It’s hard out there for an image-conscious lady in the Miami summer. Your self-esteem has already been frayed to shreds by living among perky, perfect, plastically enhanced Real Housewives year-round. Then summer comes along and turns your hair into a greasy Brillo pad and your skin into a red, peeling disaster. Plus it’s damn hot out there, so wearing clothes isn’t any fun. Either you keep yourself decently covered and grow some stanky sweat stains, or you let it all hang out and endure the stares of the aforementioned Housewives, who are looking at you all, “Oh. My. God. Becky. Look at her butt.” You can’t win. But you can go down swinging — and drunk... More >>>