#Miami: A lesson in “flossing” & not just proper oral care

I’m rabid about making money right now.

The same energy I put into men in LA is funneled now into (to quote Limp Bizkit) dolla dolla bills ya'll. 

The environment in Miami is intoxicating; it has the aesthetic and hustle of Vegas, the social climbing, and motives of LA, and the feeling of limitless potential and opportunities of NYC. My eyes are constantly on my own prize, not the flash or “flossing” ... which bee tee dubs, is a foreign expression to Miami men.

I feel rude for completely spacing, but I also met this other guy on Tinder (total count 5) almost a month ago. He’s in finance and “revolutionized the trading industry” (his words), with this new way to invest. 

I know this because he actually had a folder of all his news clippings. 

I’m not kidding you. He actually pulled out a folder and had newspaper clippings of his “success stories.” 


I didn’t even bat my eyes or pretend to care, I just cut him off laughing, and asked if I could get a rundown via a powerpoint presentation to download later? 

Who reads an actual newspaper??? 

Anyway, on our first date he told me to meet him at this “posh establishment” I posted about on Insta.

We were set to meet at 8. I arrived at 7:55 allowing time for valet, and to figure out wherever I needed to go. 

I do not believe in making people wait - especially when I am in a new environment and don’t understand the social protocol.

I walked in, and figured out where to go. I was in a dress, and actually wore make up, so it took .25 seconds for guys to start to approach.


Ah, well, if you change your mind let me know. My name is John.

Pleasure to meet you, I said.

I then purchased my own drink, and texted my date.

You’re early, he texts back. “People in Miami are at least 20 minutes late.”

I’m not from Miami, I texted back as I wandered the property. 

Another member of the group then approached. (Miami men are REALLY aggressive.) Can we talk to you, please? 

My name is Max. Join us while you wait for your date. It’s about to be his loss, he said. 

Is that rude? I wondered walking over to the group. Well, he is pretty rude for being late.

I talked to the guys for a few moments before my date finally arrived.

You’re early, he repeated as he approached.

I hugged and reminded him that no, I was on time. I respect people’s time.

I pulled back and shot him a look that said, strike one, without being a total bitch. 


The first date went well after the initial hiccup. We whipped pun after pun at each other - each delivery wittier, and drier than the last. 

Anyone can take ONE look at this guy (who was more attractive than his photos) and KNOW he is the embodiment of Casanova. Every line, every smile, every everything ... calculated. (Makes sense for someone working in finance.) 


I’ve dated this guy before, I thought. I’m not going to get stuck on a repeat. 

He leaned in for a kiss, and I put my arm around the back of his neck and said you’re a hook and release. I have to go, but thank you. Have a wonderful evening.

Come on, he moaned. 

No thank you. We’ll speak soon, I said. Thank you for the drink, and time spent. I could tell right away this guy wasn’t used to hearing the word no. 

He actually reminded me of Christian Slater. Holy crap, I just google imaged Christian Slater and they look a LOT alike. 

Cher Horowitz would have absolutely given it up to this guy …


I don’t even know what to do with guys like that. I dated them in my early 20s and had fun, but they’re so fucking high maintenance. I’m not even a princess, if a guy admits to being one it is deliriously unattractive.

The next morning I received this text:


My last BF was a player (who turned out to be very much the opposite while we were together), so I decided to attempt to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

I get to the building and asked what floor I needed to go to. He indicated, and I walked right into the elevator, past security, and tried pressing the button to the floor.

It wouldn’t go (obvi you need security to buzz you).  

Just then these two women happened to enter the elevator and said, oh this happens all the time. Here use this card, and just keep pressing the button.

I thanked them and arrived at the appropriate floor, and knocked on the door. 

How did you get up here, he asked? They just let you in without calling me? 

People trust me. It’s a thing, I assured looking for a place to set my purse down. 

I walked inside (what I discovered to be) his palatial condo and admired the 220 degree view (also on insta). As per his invitation I expected a dinner with a private chef. I have had them before … this was …  not that. Albeit generous, am not at all rude, but laughed to myself upon discovering the superficial nature/ motives hiding beneath the invitation. 

This amazing view garnished with battery operated candles, Sade playing in the background, and Godiva candies in a dish?? Really?? No chef, just take out, wine, and everything that said a porno will be shot here later. 



Conversation was never lacking, but the exploration of his hands made me a bit bored. 

Really? Really? I thought.

I put myself in this position so el señorita big girl pants can get herself out of it. 

We made out for, well, a bit, and realizing this was going somewhere south of nowhere I thanked him tremendously for the meal but said I had to go.

He continued to kiss me, and pulled back saying, I’m very GENEROUS, emphasis on the word G-E-N-E-R-O-U-S. Knowing where he was going with this, I kindly removed his hand from my knee and said time to go.

Realizing there were no other options left, he said, let me walk you down to your car.

Thank you.

Downstairs he grabbed my parking ticket and said “you deserve a valet.” (I’m not complaining about saving $20.) 

He then waited for my car to arrive, and I gave him a hug saying truly thank you (I like good conversation), but you floss.

What does “floss” mean, he asked? Are you talking about flossing your teeth?

I pulled up Urban Dictionary and showed him the definition.


I get that that’s the life out here, but it’s not me, I told him. 

I am not sure how many women in Miami he has heard this from, because he continued to work his charm all the way to my car door.


Nice guy, not my guy. 

Besides my priorities are in a very different place ...