so he isn't afraid of any little hurricane!

Hurricane Season Boyfriend Nominations 09

OK gals and gays and all you fabulous people out there ... it's that time of year again. Look, it already started raining like crazy these past cupla days, so you know what's gonna happen for the next six months, don't cha? It's the humidity dance and the entire State of Florida becomes one giant absorbent Maxi Pad (unfortunately, this doesn't help Lake Okeechobee). Here and now, every afternoon for another six months ... wet, wet, wet ... and sometimes blow, blow, blow ... that bossa nova hurricane hoopla we all know and love!

Since 2006, here at Sex and the Beach we have maintained a time honored tradition of choosing nothing but the very best man to represent the utter horror, boredom, post-traumatic stress disorder and anxiety-ridden pain in the ass that is hurricane season in South Florida.

We look forward to this. Yes, so much so that if we were to design a retail shop window for Victoria's Secret, this is what it would feature: mint-scented moisture-collecting padded boy shorts, rain-water collecting bra pads, a gallon-sized spray can full of inflammable and extremely toxic mosquito repellent that doubles as hairspray, an anti-looting-and-price-gouging gun with GPS and bluetooth capabilities, a power generator -- featuring an ice-maker with crushed ice accessory (of course, because we've already used the ice pick to get all Basic Instinct on the snapper in the creek!) -- a cooler with a bottomless supply of Ketel One, Beluga caviar, toast points, cornichons, Maine lobster with hollandaise, a homemade sugar cane moonshine kit ... oh, and of course, we'd be impossibly thin from the nature-imposed sweat camp we've just endured, wearing platform heels high enough to let us traipse through those flooded sidewalks without having to wear galoshes.

Think I'm kidding? Let me take you to two weeks back in August 1992, when this little but ferocious category five trickster named Andrew ripped Miami-Dade county a new asshole.

So with this in mind, who would you choose to spend these completely miserable nights with? What man in the world could you do the two-week military curfew thing with? No ice and nothing but peanut butter sandwiches to fulfill your appetite, plus bacteria-infested cold showers to take the edge of your funk? And for pete's sake, you might actually have to talk to him because you won't have access to Twitter! And that Victorian novel you've been wanting to read? Forget it! There's not enough light on the gas Coleman.

Get it? Hurricanes suck. Aftermaths suck more. So pick your guy wisely.

We have already given love to Bryan Norcross (our eternal hero, of course), plus crooner and leather-bound pectorally well-endowed Katrina rescuer Harry Connick, Jr., gray-and-gay-but-unbelievably-sexy Anderson Cooper and of course the king of all commandeering -- biceps god Robert Irvine!

So where to next, girls?

Last year, I was feeling like an old dry curmudgeon in need of some serious lube (with regards to hurricane season) ... but this year, I say BRING IT ON! Let's have fun! Let's fight the winds like Don Quixote, brandishing rum cocktails against the ferocious winds!

Ok, I kid, I kid ... but seriously ... gals, help me pick a hottie celeb to be our official Hurricane Season Boyfriend. Remember: he must possess all the traits we love in a man: steadfastness, yet stubbornness (when required to get something done, like installing shutters); joie de vivre, courage and chutzpah (to get you through the scary moments); biceps of Adonis (even if they are imaginary); and of course, the sexual prowess to make you forget the roof is blowing off your house while he is indeed blowing you.

Please leave your suggestions in comments. And for further storm info, don't forget NWS. Be safe and be well everyone. And may we have enough power and innernets to blog and twitter our way through yet another season.

If we must have a hurricane, I think it should be named Barracuda, don't you? What's with those lame human names like Andrew, Katrina and Wilma? Puhleeze!

Hurricane Season Boyfriend 2008: Hope Blows

Actually, hope floats on Biscayne Bay. Look it, I don't make this shit up! This extraordinary piece of driftwood was just lying there during low tide, ok? Taken at Matheson Hammock Park by yours truly.

Since June 1st, I've been thinking about whom I would choose as this year's Hurricane Season Boyfriend. In seasons past, I've chosen men for their ability to perform duties around the house who would also be able to service me, in spite of the fact that hurricanes are an instant buzzkill. Yes, after the beer gets warm and the ice costs more than a gallon of gas, even the most rambunctious penis could shrivel up and become one sweaty, cranky bastard.

In 2006, I was so moved by the prodigious size of Colin Farrell's schlong (readers, do you recall that endless, obnoxious editorial?) that I thought of choosing him until the unfortunate tragedy of Katrina reminded me that Harry Connick Jr. not only made me swoon because he croons, but also because he could help save a city in all his shirtless pectoral glory.

Yet there's one thing Harry darlin' couldn't do and that's cook, which is why I chose chef Robert Irvine in 2007. Any pair of biceps that can whip up a bearnaise sauce on the sterno and hold me up for a good hump against the fridge is a priority item in my list of hurricane supplies!

This year, though, I've drawn a blank. Well, maybe -- a remote maybe -- Brad Pitt. But he's so busy making babies and building environmentally-friendly homes in New Orleans that in all fairness I don't think he'd be able to shuffle his time between Angelina and Manola.

No, no ... I'm afraid that this year I've drawn a real blank, a complete and utter emotional, libidinal blank. I've gone numb and I'm not even taking Prozac! Perhaps it's the fact that I'm 40 and that I don't give a shit about hurricanes anymore, much less that other heavy drop in the barometer -- the social pressure against all things single. Plus, I'm tired of that constant "preparedness" cycle. Think about it: you work so hard at even getting to a relationship and then the storm blows over and your happy ever after becomes an aftermath.

And you have to wonder, what happens after the aftermath? That's where the true test lies. Most women wouldn't want a hurricane season boyfriend; they'd want a man for all seasons -- one who could bear those stings and arrows of outrageous weather patterns.

As in hurricanes, so in relationships. You don't just have to prepare for the bad shit. You have to prepare for the bad shit after the bad shit.

Oh heck. As a Miami native, I've come to the conclusion that hurricanes are just like bad cramps. I have a rare genetic mutation that spares me from PMS and makes me forget I am a menstruating organism for most of the month until my boobs get bigger and start to hurt. I've been going through this seemingly endless cycle since I was nine years old and yet every single time my body signals menstruation a little voice in my head says "Oh really? This again?"

So that's how I feel about this year's hurricane season. "Oh really? This again?" And no, a more pronounced cleavage is hardly a gauge for tropical disturbances in the Atlantic.

I've been doing this hurricane thing on my own for so long that I don't think I'll need any help this time around. Let's take things easy. How about dinner and a movie first, before we start hammering up shutters? And how about you get to choose your own name, instead of being baptized randomly A to Z by the National Weather Service?

And besides, I already had one torrid, traumatic relationship with a storm, which is kind of groovy. My life's story since August 1992 has always been expressed as B.A, A.A. (before Andrew, after Andrew). I never say that about any of my ex-boyfriends! I've also never assigned categories to men, no matter what their wind speed.

When dealing with hurricanes and boyfriends, there are two very different tactical approaches and survival philosophies. Hurricanes: expect the worst but hope for the best. Men: expect the best, hope for the best but above all deserve the best.

Ladies, when it comes to those unpredictable tempests, don't listen to the hurricane experts. Every year, they broadcast the same doom and gloom: "Global warming is the culprit. We're all going to die!" But let me tell you, if you're a single gal in this city, global whoring is likelier to do more damage, no matter how many shutters you smack down on a vulnerable heart.

Hurricane Season Boyfriend 2007

Harry, take me to the salon, darling!

Women of South Florida: it's that time of the year again! I know you've been busy fussing to and fro botox appointments, but have you prepared for hurricane season?

Granted, I'm well aware we single gals over the age of 150 question the usefulness of men in our lives, but let's face it, a penis with a body attached to it is very handy from June to November!

In my relentless pursuit of convenience over effort, I made a huge sacrifice last week -- I actually gave up a pedicure appointment to do a little consumer investigative reporting!

IS THAT A CAULKING GUN IN YOUR POCKET OR ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME?

Don't bother with Ho Depot. The mega supplier still only carries plywood, flashlights and battery-operated fans. But if you can't resist the temptation, stop by for tasty cheese arepas and Sabrett hot dogs. As well, satisfy your green thumb and disdain of frugality at the nursery, where you can buy perennials that will be utterly destroyed during the first tropical storm of the season.

Oh and if you're feeling a bit velociraptorish, there's always fun with "Ambush the Hottie" game! Try it just for shits and giggles: wait patiently in the flooring aisle, lovingly fondling a tube of grout while holding firmly onto a caulking gun. Whenever office worker by day/male stripper by night walks by, bat your eyelashes and ask him naively, "Does this heat up if I blow on it?"

ño! QUE BRICK HOUSE!

The staff at this mom-and-pop harguer estor/botanica in Hialeah is unique to Tancredolandia™ because it not only gives good wood, it also throws in a bit of spiritual advice at no extra cost. So when I spied my target -- construction worker by day/male stripper by night -- and asked him to "ponerme los shutters" he broke out in reggaeton and rapped "ay mamasita, mueve to culo! mueve, mueve, mueve to culo!"*

Tancredolandia Lesson 1: Harguer Estor



STORMY LEATHER

Not ready to give up in my steadfast search, I hopped back onto 112 and crossed the pond. As I drove over the Julia Tuttle Causeway and enjoyed the always breathtaking view that leads me home, I sighed and pondered the irony of living in paradise. "Beauty comes at a cost," I thought. Eureka! Such a dilemma who can better understand than a gay man already?**

I turned south to Lincoln Road, figuring I'd score a buff dude with a heart of gold and the brawn of Hercules. Just think about it: how utterly lovely to have a gay hurricane season boyfriend! We could give each other pedicures and reenact scenes from The Bird Cage! In South Beach it wasn't hard to spot my next victim -- gay by day/even gayer at night -- and when I asked "what's your favorite hardware store?" I got directions to novelty shop Gaydar on Alton.

Oh, such disappointment! Nice lingerie, but unfortunately leather codpieces won't protect me during a category one! It did get me thinking though -- why not just tent our homes with huge latex, wind-proof condoms that we can just pop on and off?

LAST RETORTS

So in the never-ending search for the perfect hurricane season boyfriend I have nominated the one man I know who can cook up a storm and still lift me by the seat of my pants if the apartment should be flooded by Atlantic surge ... not to mention hot-blooded liquids spewing from his man-loins!


MANOLA: IMPOSSIBLE

I hereby declare world renown chef Robert Irvine as my hurricane season boyfriend for 2007. In spite of his quirky English overbite, Bob darling raises the bar when it comes to hurricane season boyfriend standards. With a military background, he's sexy because he can delegate and GET SHIT DONE without whining. And with the sensibility of a culinary artist, he can turn canned PORK AND BEANS into a sensual prelude of porking bliss. I've got a feeling even the mosquitoes will steer clear with these biceps hunkering around the apartment. The star of Food Network's Dinner: Impossible will definitely have his hands full with Manola.

WISH LIST

Here's what my bitches have to say about their ideal hurricane season boyfriends!

Yvette from Miami Rhapsody: Oh, a no-brainer. My ideal Hurricane Season Boyfriend is Matthew McConaughey. Imagining that chest, those abs, the adorable face, I can't think of anyone I'd rather slide around a wet blue tarp with. Why would I care if the house blew down, if it meant I could look forward to naked brunch with my boyfriend Matthew? Just the thought of grilling by candle-light with a bottle of wine, with my boyfriend Matthew, makes me want to pray for rain.




Tere from A Blog, A Mom and the Life In-Between: My IHSB is Johnny Depp; I'm sure he's picked up some good survival skills from the Pirates movies. And I KNOW he's smart enough to keep me entertained and interested through those long, boring nights. Of course, I don't plan on letting him talk much, seeing how dark, stormy nights are perfect for hot, sexy make-out sessions. I mean, who the hell cares about a blown roof when you're straddling Johnny Depp?



Balou from Searching for Normalcy: My fantasy HSB is Tyler Florence. Not only is he hunky enough to put up the mandatory plywood, but I'm sure he could McGyver up some fabulous meals using only a sterno and a flashlight. Who wants to eat cold Chef Boyardee all week waiting for FPL to get their crap together?






AMANTE BANDIDO! HERO OF LOVE! SO GAY AND YET SO MANLY!

"I'll be your wind ..."

"I'll be your beaten hurricane ... "

OH MY!



DISCLAIMERS

*Do not give the author of this blog shit about this tasteless portrayal of Cuban Americans. She is Cuban American herself and therefore can make fun of her own people. Let my people laugh in freedom, coño!

**The author of this blog is Jewish by proxy. Shit give her not for using Yiddish syntax already!

tags: miami beach, hurricane season, parody, hurricane, robert irvine, tom tancredo

Hurricane Season Boyfriend Needed [update 4/21/06 6:30 AM]

update: scroll down a few miles

The hurricane season is just about to poke its ugly, wind-blown head into the city and Miami bloggers have been discussing preparedness. Rick is contemplating buying a generator and MKH is relieved that his favorite rum is so good, he can sip without ice.

Manola, on the other hand, is desperately seeking the most important hurricane accessory of all, which by the way, is not available at any hardware store ... not even that 24/7 Home Depot on Calle Ocho (although the arepas and coconut water are so tasty) ... No, it's not what you'd assume ... not Manolo Blahnik flip flops or batteries for a vibrator ... Manola needs

A BOYFRIEND!

Why? Because last year, I spent the first few days after Miami's brush with Katrina alone. At night, without enough light to even pluck eyebrows or do a pedicure, oh my Lord, one humid, dark steamy night after another, with nothing better to do than sit on my bed lashing at mosquitoes and asking "why?" or talking to myself like Rain Man and then wondering: if I'd have a man around, we could be making major strides on page 69 of the Karma Sutra! Damn it!

It was SO humid here at Apartment 17, that after a few days, the tile floor was literally covered with water. I kid you not. Would've given sex on the kitchen floor a whole new meaning. Fun when slippery road sign would've been necessary.

After my apartment turned into a wading pool, I packed my ass, my mini-macaw, a toothbrush, the remaining unspoiled broccoli and a family-size bottle of Ketel One into the humble Toyota. Made the tedious drive over to the old folks on the mainland, trying not to hit a fallen ficus. God bless the old folks and the fact that we all still had our lives not to mention a roof over our heads -- as opposed to blue tarps -- but staying with the ma and pa was definitely an exercise in sensory deprivation and boredom!

Where was Mr. Thinks He's Huge? MIA as usual. (And no, he wasn't at the airport.) To be fair, the night Katrina hit he had to tend the home where his ex and two children resided. Of course, I wouldn't have had it any other way -- I wouldn't have loved a man who is an irresponsible father.

Nonetheless, is what it is, right? Mr. Thinks He's Huge had never experienced a hurricane and apparently he took a big dump in his pants (his actual words) while also dumping his responsibilities as Manola's man. Didn't see hide nor hair of him for a month, when I needed him the most. (I know, who really wants to see hide or hair of any man unless it's Brokeback Mountain?) But still, men who love rights and not responsibilities need not apply.

While enduring Katrina's aftermath and for the entire hurricane season thereafter, I realized how much I had taken for granted having a man around the house -- A REAL MAN WHO NOT ONLY LOVES MANOLA, BUT IS ALSO NOT AFRAID TO COOK A FRITTATA AND PUT UP SHUTTERS. It's not just about sex and the beach, it's about enduring the aftermath of a hurricane while STILL enjoying sex, capiche?



But I digress. Ladies, fear not. A gusty woman can spend a hurricane alone. It's not the storm, it's the aftermath that humbles, challenges and toughens even the weakest spirit.

single south beach woman hurricane plan, evac optional

• PANIC: "Oh my God, who's getting the vodka? THE VODKA! HELLO? Bottled water, wait, but ..."

• FRANTIC GUILT: "Why did I procrasinate? Was I too busy masturbating to Colin Farrell? Oh, shelves at the store just gutted! No more bottled water. But wait, here's 50% off Revlon dipstick and OMG! Colin is on the cover of People!"

• FREAK OUT THAT'S NOT LE CHIC BUT OH-SO HUMAN: "Bryan Norcross, I'll marry you, even though I think you're gay."

• DEPRESSION: "I'm a Scorpio. Why did I go off Zoloft?"

• STINK: "If I have to take another shower today with contaminated water, I think I'll just become a lice-pickin' chimpanzee."

• ICING ON THE CLOUD: "Well, at least I don't own a home. Look at those insurance rates! I could buy twenty pairs of Blahniks, please!"

Ladies, after a hurricane, you'll never complain about PMS again. PMS is a walk in the park!

Manola spent Georges -- the gay hurricane, remember? -- alone on a corner oceanfront apartment of the seventh floor. The building shook, rattled and rolled, but my parrot and I hunkered down in the living room and woke up rather refreshed, actually. If it doesn't kill you it makes you stronger: NOTHING can compare to Andrew. 8/23 is as etched in my mind as 9/11.

So this season, I'm RENTING A REAL MAN!

Ladies, Colin Farrell may be well-endowed, but can he drill a hole and put up hurricane shutters? When it comes down to brass tacks, you need a man who can do it all!

se busca un mucho super macho man

why colin farrell?

Manola recently received this email:

Date: April 19, 2006 7:01:51 PM EDT
Subject: Re: Colin Farrell's sex video

Hi,

"Sorry for disturbing you. I just saw your comment in this site:
I Don't Like You in That Way.

And I just want to ask you, can you please send me that Colin Farrell video? I'm really looking for it everywhere but can't find. Can you please send it to me or upload on www.yousendit.com?

Best Regards"

I received a snippet of the now infamous Colin Farrell sex video from a friend who works for paparazzi. To be honest, after I re-inserted my eyeballs back into their sockets, which popped out from the shock of seeing that Irish lad's huge schlong (he doesn't think he's huge, HE IS HUGE) -- I promptly deleted the video clip because it was really quite boring. Colin's ex gf, a second-rate porn star with bad hair, had the audacity -- and the bad manners -- to try to bank on this very personal moment.

Oh, and yes, he is sizzling hot!