An Affair of the Heart

Love is the greatest gift of all: the binding of love, the fire of love, the freedom of love.

Last Saturday, Maria (that's me, the creator of Manola Blablablanik and author of Sex and the Beach), was hospitalized for acute atrial fibrillation. My heart started going beserk early in the morning, beating irregularly and shooting upwards of 250. (Normal resting heart rate for a woman my age is 70 beats per minute.) My blood pressure also skyrocketed to 150 over 90 (the ideal is 120 over 80).

I'm not going to bore you with the details of my stay at South Miami Hospital, but I will tell you this: I'm finally out of the cardiac ward and my heart received a clean bill of health.

Unfortunately, the good news doesn't rule out atrial fibrillation. According to my doctor, a relatively healthy young heart can still suffer; in fact, I may have had this most of my adult life, the condition masked as anxiety. Since I left the hospital, I've had one episode, far less intense and very short-lived, to be sure, which I've managed to control by yogic breathing. Of concern here is that prolonged acute episodes could lead to stroke; as well, my father has chronic arrhythmia.

In the days to come, I'll be wearing a Holter monitor to test my heart rate under different conditions of rest, stress, exercise and so on. I'm working with physicians, taking medications and most importantly just taking things easy.

"All changed, changed utterly" -- Yeats

Inside the ambulance, a caring and compassionate team of four paramedics tried to slow my heart rate down the only way they could, by injecting adenosine into a blood vessel that goes directly to the heart, via the shoulder. Adenosine stops the heart momentarily in order to convert its haywire circuit back to normal. I was told not to be afraid, that the sinking feeling would only last a couple of seconds. Indeed, the effect was brief, but to be conscious while my racing heart came to a crashing halt marked a turning point in my life.

Not only did I experience the effects of adenosine once, but twice, because my heart failed to convert. The second try felt even more intense than the first, like a crushing blow. All I could think was: "This is what death must feel like."

Angel of death: stay away. I am now more alive than I have ever been. I am more certain now of what I've always known, that I was put on this earth to love and to write. I am here to follow my heart. This is all I need to know to live.

Could this be my heart's way of telling me to listen, to recognize what is within me?

A long-time friend of mine who knows me very well is a paramedic and nurse in Collier County who has administered adenosine Lord knows how many times. When I told her my ultrasound result was normal, she responded: "Maria, your heart isn't normal, it's fucking amazing." Inspiring words! I also want my life to be fucking amazing. I want my love to be fucking amazing. Why the fuck not?

Really, life is too short. And that moment when your heart stops, that's way too long.

What about Manola?

As far as Manola is concerned, don't worry, she'll be back. As a matter of fact, she was born out of despair, during a very difficult time of my life when I hadn't yet even hit rock bottom. Yes, the wacky character you've all come to know and love was my black sun -- a shining light in the darkness. I have no doubt that she will be even more resilient than she has ever been, even funnier and more irreverent, but this time, with a little more of Maria.

I'm also going to be launching a new site in the weeks to come called Miami Good Vibes; it's a project I've had in mind for months. This site will focus on good people doing good things in our community, with information on philanthropic organizations and volunteer opportunities. I'll also highlight artists who are inspired by our culture and environment. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying the blessing of devoted family and friends who bring love into my life, as well as the opportunity to not write, which is incredibly challenging for a writer to do. Well, I'm actually writing as little as possible, save for assignments at Miami Beach 411. I've been a wordsmith in some creative published or professional working capacity for over twenty years and it's time to step away from the thing I love in order to let my heart rest. Ironic, isn't it?

I'm creating as much space in my life as possible to live; to have a life away from the internet; to breathe free, to love and eventually, to write again.

I've had so much fun cracking myself up with Manola, as well as the honor of giving a few folks some laughs; if you're one of those folks, I hope you will indulge us a little leave of absence.

And fellow bloggers, I hope you'll understand why I haven't stopped by for a visit lately, but please do carry on with your wonderful work -- I want to read you again when the time is right for me to return.

Independence Day

JL asked to marry me within five minutes of meeting. He said Haitian men have a special "ting" for Cuban women, but of course he did not believe at first I was Cuban; considering that my big fat Cuban ass might be confused for an albino beluga whale, I'm not surprised.

He told me that Haitians don't like Dominicans because they shoot people on the border. This and more in his tale of woe; a story I've heard hundreds of times from my own people and others, the story that makes Miami a special place, a confluence of hearts and desires for freedom, very much like the gulfstream -- a current that constantly pulls us out of our comfort zones unless we learn to adjust our sails and navigate in its fickle yet determined path.

He repeated "you know what I'm sayin" after each sentence, which honestly was very annoying to me, after which my thoughts drifted to Toussaint L'Ouverture, the Bolivar of the slaves, legendary leader of a horrific bloody revolution that made Haiti the first Caribbean island to strip away its shackles from the mother country; I also thought of one of the best novels ever written about Haiti -- In The Kingdom of This World, by magical realist master Alejo Carpentier, a Cuban. I wanted to see paintings by Edouard Duval-Carrié; I craved some spicy picklese; this is all I understood, my filter about Haiti. I didn't want to have this particular conversation; I felt awkward, very awkward, letting my high-brow Caribbean studies crap get in the way of simple communication.

JL did not know the elders who currently live in Little Haiti, whom I had interviewed in a reporter assignment, but he did tell me about internecine strife among Haitians here in Miami.

And then I realized, what a pointless conversation. This man just wants to swim up my skirt, get his feet wet in a world that doesn't let Haitians cross our borders. I'm just talking to a man who keeps telling me I have lovely eyes; in fact, he doesn't stop talking about them or his need to meet the one special love of his life, be a good husband and go to church on Sundays. "Your eyes are amazingly beautiful. Do you want to get married?" he keeps asking. This mantra he keeps repeating to me and after a while I just want to be on the beach alone.

And it's a damn shame too, because on this day, I'm swimming in the Atlantic, and the great sea is just a big lake, welcoming me to its warmth, bathing me with thick, hot sea water. I am in my element and I feel everyone deserves the right to this freedom, but not at the cost of marrying a citizen for papers, my friend. I'm not some stupid Cuban woman with a big ass who will sleep with a stranger, you know what I'm saying?

Oh hell. Even when we feel the deepest kindness, comforted by the ocean or whatever pleases us, we must still stand strong like our Lady Liberty. No matter how you look at this, here in Tancredolandia we are faced with the reality of either accepting the truth that we are one world with artificial borders and at the end of the day, we are all human. It is what it is. Compassion is something you must practice minute by minute each day and each instance will vary. Life is like the ocean, it's going to be warm and delicious one day, hard and merciless the next. So how do we in this environment, in which we are all trying to stay afloat, perpetuate the luxury of prejudice?

If we could only thank each other for teaching us lessons in patience, tolerance and love, Miami would be a better place; feeling gratitude for what irks you is a big step and one that we humans should all migrate to, regardless of our political and geographical borders. This is the true immigration problem in this country -- besides everything else.

I just wanted to celebrate independence from whatever might've been tying me down, as my friend Yvette suggested. After all, what is the meaning of independence, personally? I love me some fish and chips and British tea, but over the years freedom has been redefined. In fact, it's what we're all dealing with, every day. Did you celebrate independence well and truly yesterday? From what?

You get the picture.

And no, sir, I don't want to get married, not like this or for any crap excuses people use to tie the knot. I'll stay proudly single until I meet the right man for me.

I don't know why people open up to me, be it bullshit from a guy who wants to get laid for a green card or a person who just wants to talk; yesterday I also met a six-year old girl from Havana named Maria. She and I had a splendid time, wading in the water, yapping about the little fishes. When night fell and the tide started to rise, she took it upon herself to be responsible for me and she yelled at the top of her lungs, amid her family: "Maria, please get out of the water, the tide is rising!"

One meets amazing souls on the beach, but I'm not an impulsive woman who falls in love so easily -- with children, however, it's different -- it's easy, very easy to fall in love with children. They are what we always wanted to be, in the moment and living happily; part of the beauty of falling in love is feeling like a child all over again, isn't it?

And so unlike Narcissus who treads the dangerous waters of self-deception, I saw the truth of myself and the love of my heart reflected in the ocean -- it was a good day. Independence from everyone that ever kept me from seeing this love was what I celebrated. And today a little girl named Maria whom I barely know, who lives on the other side of the city, is probably yapping about something or other I won't ever hear about. The love remains and that's all that matters.

miami, miami beach, july 4, independence

Manola Does Miami: Flapjack or Arepa?

EPISODE 1 Manola ventures out to the suburbs of Miami, only to find that a vibrator is useful in traffic and that the landscape reminds her of mammograms.


tags: miami, humor, audio

Photo courtesy of yours truly with additional nuttiness and talent by srcohiba.

Planet Manola: Sowing Your Wild Oats

Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently. If you are easily offended, do not read on!

"Comfort me with apples for I am sick of love. His left hand is under my head and his right hand doth embrace me." -- Song of Schlomo

Memo to Employees of Wild Oats in South Beach: Although we embrace the diversity of our employees and respect your tongues, we kindly ask that you please refrain from referring to cunninilingus in the presence of our customers. Kind regards, Human Resources Department

OVERHEARD AT WILD OATS YESTERDAY

Clerk: Yo Ricky, where's Rocko?

Cashier: Lo vi saliendo del carro despues de mamar su geva. (I saw him get out of the car after he went down on his bitch.)

Clerk: How do you know?

Cashier: (rubs hand over mouth): He was wiping it off, man.

Clerk: So where is he now?

Cashier (shrugs shoulders): I don't know.

What if the same conversation had taken place at Kosher World?


Sofi also overhears plenty of interesting conversations ...

tags: sex, song of solomon, wild oats, humor, audio, cunnilingus

Sassy Chick Speaks Her Mind

Samba Jalapeño may only be two years old, but she's definitely becoming South Beach's favorite party animal! Hopefully she won't get pulled over for drunk flying like Parrot Hilton.

tags: macaw, parrot, video, humor

Chorizo or Wienerschnitzel?

glumbert.com - Does size matter?

So, does size really matter? Manola's hero, the fabulous and gorgeous sex educator Alessandra Rampolla once gave this advice (translated here):

Gordito or flaquito? "It's better for it to be wider than longer."

What size? "I have a friend who said that the perfect man would have three penises: a small one for anal sex, a medium one for vaginal sex and a big one for oral sex."

Ladies, what do you think?

If you speak Spanish, enjoy this hilarious yet erudite interview by Jaime Bayle on all things dick!



Glumbert clip via email from a wonderful new neighbor!

tag: penis, jaime baily, alessandra rampolla, glumbert, you tube

Planet Manola: Tancredolandia

Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.

BREAKING NEWS! We interrupt this blog to stray from the subject of sex!

Greetings, citizens of the world, far and wide. It has come to my attention that communication is a major issue in third world countries such as Darfur Miami. So Maestra Manola Finlandia, an expert in Spanglish who teaches at the Ritz Carlos School of Language, has taken on a philanthropic mission paralleled only by Bradgelina to teach the world the language of the new America.

Listen, screw all the news. Many of you bitch about Hispanics but none of you have paid any thought to this very interesting phenomenon: the hard-working, highly-intellectual Cuban-Americans raised in Miami who aren't some yahoos living in mud huts. My Cubanos ... you know who you are and I'm not talking about stogies! It's time we made a statement and flung some verbal frituras de bacalao out into the world!


THIS IS FUCKING AMERICA, GET OVER IT YOU PASTY-FACED CHILDREN OF SLAVE OWNERS FROM TEN GENERATIONS AGO WHO ORIGINALLY CAME FROM EUROPEAN POTATO FARMERS! ONE-LANGUAGE SPEAKING XENOPHOBIC DOLT WHO CAN'T DANCE DOESN'T EXACTLY SPELL WORDLY SOPHISTICATION OR HUMAN WISDOM, EH? WHAT DO YOU EXPECT WHEN THE PENINSULA IS SITUATED SO CLOSELY TO OTHER COUNTRIES? WAR, IMMIGRATION, EXILE, LINGUISTIC CROSS-POLLINATION, ETC; IS LIKE THE M.O. OF WORLD HISTORY AND CULTURE ALREADY! SO DON'T LORD IT OVER ME, YOU HONKY ASSHOLE!

Oh, but Maestra Manola Finlandia has enjoyed deep, rich irony in her life, such as the fact that she too is pasty-faced. Favorite line:

"You're Cuban? Really? I would've never thought so. I thought all people not from America were black and stupid and didn't speak English. Who knew? You're whiter than my South Beach bleached ass and have blue eyes. What's more, your English diction is more impeccable than the Oxford Dictionary tear sheets the Queen uses to wipe her ass on the royal toilet. How can you possibly be Cuban?"

See, apparently many Americans have an issue with Spanish. They get so pissed off about it, they even cancel blogs. Shit! It doesn't matter that the man who "discovered" America was a greedy Genovese (that's Italy, people) mother fucker who screwed the Queen of Spain to kill a bunch of Indians and deplete this continent of its natural resources just to fill his own pocket and masturbate to the cross while millions of Jews and Muslims were being slaughtered in a horrible inquisition.

He spoke Spanish, you say? Well, then that's it. Although not documented, it is said that Sir Francis Drake refused to clink his glass of calvados with Old Columbo! This may have had to do with the fact that one was dead, but heck, it was pirates in the Caribbean back then, and you know ... oh and less does it matter that the first fucking city in the territory currently know as the United States of America was St. Augustine, Florida, founded by a bunch of spick monks. Damn!

Oh and all those desperate English-speaking people who took the bangers-and-mash boat over from England to land in Plymouth because they hated their greedy, disgusting rancid-smelling fat pig of a king who dispensed with wives like he spit out peach pits inspite of all this Magna Carta crap, they were a bunch of mother fuckers also.

Y'all, half of them stayed sequestered in the Appalachians and came out with Pork BBQ and Southern twang, as well as a predilection for maudlin, melodious songs. All these idiots were followed by genocidal-crazy Germans who ended up killing a bunch of Jews (oh no! just broke Godwin's law!), lightbulb-challenged Polacks, pizza-tossing Italians and so forth, while all the peeps who used to live here were treated like shit.

And there you have it, the history of America in one fell swoop. IS IT ANY WONDER WE ARE A 231-YEAR-OLD COUNTRY? GOD BLESS AMERICA! MORE OR LESS THE SAME SHIT THAT HUMANITY HAS BEEN DOING SINCE DAY ONE IS GOING ON NOT JUST HERE BUT EVERYWHERE.

Conclusion: we are all a bunch of assholes from somewhere else and in spite of this, so many amazing people born here have made a positive dent in the history of the world. What would the earth do without the chongas from Hialeah going viral? I'm telling ya, there's hope yet!

PATRIOT PORK

Do you or don't you go for pork? This should be the international law of war. Think about it: isn't the current bellicosity divided so?

Here's what I say: cultures that cook pork should not go to war: this includes, well, everybody excepts for Jews and Muslims but pastrami and goat are fair substitutes. Damn, I ate choucroute French version of bangers and mash in Strasbourg and that was a 2,000 year old city. In fact, my first love, the Nazi, was so into lard that his grandmother tried to pass it off to me as a delicacy while we dined in Cologne. So shut the fuck up and let's have peace and break bread over the caja china, ok?

Hot tamale delivery service aint necessarily a bad thing! Want a taste of the real Tancredolandia? Visit the dangerous blonde! And do support our troops, especially if you are against the war and want peace. I don't care what you believe. Peace starts in the heart, one conversation, one letter, one person at a time.

BACK TO SEX IN MIAMI

In other news, the Miami construction bubble may be burst, but at least someone is making good use of all those cranes!

YOUR SPANGLISH LESSON

Learn all about Tiki Tiki, an indispensable Spanglish word, sort of like a tampon. Especial tanks to Guayn Kokran's hair and to Tere la mamasita mas rica!



tags: miami, tancredo, spanglish

Planet Manola: Kooks vs. Books

Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.

I want to see pictures of boys' pee pees!

VAMOS TO HELL

Just because we simply haven't had enough warmongering among the males of the local blogosphere about the clusterfuck known as the "Miami-Dade School Board Does Not Heart a Book Called Vamos a Cuba," let's look at some of Manola's favorite reads, which have been considered unsuitable for the tender minds of innocent Americans.

Decameron by Boccacio: Call Homeland Security! All those damn Italians yapping about Muslims having orgies!
Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller: All those damn American expat writers having sex with French whores in Paris and washing their genitals in bidets! Ew!
As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner: You sicko, your dead mother is not a MILF!
Canterbury Tales by Chaucer: That Wife of Bath was some skanky old ho!
Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H. Lawrence: Crippled husband with no penis? Yum! Can I have fries with that?
Lord of the Flies by William Golding: Stupid ass title. Americans worship fries, people!
Little Red Riding Hood by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm: You know what the big bad wolf really wanted, eh?
Candide by Voltaire: Those damn French people again! Over the limit in allowable number of rapes and disembowlments per chapter!
Ulysses by James Joyce: Ew, Irish women menstruate and men fart? That's not literature! Gross!

Who needs fuckin' books anyway? They only fill your mind with gobbledygook and make you question things. Who has time for that shit? Let's just get rid of all books in all school libraries. We could fill up the stacks with Martha Stewart tchotchkes from Kmart!

I JUST CALLED TO SAY I LOVE YOU

Ladies, here's some practical advice from Maestra Manola.



tags: books, vamos a cuba, miami, parody, audiocast, satire, spanglish

Planet Manola: Is Your Bunghole Spotty?

Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.



MIAMI BLEACH

Intrepid New Times reporter Joanne Green wanders into a waxing salon on South Beach and discovers bunghole bleaching. Just when you thought human beings couldn't possibly be more vain and shallow, a genius invents Anal Bleach Cream. Let me tell you something: if you are peering at my asshole, you better not fucking complain about the shade of its complexion. Have some manners, you sicko!

Now here's a product we must have! Where did I put the phone number of that pharmaceutical company exec who brought me drinks at ... ?

CYBERSPACE VS. MEATSPACE

What's up with people trying to hook up through blogs? Just because a woman writes about sex doesn't mean she's advertising her interest in dating to the world. Let me tell you something: a blog is not a fucking personals ad. You want to date? Go to fucking mismatch.com, ok? As a matter of fact, the author of this blog is a pimply, overweight raging lesbian Buddhist monk mother of three brats spawned by Mighty Dyckerson with a terrible case of gonorrhea who suffers from boils and lives on welfare while practicing abstinence. And no, you can't nominate me for Jerry Springer's show. I love my privacy. Fuckin' A.

PS ... NY Mary, are you proud of my Queen's English?

I'M PROUD OF MY BIG CUBAN ASS

Ay mi Celia! Mi reina! The world is not the same without you, but your legacy lives on! You were the body electric, mama! You put the song in our hearts and the wiggle in our butts. Whenever anyone gives me shit about being Cuban, I just want to hold up a banner that says: don't mess with the memory of Celia! AZUCAR!

So just in case you thought South Beach was full of vain and shallow people who want their assholes to look like a newborn baby's scalp, let me remind you that our fair island does boast some signigicant culture. Don't miss the exhibit devoted to Cuban music's firebrand at the Ass Museum of Fart Bass Museum of Art, ongoing until August 19.

PIMP ME WITH A CHERRY ON TOP

Join the author of this blog at Miami Beach 411 for sizzling coverage of Top Chef Miami!



Beach sex photograph courtesy of never-ceases-to-amaze-me Miami Fever.

tags: miami beach, anal, south beach, butt, bleach, celia cruz

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

Urban Beach Week Sizzles Fo' Shizzle!

This weekend many of you will flee from Miami Beach in mass exodus while others simply avoid the island like the boobonic plague. But we die-hard seasoned bitches don't let a little festivity bother us, no way. Heck, it's not like Urban Beach Week is a category five hurricane or something. Besides, Urban Beach Week is a lot safer than Extreme Republican Congressmen and Televangelists Beach Week -- an event so sinister, I bet you never even heard about it, huh?

MEMORIALIZE THIS

Colleen Dougher at Citylink writes a fabulous survey of survival tips from top folks in the local hip-hop scene.

Alex at Stuck on the Palmetto questions if increased police presence means white people are all a bunch of fearful, racist dumb fucks. Join the debate!

Please to be Fanless drnk photojournalist d00d again!

Oh, and whatever you do, don't forget to take a moment on Monday to honor those who have served our country!

Animated mock ad by Manola originally published in April 2006. Don't give me shit about this! My grandfather raised pigs and my parents ate lard!

tags: south beach, miami beach, urban beach week, memorial day

Citylink: Sexual Yoga

"I had just met a tall, ripped blond at the spa. I kneeled demurely in front of this complete stranger, hesitating to look up at his piercing blue eyes. It was awkward at first. We gazed at each other, not knowing what to expect. I tried not to be overcome by the manly vibes beaming from his hot body. Slowly, we started to breathe in unison, my ample bosom trying to keep up with the rhythm of his heaving chest. He was drawing me in to him. And then …"

Read my latest column at Citylink for more of this titillating story!

tags: sex, yoga, relationships

Planet Manola: Dating Sucks Ass

Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.

Ah, puppy love! So young, naive, hopeful and utterly blind!

LOVE IN THE TIME OF DIARRHEA

Actually, who are we kidding? Most grown-ups have their heads up their asses when it comes to love. Case in point: my dear friend Yvette, who does not have her head up her ass, but has dated many assholes -- literally.

I can count one hand the number of times in my life I have uttered to another human being the words, "I have diarrhea." There are lots of other ways to say that you are unwell. Saying that your stomach is upset does the job nicely. Saying that you have a stomach "thing" is universally understood. But the professor said, "I have horrible, horrible diarrhea!"

Now, even though I refrain from dating in my present life, I still take to heart some very sage advice Sir Fish A Lot's mother once shared with me. A retired police officer, she was the first white woman to walk a beat in the Bronx, so you know she's one tough cookie. "Whenever a man breaks your heart, just think of him taking a dump on the shitter."

When I was a crazy South Beach girl actively dating all kinds of loonies I met on mismatch.com, I used this advice preemptively. Why wait until he disappoints you? Whenever you decide to be a lemur and take that leap of faith called the first date, just picture the man in front of you taking a dump on the shitter. If the thought makes you want to run to the bathroom and hurl then you know he's not the one for you. But if you're able to see past that then proceed to date number two.

EXPIRATION DATES

Top ten warning signs on subsequent dates:

1. He brings alcohol to the movies, beer to bed and drinks giant margaritas with gummy fish.
2. He argues with you about the location of the urethra relative to the vagina and he's not your ob/gyn.
3. He's a Chilean who makes sophomoric and insensitive jokes about Cubans and you're Cuban.
4. He expresses vehement hatred toward entire foreign civilizations.
5. He's 46 years old and throws rocks at cats.
6. He tells your friend, whom he just met and is serving dinner at her home, that she doesn't know how to cook.
7. He blows smoke in your face even though you don't smoke.
8. He takes you to a cheap all-you-can-eat sushi dump and tells you about the million dollar condo he's about to buy on Collins Avenue.
9. He takes your hand, places it on his dick and says "Look how big it is!" All this while hugging good night in front of people dining outdoors at Smith and Wollensky.
10. And last but not least ... he takes a dump in your toilet and forgets to flush!

PARSLEY, SAGE, ROSEMARY AND GROSS

And speaking of gross, do you remember Oregano Man? OMG, he was standing in line behind me at the Morningside Publix the other day! I haven't seen this man in nearly 20 years and he still looked like he had just bathed in a vat of EVOO!

SIR FISH A LOT TAKES A HIKE

I received some exciting news the other day. EX BF #2 is going to do the Appalachian Trail and write a book about his experience. He will spend six months hiking the trail from Georgia to Maine. I am very happy for him. He's such a talented writer with a great passion for the outdoors, much of which he shared with me. I wish him a safe journey and Godspeed!

Photograph of young lovers kissing at the 41st street lifeguard stand courtesy of locarbhiflavor.

tags: dating, humor, shit, love, miami beach

BREAKING NEWS: SEX SELLS!

Attention perverts! YOU WIN! Some genius folks who study the obvious have made it official: there are a bunch of fucking sickos out there who really use teh innernets! Woo-hoo! That's a brilliant, earth-shattering, paradigm-shifting realization: SEX SELLS BECAUSE PEOPLE LOVE SEX! ORLLY?

Maybe President Hairy Twat is right! 89% of all pornography is produced in the US, so there really is more than one "internets," if you think about it! OURS and THEIRS! God Bless HOmerica: the only hypocritically Puritanical nation that expresses moral outrage about the word HO and yet produces more porn and insulting lyrics than any other country on the planet!

These are amazing statistics, considering that Miami is home to Bang Brothers and other successful pornographers! Geez and I thought Miami is a totally back-assward Third World Country! My, how do we even think about sex in Miami when we are all a bunch of yahoos who fry bananas and talk funny compared to our highly intelligent, cultured and clearly superior purebred countrymen in Colorado? Oh, the humanity! It brings me to tears!

Oh and that reminds me, since porn is banned in Saudi Arabia, that explains why free sex videos staring a fat lazy mexican with bad skin jacked up teef and messy hair! is the most popular blog post EVAR! WARNING: SLOW LOAD. Fanless has 1,370 comments to date!

I don't even want to discuss how ironic it is that we are bringing democracy and not porn to the Middle East! WTF? Porn is our natural resource. Oil is theirs. Give the people what they want! PORN FOR OIL!

OK, enough about politics. Sex 101 Quiz: if you swallow after giving the Jolly Green Giant a blowjob, do you get your daily recommended serving of vegetables? Is skirt steak vagina a low-carb meal? Can an iron dildo also be used to mash potatoes? Is "Hunk in a Loincloth" the same as pigs-in-a-blanket?



-- Internet study video via Brian Breslin's Twitter via Techcrunch. Hey, pimp-out Twitbin!

tags: internet, pornography, seo, good magazine, kelle marie

Manola Hearts Horatio Cane

Dear Producers of CSI,

Boy do you have it all wrong. Ending your season with impossibly blonde Calleigh Duquesne wearing black stilleto pumps to a crime scene? Oh and Mr. Hot Lips -- aka DELCO -- whose labial assets reminds one of the most delicious blood oranges sautéed in tender garlic is now lusting after Miss Alice in Fisticups? And seriously, screw the mojo, what about normally way cool and superbly stoic Alexx Woods -- honey pie, you may dissect bodies, but how can you wear such hideously obvious hair extensions and still call yourself a professional medical examiner?

Oy, it drives a Miami girl crazy, let me tell ya!

Most importantly, what about all the dead people, drug running, corrupt politicians, environmental abuses and crimes and shit?

OMG, your story lines are so freakin' pathetic. You think that just because you throw in -- a) a few anorexic models with attractive faces who act like stupid bimbos b) a smattering of highly photoshopped alligators c) boring-ass aerial shots of I-75 and c) random stupid undergraduate psych 101 course topics about fucked up peeps -- that you can make a TV crime drama set in SoFla?

Has it occured to you that maybe there are beautiful people in South Florida who have brains who just take perverse pleasure in the fact that you are making mondo bucks from misrepresenting Miami?

Plus the fact that you shoot 90% in LA, hello? That's Mickey Mouse set plus two! Mickey Mouse, you hear me? How can I possibly take this prime time tv drama seriously? Most importantly, you so need to hire Manola as your script consultant. Please call 1-800-SMART-WRITING and I'll help you put together a solid story line, ok?

Regards,

Manola BBB
1-800-SMART-WRITING

24 Hour operator available at your service! Need some verb advice? Got an itch regarding adverbs? Just need to jack off to conjugation? CALL US!

Oh and by the way THIS is the best outfit to wear in South Florida, especially if you are a crime scene investigator! Let me tell you something, people who read this blog from far and abroad, nothing, absolutely nothing, can compare to trying to be a respectable human being while sweating like a pig in our climate, which is why I'm trying to tell you, the first issue I have with Miami CSI is the fact that its cast of characters don't dress appropriately for the climate. Heck, I might even start a new blog: SWEAT AND THE BEACH. What do you think?


tags: sex, miami csi, michelin, horatio cane

PS ... the resemblance between Emily Procter and teh real Manola is scary! I had to make the mash-up OBVIOUS!