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Jezebel isn't just for '40s sock-hoppers and vintage couture queens anymore. The venerable vintage clothing store, which in previous incarnations was also called the Stock Exchange, has kept Fort Lauderdale in funky duds for 15 years. But the managers couldn't keep their enthusiasm for quirky inventory entirely tethered to clothing, which means the store's rabbit-warren interior is lined with bizarre tchotchkes that beat out the schlock in the beachside tourist shops any day. No sno-globes or shot glasses here; at Jezebel, some of Florida's more unlikely stuffed animals jostle for space with neat stacks of prewritten to-do lists, imaginative soaps, and some of the coolest hats you'll see outside of a milliner's. Because Jezebel began life trafficking in used threads, many of its gifts, like the Fiesta-ware silverware, take their cues from bygone eras. And the entire backroom is still dedicated to a carefully chosen selection of vintage clothing at reasonable prices. So the next time cold-weather friends and relatives set up camp on your fold-out, ensure that they won't return north with the usual tacky knickknacks that tourists shell out for in their complacent, sun-warmed stupors. Just steer them toward the mermaid riding the lobster right near the beach off Federal Highway, and Jezebel will take care of the rest.
Dragging a haul of bell-bottoms and turtlenecks to the Women in Distress thrift store in Margate makes you feel like a saint and involves face time with some of the feistiest ladies in Broward County. The store, in a tired-looking strip mall, accepts donations of clothing, furniture, and household goods, then turns around and resells them for ridiculously low prices -- we're talking $2 for a shirt, $5 for shoes, etc. The money helps fund WID's wide array of services for battered women, which include advocacy, counseling, and a women's shelter, the only certified one of its kind in Broward. The gals who staff the thrift store will greet your haul with open arms and crows of delight, and some can tell you touching stories of how your act of generosity will benefit womankind. Soon, if your castoffs are cute enough, they'll be festooned around the showroom in makeshift display cases, making you the Calvin Klein of the thrift-store catwalk.
It's been called the L.L. Bean store of gay sex toys, and for good reason -- Catalog X is the retail outlet for the vaunted gay sex-toy catalog of the same name and stocks the three-foot silicone cocks and gallon-sized vats of personal lubricant that the rest of the country can obtain only via mail-order. Fifteen years ago, convinced that a sex toy catalog marketed specifically to gay men would hit one out of the park, Mark Possien abandoned a career as a lawyer and founded the catalog, which immediately owned the niche, gay sex-toy market in its glorious entirety. Specializing in butt plugs, dildos, and high-quality lubes, Catalog X's toys aren't for the faint of heart -- some of the more advanced penetrationware measures size in feet and girth in sphincter-wrenching screams. In case the hardware's charms ever falter, Catalog X also stocks a wide variety of accessories, from porn to embroidered cum rags to an entire line of clothing, Cocksure, which the owners design on-site. Such frippery gives first-timers a chance to relax while they contemplate reaming themselves with the 17-inch Dick Rambone massive cock. More of a high-quality outfitter for bedroom-sport enthusiasts than your run-of-the-mill sex megastore, Catalog X is in a sex-shop class of its own.
Let's make this clear -- anybody can slap a "shoe store" sign on a strip mall and hawk Keds for a living, but it takes a special touch to sell honest-to-God stripper shoes, and Strut does it with panache. They have help -- Strut is connected at one end to the Fetish Factory, South Florida's premier source for high latex and rubber sex couture. But while the Fetish Factory aims to outfit nubile sex slaves from head to ankle, Strut focuses, exclusively, on their feet. You'll find nary a heel shorter than five inches in its showroom, nor materials that don't give off the musky scent of oiled leather or supple vinyl. Buckles are a must, and the more divots and hook-and-eye clasps, the better. But as scary as some of the merchandise looks, the sales staff is unfailingly helpful. Eagerly, they'll tell you the pros and cons of thigh-high lace-ups versus a more demure, pink, three-inch platform sandal. And the best part is that while the most outrageous toe-stompers can cost hundreds of dollars, most of Strut's wares are surprisingly affordable. So let Strut help you step into your inner stripper, and watch the shoes pay for themselves.
The Asian Market off Lantana Road, which is sandwiched between a hair salon and a Chinese takeout, is packed tighter than a spring roll (and yes, that's its entire name). The seven aisles are stacked to the ceiling with Asian goods ranging from Dragon Dude candy to Happy Tea. At the back of the store, freezers are jammed with different baggies full of meats, fish, and various ingredients for the Asian cuisine of your dreams. They stock some of the freshest produce, including the cheapest bean sprouts and ginger in town. But it doesn't end there: Somewhere between the mushroom-filled cans covered in Chinese writing and the bags of salty wasabe peas is an entire aisle of Chinese dishes, chopsticks, and $10 butcher knives that are sharper than razor blades. If there is anyone else in the store, it's a tight squeeze, but it's worth it. At the checkout, make sure to grab an Asian pastry and have a gander at the ten-foot-tall wall of medicinal herbs in little undecipherable boxes.
A1A is one of the only roads that you can buzz down on a 49cc scooter without feeling embarrassed. The salty ocean breeze and endless single lanes of traffic make for miles of laughs while scooting along at 25 mph. Fun times, but you don't actually want a scooter in the garage, do you? They need maintenance and polishing, they take up space, and in the end, you'll get no respect. Instead of dropping a grand on your own, go rent one from Fun Rentals without the fear of explaining to all your friends why you have a powder blue Vespa in your garage. Rent that scooter instead and it's fun and quirky to ask someone out and then zip through town laughing like trendy hipsters. The shop is right on the strip in Deerfield, and you can drop $25 for an hour or $50 for four hours and wander the beach at a speed slighter faster and less tiring than a bicycle.
Seems like tattoo parlors are appearing and disappearing so fast, before your new skin design gets a chance to scab over, the place that inked it has been replaced with a Starbucks. So it says something that Tattoo Paradise has been on the same street for more than 15 years. Owner Louie Lombi has worked with some of the greats over the years, artists like Paul Booth, Zeke Owen, and Big Joe Kaplan, and his current staff has more than 90 years of tattooing experience. The walls are covered with fairly generic flash, but it's the custom work that really inspires Louie's crew. That, and the rock 'n' roll blaring over the sound system. Heck, bring your friends while you get that new mermaid, because the waiting room has two pool tables. And relax, because Tattoo Paradise guarantees its work for life. If your colors start to fade, just drop by and get a touchup or recoloring at no charge.
Arabic-language newspapers. Bulk curry. Cans of ghee. Dates. Falafel, fava beans, and filo dough. Hibiscus drinks, hookahs, and hummus. Jordan almonds. Malt beverages. Orange blossom water. Rose syrups. Sardine tins and sesame candies. Teas from every corner of the tea-drinking world, tobaccos for the hookahs, Turkish delight, and turnips pickled pink in beet juice. Your grocery store is a library of banality compared to this place.
On the floor, a cluster of blue crabs crawl around in a plastic tub. A broken harmonium -- an old Indian pump-organ -- sits waiting to wheeze again. But to notice these details amid Bedessee's cramped aisles, crowded with customers, is far from easy, what with all the action at eye level. True to its name, this large grocery/boutique caters to expatriates from Jamaica, India, and Trinidad, which is something of a Caribbean conglomeration of those two civilizations. In other words, you can find a Bob Marley poster as well as huge wall plaques of Hindu deities. Red, gold, and green Jamaican flags unfurl over a collection of Indian DVDs and CDs straight from the subcontinent. Oddities abound: scotch bonnet pepper sauce from Guyana. Carib Shandy beer from Port-of-Spain. Cases of Guinness, brewed and bottled in Kingston. Goat's feet from... somewhere. What the hell are these? Cricket bats! Jeepers! Clarified ghee! Iron-and-Wine herbal remedy in a jar! And all the while, you're serenaded by a bouncy reggae version of "Jesus Christ Superstar." Hosannah!
On a late weekday afternoon, all is as it should be at the Smoke Café. Several patrons are perched along the black marble-topped bar, where a phalanx of elaborate stainless-steel lighters stands. A retired gentleman is regaling a visitor with tales of a near-death experience, puffing slowly throughout the narrative to build drama. A beefy young man is flirting with Kate, the cigarmaid from Pittsburgh behind the bar, whose blond hair contrasts with the deep auburn wood of the walls. Outside, a cigar store Indian keeps vigil over several tables where customers can breathe in fresh air and a fresh Presidente. The café offers free Internet access with the purchase of wine or beer. A humidor nestled in the back holds plenty of the cigars you're here for in the first place.

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