Boys and girls, it has been more than a hot second since I last gifted you with one of these but the time felt right to pick up the ol’ blog again with MIAMI BABYYYYYY.
I can honestly say that Miami is unlike any other place I’ve been to in the sense that I’ve never seen so many strippers in my life. To sum up in 3 words Miami is all about: sun, sex and show.
Sooooo, how did I end up seeing two girls clap their arse cheeks together whilst two men placed dollar bills in their thongs I hear you ask????? ?? ?? ?
Let’s roll it back to the beginning of our trip as I take you on a journey of discovery (much like myself at the time) as we find out why innocent Jen ended up spending a good 80% of her nights out in strip clubs.
Day 1: the group had such high hopes for a pleasant flight but being the tight bastards we are only booked ‘light economy’ – what even is that?
I’ll tell you what it is, an absolute shit show. With a transit time of less than 2 hours, we almost missed our connecting flight despite sprinting through the airport.
Actually, sorry, change that, more like thudding through the airport like the unfit hippos we are.
AND to top it all off, American Airlines lost our bags despite us picking them up in Orlando and transferring them over.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. We’d made it to MIAMI BABYYYY but we were also having to listen to a fucking moron at the airport try to tell us that one bag was in Charlottesville, another in Heathrow and another just gone, forever – tip. of. the. iceberg.
Day 2: Group morale was down. No one had showered, no one had clean underwear and I can confirm, no one was expecting to end up in a strip club that night but OH don’t we treat ourselves.
The club: E11even
The vibe: boobs and noons
The night started as any girls night out does, with a bottle of 12.5% wine and a solitary tequila shot. We headed to a speakeasy to pre and shortly after paying $50 for 3 drinks proceeded to hit up the nearest ‘liquor store’ and buy 3 four lokos only to drink from paper bags on the street — classy broads.
If you don’t know what four loko is, get to know; it can kill a bitch.
So whilst we’re all on our way to the sweet release of death, we hop in an uber to the super club we’ve been hearing mumblings about, E11even.
I shit you not we queued up for an hour straight all whilst absolutely butters 40 year old women were getting let in, no doubt, by some bald bouncer looking for a good time.
We all aggressively entered the club and at first sight it seemed like any other Mayfair, bouji establishment. We decided to explore and as we delved in further, we realised we were perhaps not on the gals’ night we had expected.
Here is how Google describes your one and only super club:
‘Energetic, neon-lit night spot with trapeze dancers, burlesque shows, DJs & live music performances.’
Seems safe, no? Nada.
Towards the back of the club was a raised circular stage, littered with poles and half naked girls. We walked through the crowd, who were all gathered in awe and it kind of felt like an open zoo but with beautiful women and scantily dressed amazing bods that frankly, we were also in awe of.
Feeling uncomfortable being so close to the action we decided to strut ourselves up to the balcony to watch from afar. The balcony had multiple vip tables, which as you would expect were full of sleazy old men. Did that stop us from joining them? Absolutely not.
We ended up on a table celebrating a geeza’s 50th whilst one had the overwhelming confidence and too much cash to spend on propositioning a 23 year old to sleep with him all because they’d got a bottle they spent half the year saving up for.
Imagine, a literal old man repeating the words ‘I want to have sex with you’ to a young woman half his age on repeat for hours…
Grow up or just die already babe.
After breaking my heels on the long stairway down, I proceeded to walk bare foot out of the club and hop into an Uber which carried your 3 princesses away to bed.
Day 3: Morning came with a lot of vomiting involved, lot of sun involved, lot of regret involved.
Were we willing to head back out on the town? No. Were we willing to spend all day at the beach getting burnt? Yes.
Turns out if you get your bum out at the beach, promoters FLOCK to you.
Shoutout to my boys Andrew and Dimitri. We decided to take up Andrew on his proposition for the following evening in a club called Mokai as he seemed like the most normal out of the two, WRONG — please read on to see.
Day 4: Time for our second night out in MIAMI BABYYY.
As Will Smith so eloquently put it in his literary masterpiece, Miami: ‘Ladies half dressed, fully equipped’.
Bloody hell, yes, fully equipped they were. Walked in to a rather empty club to be struck by a goddess on a pole.
“Ffs girls, we’re in another strip club”. You got it.
Whilst not actually a strip club per-say, it was more than ya gal with wings and a bra in sugar hut on a Saturday night, let’s just put it that way.
As the club got busier smoke filled the air as people were lighting cigs left, right and centre. A man straddling a woman on the table next to us. Free flowing alcohol turning angels into bitches gone wild.
Anything goes in Miami. Everything is centred around bodies, sex, alcohol and a general haze of phoney-ness quite unmatched by any other place.
Day 5: nothing noteworthy
Day 6: the girls engaged in a wholesome activity, saw some gators, had some bevs, I won’t bore you
Day 7: your favourite girls leave Miami to head down to the Keys in a white mustang like the basic bitches we are.
Miami had gifted us with strippers, hangovers and a loss of dignity so we thought we’d regain it by spending the weekend away in a more wholesome place.
Fed some fish, did some snorkelling, rested up and awoke the next day feeling refreshed for a relaxingggggg timeeee awayyyyyy.
Day 8: fast forward to our first night in Key West and I fucking died.
Oh, AND guess what, I ended up in a strip club AGAIN with a man named Erik from Tampa. What is up with Florida and strip clubs? Like seriously, wtf?
If you’ve ever been to New Orleans, Key West is kind of like that vibe. It’s full of old people who look like they’ve only just discovered their youth late in life and are looking to get absolutely sloshed away from the kids.
You’d think it sounds kinda wholesome, drama free, good old time but jesus, the drama never ends.
Got myself into a messy situation didn’t I, involving a country singer, a mistress and a girlfriend pregnant with triplets — wild.
Long story short, we started our evening in a bar listening to a very talented country singer. We invited said singer to join us on our night out to which he came.
A kind, innocent gesture as we enquired who the woman on his background was. He told us she was no one, that he didn’t have a girlfriend but he did have a pregnant ex girlfriend having his triplets who he was going to co-parent in the near future. Tbh, no one really cared and he slinked his way off when he realised shooting his shot had failed.
Didn’t think anything of it UNTIL I received these messages:
Day 9: a tame day spent people watching, wandering round Ernest Hemingway’s house and returning to the same bar where I actually met the love of my life but that’s a story for another time.
Day 10: the time had come to say goodbye and good riddance to strippers. You know what though, Miami was jokes. Unique vibe and everybody just wants to live the dream babyyyy.
Amidst the naked women, sleazy old men and creepy promoters is a place where people just wanna have a goooood time.
So, soak up the sun, drink some cocktails and just let Miami take you on its wild ride.
In a bit x o