Techno Life

So here I am, trying to fulfill this promise of posting on here more.  And to be honest, there’s lots of crazy things floating around in my head that I could post about.

But one that I’ve recently been thinking a lot about is how invasive technology is in my life.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I am obsessed with all things tech.  I wish I could super glue my iphone to my hand so we would never be parted.  I gram and tweet, and receive snapchats (but don’t really send them…).  But recently, I had a moment with Facebook.  So I became friends with a guy I work with on FB (making us officially friends in real life, right?).  I mean I work with him, see him almost every day, and think he’s cool.  But, when we became FB friends, all of a sudden, ALL of his information is in my phone contacts.  Like his name, picture, email address, phone number, birthday (?), etc… is now in my contacts.  Ummm, why?  Did I ask for that to happen?  Do I want/need all of this information? Am I OK with this happening?  Not so sure.  Also, FB changes their privacy policies so regularly that it’s honestly hard for me to keep up.  It’s just weird that I now have all of his information and he has all of mine without us actually really having given it to each other…right?  Or is it just me?

Also, I am a Gmail freak.  Like I love it.  It’s amazing and life-changing and all that stuff.  But have any of their recent updates actually been helpful?  Like do I need these dumb tabs that they insisted I get?  I just went in and deleted them so my inbox looks like it did before this super helpful “update”.  So, admittedly, I am a little OCD about my inbox.  I like having ZERO unread messages.  This goes for my personal and work emails.  I hate having the little red flag on my phone telling me I have an unread email.  Drives me crazy.  So, when my Gmail inbox was “updated”, this was a problem for me.  Because when I received an email into the “Social” tab or whatever it was, the Gmail tab that I always have open didn’t register the unread email.  Drove me crazy.  Honestly so crazy that I had to get rid of the tabs.  Anyone else feel me on this one?  So that’s my rant for today.  Going to go back to liking pics on instagram now.

Be back soon,



We are so back, bitches

…and still classy, as you can see.

And yes, it is true.  I have finally left the motherland am currently living (attempting to at least) in NYC.  It’s been a big change for me, and while there definitely was an adjustment period, I’m thinking NYC suits me just fine.  Lots of good coffee, gin establishments, and friends (minus my eternal partner in crime, Fritas).  Also, know what NYC has a lot of that I never found in Miami?  Asian markets.  Like the really awesome ones with tons of unrecognizable foods and an absurdly large selection of Pocky.  And it’s the real stuff – the ones that my college roommate would bring me back from Hong Kong.  Anyway, this is totally not a post about my obsession with Asian chocolate snacks, although it could very quickly devolve into that.

This is a post about how, regardless (or irregardless) of the fact that I am no longer living in Miami, nor do I have any plans to return, there are certain inalienable rights that come along with being from Miami.  And those things pretty much never leave.  An example?  Some things are small, like the fact that I could never leave the house without a pair of earrings on.    I’ve walked outside, realized that I’m not wearing earrings, and turned right back around to put some on.  Side note: maybe I should carry a back up pair in my wallet, just in case?  Anyway, all real Miami girls know that you are not fully dressed if you are not wearing earrings.  You’re just not.  You wouldn’t want to run into your future husband on the street and not be wearing earrings.  Just imagine the horror.

Another thing that I’ve noticed is that I wasn’t that girl in Miami who was super proud of the fact that I was from Miami.  I mean, it was just a fact of my life.  But for whatever reason, whenever I have lived outside of Miami, I become so pro-Miami.  Like during the NBA finals this season, I was the first to rail on anyone who hated on the Heat.  You don’t like Lebron? Sorry I’m not sorry he took his talents to South Beach.  You think Chris Bosh looks like a raptor?  He totally does, but he crushed it.  Ray Allen is a traitor to Boston?  Kind of, but at least in Miami he can get a ring.  So I saw this picture after we won the championship last year (2014 – year of the threepeat baby!), but I think it totally sums up the Miami way of thinking about all the haters:



Also, apparently in New York, I have an accent.  Wha??? Moi? An accent? I guess there are some Miami-isms and speech inflections that I can’t get rid of, regardless of years of education. (Side note: one of the most embarrassing days of my life was when a writing tutor in college asked me if English was my second language. OMG.  According to her, my writing style betrays my Romance language roots; not totally sure I agree with her on that.  Like how good is my English?)  I wish I knew what my accent sounded like to other people.  If it sounds anything like this, I will literally crawl into a hole and die.  But literally bro.  I am very honestly making a concerted effort to stop calling random people “bro”.  I know, it’s hard, but  I’m working on it.

Anyway, sorry for the rambling, but these are just some things I’ve been thinking about ever since leaving the 305 (but obviously haven’t taken the time to write out).  Caro + I are going to be writing on here more.  We promise.  For real. 



def. fauxdulting (v.) – the act of feigning responsibility while still maintaining adult age and subsequent grace .


So, a few weeks ago, we had a little chat about my desire to become a more responsible human being, and I have some updates.

After reading Apartment Therapy’s post on the beneifits on bed making, I decided to suck it up and try it.

I started making my bed. Every day. Seriously.

However, there’s still the folding situation. My adult habit of doing laundry every day means it’s all clean, but my fauxdult habit of not ironing anything until right before I put it on,  means everything is in piles. (This really kind of counteracts the making-the-bed-every day habit, because my bed may be neatly made, hospital-corners and all, but it is covered in clumps of clothing). Despite my room devovling into a laundry battle ground, a well-made bed has provided a very decent first (very small, extremely light) step towards whole-home organization. I can honestly say it makes a big difference. I come home to a little square of zen, and even if the chaos continues to rule supreme elsewhere, it’s beginning to feel more manageable.

I do have two options for dealing with this clothing situation: I can give some of it away, or I can accept donations of hangars from my best friend and try to cram them all into my minuscule closet. As you might guess, I went for the second option.


I originally drafted this post a year ago and it turns out, my battle with fauxdulting was actually plagued by a lack of follow through, because not only did I never finish this post, I also stopped making my bed every day a few months later despite all the positive ramifications it had on my life (turns out life gets messy and other things get in the way).

However, in the immortal words of Aaliyah:

I’ll make it today.

Maybe I’ll even make it tomorrow, too.

– Caro

Post Script: I did, however, undergo at least three rounds of closet flushing and have since finally parted ways with a significant portion of my wardrobe. I also purchased a massive amount of container store boxes to organize all of my shoes. So, half-win? Three-quarters win? The organized closet thing was huge, guys. Huge.

Post Post Script: A friend of a friend just launched this project on kickstarter which intends to drastically diminish the effort required to make your bed every morning (bringing the task closer to lifehacking than adulting). I’m not entirely sold on the absence of hospital corners, but it is a neat idea worth checking out:

A return to writing

My father always told me that a [wo]man should do the following three things before they die: (1) raise a child, (2) plant a tree and (3) write a book.

I am nowhere near ready to rear a child, and have limited-if any-success raising herbs (this bodes poorly for the future of any green-life under my care) and unlike my father do not believe my Master’s Thesis should be my seminal and authoritative life-defining text – I am more than my degree, you know? Frankly, I do not want my written legacy to be based solely on printed-circuit board development and the accommodative response of the eye – if anything just because it’s really not that cool, and I am much more dimensional than my research alone. (Although I should mention my research is important, interesting and siginificant in its’ own right)

To this end, I’ve decided (over and over again for the past few months) to give this blog some new life, and hopefully stick with it this time. Even if my (our?) legacy is drowned among the endless noise of the internet, at least it’s out there, I guess. If anything, I can create a permanent record of my quarter-life crisis so that if I ever find myself again in a moment of crisis, self-discovery and self-imposed panic, I can find a version of myself that got through it (assuming, of course, I make it out alive).

 – Caro

P.S. I’m not going to all-out blame my quarter-life crisis on Cams for moving to New York, but I will say it didn’t help.

P.P.S. Just kidding

P.P.P.S. Sort of.

P.P.P.P.S. She said she’d start writing again too! go team!


I got called a “blogger” last night. That was mortifying.

I have a couple entries on tap, but they’re mostly up in my head, but it’s about damn time I committed to this keyboard and made some literary progress.

With the tropical storm season in full swing, and our favorite watering hole, decidedly, not; our Miami-based social calendar is getting a little sparse. Whether its a product of the throngs of over-privelaged rich kids flocking elsewhere for the summer*, or just the lack of desire to brave humidity and high-water, summer is giving me some time to catch up on some of my favorite hobbies (TV Marathons, online shopping, obsessing over my failed herb garden) as well as giving me time to try and work on my newest life goal: Adulting.

I have personally never been in any rush to grow up. If I could, I would have stayed fourteen forever, braces and all. Now, on the almost eve on my 25th birthday, with my friends getting married and starting families and long-term careers, I figure, now is as good as a time as any to get my shit together and start acting like the adult my driver’s license says I am. It comes as a shock to me that I am older than what Blink 182 considers a mature age (namely, 23). I would ask when that happened, but an entire punch bowl of blue curacao and a two-day hangover will make retrieving that memory impossible.

Namely, I always thought that growing up would mean paying for music. Which I do through a monthly Spotify subscription, so that’s one life-win. (I don’t pay for Netflix though, so, I guess I’m still a work in a progress).

I’m getting a little closer to figuring out this adulting thing, though: I found this blog recently, .

From what I can tell, Adulting means:

  • Making your bed every morning.
  • Not eating all of that junkfood
  • Getting to work on time.
  • Buying a bunch of bins from the Container Store.
  • Fixing the handles on the spartan Malm IKEA drawers upstairs.
  • Getting your jeans hemmed and your blazers tailored.

It’s a good blog and I recommend you follow it for time-saving tips or just a general feeling of guilt for not being disciplined enough to make your bed on a regular basis (I have asked around, and I am not the only one). But in general, it seems that progressing into sucessful adulthood is just choosing to develop a series of good habits.**

In tune with Cam’s “Gymspiration” post – this is one of my new good habits: gymming it up and eating more veggies. Next up, is keeping my apartment in a tidy state, regularly (I’m starting this one slow though, right now I’m working on keeping my kitchen counter forever-clean and every time I leave a room I ask myself if there’s anything in that room that needs to go elsewhere  – if so, grab it – it’s a little change, but it adds up). Advanced adulting will be keeping my bathroom cleanPinterest acts as a decent motivator sometimes via the “I want my apartment to look like that” thought-process.

Because we all have a discrete amount of self-discipline, my big tip is to work on one habit at a time. Here’s a good strategy for new-habit development: 30 Days to Success : treat your new habits like you would a 30-day software trial; try this new habit on for size for 30 days, and then you can slack off at the end of the month. It’s way less intimidating than committing to a full-fledged life change, and by the end of 30 days, you’ve pretty much made it a habit anyway: winning (or, in our case, ginning)!

Growing up doesn’t have to be a huge pain. Plus, that’s what gin is for anyway. Cheers!

* I would feel like I was actively deceiving you if I didn’t include that I just returned from a sprawling four-continent adventure where I ate barnacles in Portugal, cow stomach in China and the best warm goat cheese salad on earth in Paris, among other things. (Also, I would have missed a great opportunity to brag about it some more).

**  More homemaking tips also available at Apartment Therapy



See what I did there?

So I’ve been thinking about this blog post for a while (and obviously haven’t written it, given the lag time since the last post – sorry, life sometimes is hard).  Anyway, I recently joined a super fancy gym and have gone, oh maybe, 2 times?  Yeah, I need to work on it.  I’m actually sitting here writing this wearing workout clothes, contemplating going.  Really, I have no reason to not go to the gym.  It is literally less than one block away from my apartment.  Literally.

That being said, there are obviously a lot of awesome workout options in Miami.  Past places that I’ve enjoyed include DAF studio for Zumba (I’ve only ever been to Alain’s class, and it is amazing.  IMO, best Zumba teacher in Miami.  Plus, my opinion is backed up by one of my friends who works for Zumba corporate.  She says he is the best.  So it’s obviously true).  Plus, DAF is on Calle 8, which is the heart of Little Havana in Miami, so if you go you can definitely get some “local flavor”.  And there’s an ice cream place, Azucar, next door.  Supposed to be really good.  I never went right after Zumba class, I swear.  I also thought Bar Method was really cool.  My only issue is parking and the timing of the classes.  Sorry I’m not willing to go to South Miami from Brickell at 6AM.  Or to South Miami from anywhere at 5:30.  Also, I used to previously get my yoga on at Green Monkey.  I’ve been to both the South Miami and Midtown locations.  I used to go to the South Miami location when I was living in the Gables and looking for a job.  Anyone who has ever looked for a job knows it’s stressful, so I used to go to Green Monkey for gentle yoga, a class which I think they’ve since cancelled.  I honestly loved it.  Caro makes fun of me for going to it because the description read something like “for people recovering from injuries, active seniors, or people who are stressed out”.  So I was there with a lot of senior citizens, so what?  At least they were active!

My friend Ali and I have discussed how we wish we were those kinds of girls who love doing yoga and working out.  But we’re not.  And it sucks.  We did P90X at 6:30AM for around a month and a half.  We kinda fell out of the habit of doing it and couldn’t pick it back up.  So I guess I just have to suck it up and put myself on a workout schedule.  I’m hoping once I start working and have a better idea of what my hours are, I can figure out the best time for me to go to the gym.  It’ll probably be early in the morning, which I’m not super excited about, but at least that way I can get it out of the way and not have to worry about it during the rest of the day.  I’ll figure it out eventually, I hope.  PS, Caro has been working out like crazy.  Like every morning.  Like what I should be doing, but am not.  One of these days I’m going to make her call me when she wakes up until I answer the phone and go to the gym.

So I’m gonna go probably not work out now.  But I fully intend on watching the Heat/Celtics and the USA/Brazil soccer game.  Watching other people work out counts as me working out, amirite?




Gintoxication (an ode to @TheBrokenShaker).

Cams and I are all about gin. Serve it to us neat, with tonic, on soda, with rosemary, honey syrup and fresh lemon juice – whatever – we like the stuff. It’s not entirely because of our favorite parody Twitter account and the countless Linsanity-esque puns we’ve come up, but to say those aren’t contributing factors would be a lie.
Being gin-afficionados, we’ve done our fairshare of cocktailing in the city.

"Smoked Greens"

Smoked Greens: Mescal, some other stuff ("roofies") and kale.

South Beach bars have this tendency to cater to the vodka-and-vegetables diets that keep so many locals skinny and drunk, but really we want more than that. There are some good bars on the beach – I can name a few – but Cams and I were in search of something better than a beachfront tiki hut serving infused mojitos and cosmopolitans. Something a little less, well, Miami.

Enter The Broken Shaker.

There are literally tons of reviews (and other media) about this place on the internet, hell, this isn’t even the first time I write about it (or the second), so if you haven’t figured out how to get there, then you’re just not paying attention (2727 Indian Creek Blvd, Miami Beach).

Hidden on the back patio of a very unassuming, mildly run-down art deco style South Beach motel, the Broken Shaker can be described with a handful of keywords I stole from other people’s reviews: ethereal, secret garden, hidden encove, speakeasy, board games. Also, cobblestones, so watch those stilettos, ladies.

Objectively, this may be the only place in the world where the bartender will straight-faced tell us the drinks are laced with roofies, and we will drink them anyway. Not because we trust them – because we probably shouldn’t – but because they’re that good. I mean, what’s the worst thing a few roofies could do? You know what, don’t answer that, I’m sure these cocktails are ginnocuous. Right? Right. Right. (You can’t get ginfluenza from one drink, right?)


What’s actually in the cocktails? Fucking anything; rosemary, chartreuse, tequila, mescal, kale, broccoli, honey, thyme, gin (obvious), cocoa-puff-infused bourbon, jalapeno bitters, lavender, beets, rhubarb, lemon, lime, orange – et cetera, ad nauseum. Seriously; anything. No, I wasn’t kidding about the kale – it was way awesome too.  I fucking love kale.

It’s not even that the drinks are creative. Hell, I can put liquified kale, mescal and lemon juice in a cup too, but it’s mostly going to stay in that cup – unlike TBS’s work – mine is not perfectly balanced, perfectly boozy, perfectly bright or crisp and it definitely won’t take your tastebuds on a ginfluenced journey through time, space and flavor. I just don’t have that finesse. I am ginept.

I also don’t have semi-encyclopedic knowledge of classic pre-prohibition era cocktails and thought a Vesper was a small Italian motorbike the first time I was told about it, but that I can work on.

TBS (“The Shaker”) introduced us to mescal and our new favorite gin (Oxley) and has booze-fueled many a night of playing Cards Against Humanity. But it

"Gin Scorpion"

Gin Scorpion: A gin-based punch that's Easter-ready and - also - on fire.

takes a special kind of place to let us nerds bring in our own wildly offensive card game, let us relax in a breezy patio amongst the sounds of a herb-ridden fountain and provide the best cocktails in South Florida at a relatively reasonable price (We’re talking about comparing $11 masterpieces to the hyper-sweet $17 rum and cokes you can find just a few blocks away). Owners Elad and Gabe may exude an air of we-don’t-give-a-shit-we-do-what-we-want, but at the end of the day, they care that you’re enjoying your drink and that you’re having a good time at their bar. Like their cocktails; it’s a delicate balance.

Just don’t order a vodka-soda; seriously, what are you; a freshman in college? (I’ve seen the attitude a vodka order at the bar gets, and honestly, it only made me love the shaker more).

We love this place. Not in a three-month-engagement kind of way but an in-sickness-and-in-health way. True love. Cams and I can’t get enough, which is problematic since it has an expiration date. Come summer, humidity and high heat, The Shaker is closing. Such is the plague of the pop-up (don’t even get me started on Eating House) – it ends.

It’s going to be a long summer without it, but carpe pedica, my friend. Sieze the gin!

– Caro, the punmaster.

Awesome #Miami quotes

“But this is Miami, you can’t come to Miami and not show any skin. You gotta show something. If you’re all covered up in this heat, you’re gonna make me pass out out just to look at you. It’s sweaty in Miami-but the diamonds will keep me cool.”
– Li’l Kim

Thanks, Li’l Kim, for keeping it real.


What’s it like to live in Miami?

Miami is a very unique place to live.  Here’s an insider’s glance into what life here is really like.

First up, a Dave Barry article about Super Bowl XLIV that was held in Miami in 2010.  Read it here – it pretty accurately sums up what life in Miami is like.  Anything Dave Barry writes is funny.  Seriously, anything.  And he’s a Miami guy (sort of – by way of upstate NY), and he gets it.

Also worth checking out are the 2 Shit Miami Girls (and Guys) Say videos.  Parts 1 and 2 for your viewing pleasure.  These videos are totally spot on.  Some Shit ______ Girls Say might not appropriately represent their given subgroup or culture, but the Miami one gets it right.  Caro and I have found ourselves saying more than one of these phrases on occasion (OK, more than on occasion – more like incessantly), but, hey, what can we do?  It’s a cultural thing.

– Camila


Just some base level vocabulary you might need to understand our blog.

#ginoclock | Hashtag signaling happy hour. Inspired by one of our favorite parody twitter feeds: @Queen_UK

Cucu’s Nest | Camila’s favorite bar that we’ve never been to. It has some pretty good reviews on Yelp, though.

Douchoisie | The fratmosphere. See also: fratmosphere.

Fauxiemian | Another word for “hipster”.

Ginspired | Really, do we have to explain this one?

Super | A synonym for “very”. Heavily used for “Miami-accent” purposes.

Teal Pants | Teal pants are the Vegas of pants. It is understood that when in teal pants, anything can happen. In fact, all good fortune occurring while in teal pants, or in the presence of teal pants is attributed to the teal pants. Teal pants are brimming with the luck of the Irish and the fortune of the sea.

The Thing is That | Caro’s probably had some alcohol.

– Caro