The word sends shivers down my spine. Or maybe it’s because I’m writing this post in a Hunter college classroom, air conditioner on full blast. As the robust, bald headed presenter babbles about funding college, which I’ve already been to, I play on Twitter and dream of Miami.
“This generation is the ‘here and now’ generation,” dictates Bald Head.
Palm trees. Sun rays. Toes in hot sand.
“Wells Fargo has a great college saving program for your kids,” Bald Head encourages the audience, selling his company. I’m expecting him to do the jig. But back to…
Men in tangas. Laughing at men in tangas. Dating a man who wears tangas and then writing about said man and his tanga.
“I’m just encouraging you to build a relationship with the financial aid officer of your child’s college.” An audience member chimes in. And another and another. Damn, I’ve lost my train of thought, especially now that the New York parents are getting angry about college costs.
Back to playing on Twitter. Hootsuite to be exact. I see @vicequeenmaria post on her Hurricane Season Boyfriend. Click. Open the link in Safari on my iPhone. Read through it and fight to contain my laughter.
Pools in backyard of homes and apartment complexes. Hurricanes. Hurricane season. Pools overflowing.
Shit. I’m getting scared of Miami!
Still, I push my fears aside and reread the post. I decide to be social on this Saturday, instead of taking notes on college funding to bring back to my staff on Wednesday. I send a Tweet to Maria about enjoying her post. She thanks me, says she will gladly share her “Hurricane Season Boyfriend”. But I don’t live in Miami, I think. I’ve always wanted to live in Miami. I want to move to Miami.
Drinks on the beach. Writing on my iPad 2 while sand scrubs my feet. Tanned arms, face, and feet.
I smile. Know what I must do. Explore living in Miami. Make connections with those who live in Miami, including Ella Media, Bianca Stella, and now Maria. I compose another Tweet. Tell her my plans to love to the Sunshine State. She extends her hand. Offers help with relocating from one fellow Latina creative to another.
I smile, completely zoned out now, unaware that the session is over and an audience member has fainted, tumbled down stairs. 911 has been called and I am still beaming, dreaming of Miami.
The word sends shivers down my spine. No air conditioner in sight.