POWER MOVES AND PUMPS, LLC
MIAMI GARDENS, FLORIDA

dream chaser, 5-inch heel wearer, creative thinker and mega-mogul in the making. In today's real world though, I'm a marketer currently working as a corporate copywriter until I can catch up to and grab ahold of the aforementioned, elusive dream. As a child I had many career aspirations. Fashion Designer was just one of my dream jobs. I could often be found sewing outfits by hand for Barbie and friends. Later on I developed a random interest in becoming a businesswoman. I think the 80's hit TV series, "Who's the Boss?" had a lot to do with that one. It was pretty damn cool that the lead female character, Angela Bower held this position as a high-powered ad exec. She was a woman but she was clearly in charge. I wanted to be a boss like Angela. I wanted to put on a serious looking pantsuit and go off and be powerful. Despite my debilitating shyness, I saw a future where I would command the attention of any room I walked in and everyone present would know that I was the boss. Now, realistically, I'm an admitted introvert, a bit of a loner creative type who to date, is still quite shy so this whole commanding the attention of the room thing is a bit of a struggle in a business world dominated by extroverts. Nevertheless, what I'm learning to do is to use what I have to get what I want. I may not ever be the loudest or most verbose person in the room but I can speak just as loudly or say just as much as the most outgoing extrovert in other ways. Whether it's my knack for problem solving, creativity, noteworthy fashion sense or something else, I think you'll eventually get the picture I'm painting. Well, lets just say I've been nudged by a few friends and inspired by a couple fashion blogs. I’ve noticed that my ensembles are quite often magnets for compliments or the occasional "that's different" comment and accompanying raised eyebrow (hey they all can't be winners). I often get questions about where I shop or how I thought to combine certain pieces, so starting a blog seemed to make perfect sense. However, I thought it was important that I spotlight more than just fashion. On the schedule of cities to visit were Madrid, Barcelona and Seville. The plan was to get from city to city via train. Luckily there's a discount for foreigners but unluckily for me you have to book with enough time in advance so they can mail you your passes. Mail? Who mails anything anymore? I thought we had all collectively moved on to E tickets. No? Whatever. So now I'm just praying that we can get the tickets we need at the train station for the times that we need and manage to stay on schedule. In the back of my mind if worst come to worst, I can rent a car (Fun fact: this is actually not the case, you have to apply for permission So here we are the night before our flight to Spain. I had flown into New York to meet E so we could fly out together. As a precautionary measure we were taking photos of our credit cards and passports but as we both looked at E's passport we noticed something. Hers had expired in June. Neither of us slept well all night. I even had a dream about someone having the heart to help her out at the passport agency. Off she went at around 5:30 the morning with multiple stops (get the photos, print the forms). By the time she reached the passport agency there were a ton of people already in line. We kept in contact but I was beyond concerned. I was already scoping out plan B. "Ok I can fly out and she can just meet me there. But if my mom knows I traveled to Europe alone she's gonna be a nervous wreck the entire time and she's old and fragile so I can't do that. I'm gonna have to lie and pretend she's with me (I know I'm a grown ass woman and this is crazy but it is what it is)." I start looking at ticket prices and they are around $3,000 and up. My stomach turns again. I call the airline to try and get an idea of what my options are and it doesn't look good. If she doesn't make the flight, the difference she's going to have to pay would be about $2,500 unless she waited and left in three days then it would go down to $600. I hang up, pray and hope for the best. As she made progress she would text me. I ran to the laundry mat to pick up the clothes she had dropped off. I get back to the apartment and surprise, I can't open the damn door. I hear and feel it clicking but it's not opening. Luckily her neighbor was around to help me out. I got in and threw everything that wasn't a bed sheet into her suitcase. Then I got the call "I got it!" Glory hallelujah. Thank the Lord for giving this girl the gift of the gab. E didn't bother to come back to the apartment figuring it would be a safer bet if we just met at the airport. She called her favorite cabbie for me good old number "Forty Four". 44 arrived and the neighbor helped me to the cab. As we approached the airport… dun dun dun... the cab started to smoke. I mean, within about a minute the car was surrounded with smoke and it was starting to come inside. "Father God what message are you trying to send me about this trip?" 44 tried his best to get me to the terminal. " Oh no big problem” he says in a gentle Haitian accent. "It's the transmission". We barely make it off the exit and the car dies on the road outside. I get out, grab my bags and try to flag down a cab, only none of them will stop because, well obviously you aren't supposed to pick passengers up off the side of the freeway. One cabbie stops but looks really apprehensive. Sympathetically looks at the smoking cab behind me and tells me "We're not allowed to pick up passengers here. It's illegal". I tell him “Listen, the terminal is right there. I'm just trying to get to the terminal. I'll pay you in cash.” He reluctantly agrees. 44 helps me load my bags into the new cab and new cabbie gets me to the terminal in about 5 minutes. I give him $20 for this egregious criminal act and let him know “You sir are appreciated.” I meet E curbside. She's cool calm and collected, almost glowing even and already checked in. Meanwhile I'm a hot mess. How? Anyway. I get checked in and we make our way to the gate. Apparently, we can’t just walk to our gate or take some sort of tram. We have to go out of a special exit (literally exit the airport) and go down to a bus that’s waiting on the tarmac. We then realize there’s a delay and we can’t move yet because there’s a military plane and bus directly behind us loading passengers. We’re waiting on the bus for about 15 – 20 minutes when I get a text from my coworker. She had just seen the news about what happened in Spain and wanted to know if I was okay. “Okay??? What do you mean okay?” I thought. I hadn’t heard any news. I quickly checked the news and saw that there was an attack in Barcelona. The bus to our gate finally starts moving and I start getting texts from everyone who knows I was on my way to Spain. I can’t tell my mother this. She’s going to freak. I’ll tell her when we connect in Boston so she can’t tell me not to go. (Once again, I know I’m a grown ass woman and this is ridiculous. Don’t judge). In the mean time a get a nervous call from my young nephew who has just been stopped by the cops while driving my mothers car and can’t seem to find the registration or car insurance info. So I have to help troubleshoot that mess.