I didn't notice the stripper pole (Art Basel Weekend in Miami, Part II)

Click here for Part I.

We got a somewhat late start on Friday "morning", but as soon as we walked out of our hotel, we ran into Arm'n'Hammer, my Asian, 20-something friend from NYC. We'd seen him the night before at Josh Wood's party with an older white gentleman (as per usual), but she'd clearly upped her accessory game overnight, donning two older white men this afternoon. They, like us, were in need of brunch, so they suggested "that funky looking hotel lobby we passed a few blocks back."

I didn't know that our brunch would literally take place in a damn hotel lobby. Whitelaw Hotel on Collins has a very over-the-top design style with a lot of white (surprise surprise) and a lot of ornamentation. We scooted to the ends of cushy chairs and couches with our plates on the coffee table in front of us. But despite the awkward set-up, we enjoyed our brunch (which, I'm sure, had nothing to do with those wonderful mojitos I had).

Arm'n'Hammer and his boys wanted to head to the beach, but I'd forgotten to pack swimwear. I didn't think it would be a big deal because, well, our destination was Miami Beach.

We proceeded to spend the WHOLE afternoon searching South Beach for speedos. Even the suggestions we got from Hillary Banks (a black gay who had just moved to NYC from Miami Beach... her dad bought her a Lexus when she graduated from a "rival" college, okrrr) were pretty useless. The only piece that even remotely caught my interest were a pair of shorts (actual shorts) with a 3" inseam from a designer called Shan. The price: well into the 3-digit range.

Our speedo hunt included an in-depth tour of the Lincoln Road Mall, a huge walkway (probably a mile) of shops, restaurants and even a club or two. In the middle of said walk, Bohoken saw a hot server, and I saw seafood. It was time for lunch anyway.

We realized we were taking a gamble with this restaurant. There wasn't really any way of knowing whether we'd be in the hot guy's section. As it turns out, the hot guy wasn't even a waiter: he was running the food from the kitchen to the tables. But he passed by our table several times, and Bohoken got within biting distance of his bulging biceps when he brought out our appetizers.

We didn't find a speedo, but I went all moth-to-flame when we passed a shop with a distinct slant on small-uptown-boutique style (when someone asks, all my clothes come from "some small boutique uptown" no matter what the tag says... no swagger jacking here!).

As I browsed, the very aggressive Latin clerk hovered, asking me questions every 30 seconds. I finally found some jeans that I liked, and the clerk got me a size 31.

Obviously, these jeans came from a European designer because when I tell you these jeans didn't fit... I mean, I couldn't even get them over my thighs, let alone buttoning them. When the clerk brought me a 33, I was so elated that the fly would close that I didn't even realize they were a different style until I saw them in the mirror.

"No, 31 is the biggest size we have in those. But I have the perfect shirt to go with these!"

For the next hour, the clerk proceeded to play Ken-Doll Dress-Up (and "Check-in"-While-You're-Changing) with me. Bohoken, who also likes to watch me try on outfits, even got suckered into trying on a few ensembles. That sales clerk deserved every bit of the $100 of commission he likely made from our purchase.

When we asked about picking up the jeans Bohoken was having hemmed (apparently, I have the ideal inseam): "Oh, you can bring your receipt if you remember. But I'm working tomorrow, and I'll definitely remember you."

After an essential disco nap (shopping is hard work, y'all), I decided we should explore the mainland. I figured it'd be more local and less glam than SoBe.

Boy was I right.

When we walked into Johnny's Miami, a 19-year-old (at most) Latin twink in a thong was trying his darndest to look sexy on the stage. He had about as much muscle tone as he had coordination. A few other twinks of various heights meandered around the bar, mingling with patrons or awkwardly lurking in hopes of a free drink.

"Is that a skid mark on his white briefs?!"

We went out to the patio and got a drink (no cheaper than NYC or SoBe) from one of the muscle-daddy bartenders. The group of patio go-goes who had actually seen the inside of a gym were much more suited to my taste. Maybe we were just early, but it almost seemed like we walked into a clothing-optional party— the go-goes were mostly hanging out with each other, except for the hottest one in the group who had some older fat guy all over him (I assume that got him a very nice tip).

I didn't notice the stripper pole when we walked by it, but one of the twinks drew my attention when he climbed to the top and spun hands-free upside down. And at the end of his slow, cirque-style descent, I realized why he had the stain on the back of his briefs.

image from facebook.com/johnnysmiami

After about an hour and a half, I'd had enough of this scene. The bouncer was nice enough to hail a cab for us to expedite our South Beach-bound retreat.

Were I in the mood for a crowded dance floor and dance remixes of pop songs, Score would have been awesome. After paying our $10 cover, we settled in at the front bar and watched a pair of trans-women in 8" heels and the tightest dresses I've ever seen anyone sewn into teeter as they danced in front of the mirror behind their seated male companions. We ended up leaving after a drink.

As we walked up Lincoln Road Mall, which is rather eerie at night, I heard someone call my name. I turned around to see Nurse Tyra, a model, actual nurse, and friend of TTT's whom I'd met though Twitter, sitting on a bench with her friend Dr. Heidi. We'd been tweeting and texting all day, but I wasn't sure we'd actually link up.

After Dr. Heidi had recovered a bit from her fabulously unforgiving shoes, we made our way to Twist, laughing about Dr. Heidi's stories of being a hot, young, blonde doctor.

"There's always that awkward moment when people are like, 'Wow, you're a cardiologist?!' and I have to be like, 'No an otiologist, but thanks for the reminder of where I rank.'"

We caught a cab the quarter mile down Washington to Twist, and it was a good thing because Nurse Tyra pointed at some guy as we crossed the street. As soon as Dr. Heidi tried to look, I saw her go down. But she popped up in less than 3 seconds! It was the quickest recovery from a fall I've seen in heels to date.

When we got to the go-go room (of course we were headed there), our female companions got all giddy when I pointed out Miss Lance Bass across the way and decided they were buying her a shot. They came back kind of upset because apparently when they asked her what she wanted, she told them and quickly turned back to her group of friends, seeming less than appreciative of the offer. She may not have even noticed when they came back and bought shots for us instead. Our pretty medical professionals made their exit soon thereafter.

Of course, after one night in South Beach, I already had a favorite go-go. He actually remembered my tipping him from the night before.

Him: "Oh, you like me, huh?"

Me: "I'd Facebook stalk you if we RSVPed to the same event."

Him: "Ha! You like my ass!"

And he guided my hand appropriately.

Did I mention that attention to detail is a great way to increase my tip to you? Yeah.

Click here to check out my first (and likely last) Toys for Tots party.