Sometimes when you get a bout of bad news you can’t stand any company and conspire to be as alone as possible. But the thing about bars is that for every day there’s a sad story, and five sadder drunks. I sat at the end of the bar and ordered two Makers. She put the second glass in front of the stool next to me, and I just self-consciously slid it back over in front of me. After thirty or so minutes, this tiny brunette sits two stools away. She orders a Long Island, and I smirk to my bourbon. She asks me if I have anything against her drink.
Only the place.
Fair enough.
And we go back to awkward silence, but I can tell she’s itching to bare her soul. She introduces herself, Ashley. I’d been listening to a lot of Nick Cave lately, so I introduced myself as Henry Lee. I wasn’t really feeling like vapid conversation, and sex as deep as a glass of water was extremely not on the docket. She asked why I was drinking alone, and I simply said two words.
Hard day.
Then she starts going into how she got laid off from her job, and how she broke up with her boyfriend, and in twenty minutes she’s holding back the tears that are starting to well up. I can tell she wants me to hug her, but I don’t really feel any sense of remorse about just sitting there. I don’t abandon her, but I order another Markers, and just let her talk. I buy her a drink, and she says she’ll also have one of what I’m having, so I slide that over as well. She had a sip and grimaced. I offered to take if off her hands, she shook her head like a stubborn little girl.
When she was done, she thanked me for listening, and I got out of there, and she tried to follow me. She asked what way I was going, and I told her, and she sadly said, “Oh, I was hoping we could split a cab.” I didn’t really reply before she started to thank me for listening, and I could tell she wanted me to awkwardly move my cheek so she could kiss me on the lips, but I didn’t.
Part 8 – Shane sums that shit up and asks a few good questions about the people’s blind faith in ex-murderer, Joshua Blahyi (who gives quite an eerie ‘the world is changing’ speech).
In all honesty I knew very little about Liberia before Vice set me about posting their documentary, but it’s clear this is a place that needs a lot more attention than it’s getting. The UN are planning to pull out just one year from now, leaving Liberia at a time when it still needs a great deal of help. Nearly 70% of the female population has been raped, there are guns and drugs everywhere and cannibalism is an every-day thing.
It’s been a good documentary and I’ve enjoyed following it’s course – until next time, Vice!
I expecta you azza bin wonderin’ why you ‘ave adda no comunicatizione froma me thisa noo yeara of two thousandio and tenna, especially cos eet eez the very importantio year for the bellisimo tenor wot izza likea me (two thousand and tenna, geddit?).
Letta me tella you my talea of woeo. Azza the persone from the ‘ot part ofa the world (wot ain’t Ingladio, innit… coz I izz froma the Med, which izza very ‘ot) I saw alla the whita stuff you calla snow ova Christmas and i thought what a greata floor for practisin’ my tappa dancin’ fora mya noo routine.
BIG MISTAKIO!
I go fora the step-bollock-change, likea the greata Gene Kellio and I changea mya life instead coz I breaka the ankle and now I azza more metalio in my ankle than the forth or fiftha bridgea. And i azza so many surgical screws in my leg thata I am totally screwed, innit…
But I makea the best of the situazioni and I accepta the invitazione to pose withouta the usual Pava moves ata the Dr Sketchy’s in London, whicha izza the place where the artistio like wot you guys izz can draw me when I ainta movin’.
Wella, I tell you I ain’ta goin’ nowhere fast so catcha me still fora the change at Dr Sketchy’s ata the Royal Vauxhall Tavern on Wednesday, April 14. I ‘ave attached the peecture to geta you alla inspired for the evenin’.
Prego, pizza, lasagne, ravioli,
Pava B xxx
For details, please see: www.drsketchylondon.co.uk
Pavabotti prepares for his appearance at Dr Sketchy's
I genuinely hate all of those chain restaurants. Friday’s, Applebees, Chilis, etc etc. It could be due to working in places like that for the better part of both college and high school, but it’s more about the lack of actual enjoyment of the food. This is why I grimaced at the suggestion of going there “ironically” with this hipster cutie from Williamsburg. I met her on Okcupid, and her user name was cute enough. Playing with the whole “band you’ve never heard of” idea for a user name, I knew I was in trouble. She tried her best to be quirky, but quirkiness is an inner quality that you can’t just try to be. It comes from the deepest depths of the soul. She ordered the Potato Skins and had an extremely suspicious sincere smile on while eating them. I just waved off the food, because I really couldn’t stomach it. So I sat with my fairly fair priced Pilsner of Winter Lager pretending to listen to her talk about Architecture in Helsinki, and this quaint little book shop she discovered…while she actually got my interest with the book shop.
I stole half of her Brownie Obsession and hoped that she would not have similar feelings towards me.
The morning after last episode’s dramatic encounter between – well – everyone, is a quiet, reflective time. Flo paces like a caged tiger, Annie and Kendra timidly discuss drama. That’s when Natalie opens her big mouth to wake everyone up like the town’s bitchy crier. She alerts everyone to the Bad Girls photo shoot tomorrow, then notices Kate has talked smack on her pop art portrait. To get back at her, Natalie writes on Kate’s walls that Kate is jealous, except she does this with some barely legible water-based marker, which Kate easily wipes off.
Why would Malibu be jealous? She has everything. Everything save some vocal inflection and the energy to stand and hold conversations.
At the salon, Flo, Amber, and Natalie get their nails did and va-jay-jays waxed. For Flo, this is in anticipation for all the “box eating” that’ll go down when she takes the BGC to Girl Bar, a premiere lesbo hang in LA. Amber writhes in disgust in her chair like the gay baseball player she is.
Natalie explains that she may let a lady eat her box, and I’m thinking, as I watch the Asian ladies do their nails in silence, this is probably what those nail ladies actually talk about in Korean all day too.
At least, I hope so, because I’d be really pissed if they were actually talking shit about my nail beds and sub-par cuticles.
The girls go back to the house where Amber confides in Kate she doesn’t want to go to the munchbox bar, but if she admits that, she knows she’ll be labeled a homophobe. Kate can relate from her “black bar night” incident and they bemoan having to pretend to act lesbian, or even endorse that behavior. See, Ambular doesn’t buy the whole “bisexual” thing, she just knows that Flo sucks internally.
Later that night, Kendra brings back yet another man to the mansion, Angel, who she met at the speed dating event. The girls try to make it “romantic” for Kendra by bringing candles, stuffed animals, and getting naked in the pool next to them to steal attention.
Is it just me, or is Annie talking to the blow up animals and then to Kendra and Angel on the bed such 6 year old girl stunt to try and impress her parents? But on the upside, well done, Dan. Your girl just got “sort of” bad. Unforch for Kendra, her night ends pretty PG. Thanks, Annie.
Flo goes to talk with Amber in attempts to assuage her fears about the gay bar (which, from the looks of their hair and makeup, clearly takes place AFTER their makeover/photo shoot and the producers and editors are hoping we don’t notice the chronological shuffle). Amber again tries to explain her outlook: see, when she made out with women before, that was under different circumstances. That was to look like a slutty fantasy so she could get dick. See the distinction, Flo?
You’re just confused, which do you like? Cooter or penis? Way to throw condescension into the convo, Amber. Well, now Flo’s pissed and is prescient enough to say that if Amber keeps pushing the matter they’re gonna have a problem and Flo would punch her dead in the face.
The next morning it’s photoshoot time!
Actually, ixnay on that exclamation mark. The whole day is a big yawn, very uneventful. It was fun to see the action behind the pictures I eventually photoshopped, but the Portia reunion with Natalie was totally anti-climactic. Everyone laughed along with Natalie calling her a wild banshee, then when they saw Portia, they all hugged her.
Natalie didn’t even talk to her. Boring. No points. Moving on.
As the girls get ready to go out to Girl Bar that night, Amber gets on the horn with her boyf to bemoan the plight of the straight girl stuck in this L-World. CUT TO: Flo putting on the most horrendous puke green eye makeup ever. Steamy. As the girls enter the club, perhaps Kendra put it best, “I never feel uncomfortable anywhere, so Flo? Have a great time. Hold it down, this is your spot.” Thank you, Kendra, for not being a C-U-Next-Tuesday about it! Even Kate stands by the strip pole with bills in her hand! Albeit she wistfully glances over at Amber, proud that she’s showing Flo support. How is she supporting Flo? She’s pouting on the crushed velvet bench, bitching about having to be there. Now, I want to say that this scene really racked me up some mucho muffdive points, but as I glance at the board, I “technically” only get 3 points for a same sex M.O.
There is no category for “same sex licking tops of boobs” and “same sex feeling up” – but would this fall under the “Lesbian Action anything more than kissing” category? It’s a fair question. I think Flo earned those damn points.
Back at the house, Amber asks Flo if her mother knows what she does. I mean, she must be mortified and embarrassed watching this! Amber, seriously, shut the eff up. Flo is a proud Albanian woman just trying to represent! And the fact that Flo didn’t fly off the handle at Amber for speaking out of school AGAIN on the issue is points to Flo right there. (Or should I say, props, clearly I’m not getting more points out of this.) I’m just building a case here, people, of why the ultimate climax of this show should implicate Amber as being just as guilty in instigating the fight as she was attacked.
The next night, they go to Big Wang’s – which appears to be a shittier version of Applebee’s. Angel shows up and orders $20 worth of food and leaves Kendra with the bill.
This is a deal breaker for Natalie, who is now co-running Kendra’s game. Angel is dunzo on their list. So Dunzo that they’re gonna punk him via phone later after he sings on their message machine. Ugh, this guy does suck.
But fear not, Natalie is bringing in back-up. Another D-list athlete! Lawrence, her “NFL Baller” friend, who I get the impression is a Streisand-ticket-holding-friend-of-Dorothy’s. But he tells Natalie to not kiss him because he has a girlfriend and they are JUST friends. Sorry, Natalie, you’re just an unknowing fruit fly. A shrieking banshee of a fly.
In the limo ride home, Flo mounts Natalie in a drunken/humping glory make out sesh.
Kendra, giddy and inspired, proceeds to make out with every girl in the limo, INCLUDING AMBER. Don’t think Flo doesn’t see that shit. But I’m sure Amber would chalk it up to extenuating circumstances again. Lesbo’s are still gross.
At the mansion, Baller Lawrence and his friends join the girls for some after-hours fun. Natalie, in a slutty teddy, lures Lawrence to her bed, but he’s distracted by her slam book/mood wall of pictures of her kissing her boyf ever so gently. You digging Olamide, Mr. Lawrence? Mmmhmm, thought so. When Lawrence has no sugar to pour on Natalie’s sourpuss, she gets thee to a Nunn-ery (get it?!) and protests in confessional, no, no, they would never do anything, they’re just friends! Safe remarks from a woman scorned.
Now here’s where the action heats up. And what better setting than in the hot tub? With alcohol in her system and an audience of men, Amber starts yapping her pie hole about bisexuals again because Annie is wearing AmAp’s “Legalize Gay”.
And she repeats herself – “You’re not gonna like what I have to say, but I’m gonna say it” – so STFU already, woman! Flo comes forward and starts getting in her mouthy, pitbull state, calling out Amber’s hypocrisy of kissing girls. Amber tries to clarify she doesn’t understand licking the cooter, see? There’s a distinction, dammit. Flo gets up in her face and Amber flips and pushes Flo into the pool off the ledge, fracturing her ankle.
Flo is in pain, threatens to kill Amber and Amber says in the confessional “Flo, why don’t you get out of the pool and kick my ass because I’m not backing down.” See? She asked for it.
After injuring Flo, Amber hovers, antagonizing her more. So naturally, when Flo gets out of the pool, she rushes Amber and shoves her, then proceeds to pick her up by her hood rat curls and throw her across the floor.
Woohoo! My point board is flying through numbers like that Union Square counter that counts the national debt or some shit like that! Other Bad Girls rush to hold them back from fighting more, until Amber scurries away into the van to hide. Amber says that she didn’t mean to hurt Flo, but she didn’t care that she fucked up her ankle just the same.
Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I submit to you: a heartless Amber, just as violent as Flo, but painted the victim because she didn’t have a frothing, foaming mouth as Flo did. And ergo are we to rush to judgment that Florina is the villain? Don’t be fooled by Amber’s defense that she was just trying to respect Flo. How is bringing up a sore argument and instigating and pushing her into the pool respecting her? I think you’ll agree that Amber has no leg to stand on in this situation. And Flo is down to one leg.
As Flo gets taken to the hospital, and Amber to a hotel room to cool off for the night, Natalie escorts her pathetic NFL mantourage to the door, apologizing for them having seen the house in such shambles of drama. Annie and Lexie, useless Extras, discuss how Flo deserved it. They seem to have forgotten the chronology of the night, Amber started it and Flo just responded in kind, and now they are saying she is the one at fault. Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m not claiming Flo is innocent, by no means, I’m merely explaining how it was in defense and in response to initial acts of violence and verbal instigation. No party is innocent here. I rest my case.
The next morning, Amber comes back from the hotel room, where she gathered her homophobe thoughts, I guess, and Kendra and Natalie go to pick up Flo, now in a cast, from the hospital. They regretfully inform her that Amber took a poll if everyone would be cool if she sent Flo home, and they were. They coach her that she needs to put on her best show and cry and beg for mercy.
Flo is astounded SHE has to beg for forgiveness, but agrees to put on a show. And a show it is! She limps and whimpers and cries when the house confronts her. She tries to stand, and hurts her ankle again, quick! Rush to her side! Amber has no clue what it took Flo to get to this house! (Well, probably the same amount of rounds of casting in the tri-state area, but I’m sure the trip was a bit longer from Staten Island. The ferry coulda been a traumatic experience for Flo).
On the staircase, Flo makes a final, teary-eyed plee to Amber. She was in a horrible state when she made the threat to chop her body into pieces! Please?? She won’t even touch another drop of alcohol for the rest of her time in the house! (Whoa! Let’s not get crazy now, Flo. Shit, I’d rather you get kicked out and get me those points then sit there and rot with no points like an Amber for the rest of the season.)
Anyway, Amber’s stupid face buys the act hook, line, and sinker and decides to let her stay. (Maybe it was that dramatic, touching string accompaniment to the scene that swayed her?).
Amber announces by the pool that she can stay, Flo, sucks back a cig and coughs up a thanks. That’s when the act drops. Natalie is proud of Flo’s manipulation, shit, Flo is a better actress than Johnny Depp. Flo shares an Iago-like complicit “Shh” with the audience in confessional. What a wicked minx! Love this girl. She can’t “guarantee” she won’t murder someone while she’s here. And I’m BACK IN THE GAME!
Previews from the next episode tell me that it’s “Opposite Day!” Natalie and Kate are BFFs, Kate is spitting in Kendra’s face, and Flo is nowhere to be seen! I do hope that Natalie pushes Annie into a rage though, so Annie can actually be watchable and interesting for once. And I also look forward to someone else covering my shift and writing this blog for the week. Anyone? Kthxbai.
Scout wont for the life of him put clothes on. We wake up dress him and 10 min. later ……. magic…..he is naked again and can’t seem to remember where his clothes went. When he goes to bed he will throw a kicking screaming ear piercing fit if we try to make him sleep in underwear let alone jammys! I know its a phase and quite a funny one at that.
we have guests over and you can feel the awkwardness when our 3 almost, 4 year old is running the house naked. i’m sure if it were anyone other than the friends that know us better than we know ourselves this might become quite an issue. We sometimes let him and his brothers go ride scooters in the fenced yard…..we send them all out in socks and shoes and pants shirts jackets the works. And when we go out to check on them Scout has his socks and shoes on and what do ya know….everything else disappeared, again…..magic! Jeromy and Sam scooting away from scout saying eewwww eewwww, and scout trying his hardest to keep up “wait for me guys”! Oh boy…….what to do????
The start! pants????
yeah....
ha ha "John pose" he call it
the usual scout look....
see what I mean…….I tried not to put any completely nudey ones although most of them are lol……these were the most appropriate pictures i could find. OH THE JOYS OF BEING 3!
I don’t think I was ever much of a college party kind of guy, even in college. At least, not the frat party kind of guy, but a girl I’d recently been in contact with from my alma mater told me about an alumni frat thing, and begged me to go to it. If there is nothing else MLK day is good for, it’s an inappropriate Sunday party at a predominately Caucasian school So, I took the long train ride home prepping with a flask of Jameson. After the train and the cab I stepped onto all familiar pavement. I walked around the campus a little bit, trying to re-adjust, and get my bearings.
Eventually my phone rang and it was Jamie, calling me to tell me she was right behind me, in a general faux stalker-kind of way. I laughed and we were back in a cab to the Frat house. I almost immediately regretted this decision, bout I powered through. Five bucks and a wrist band gave me an excuse to go back to my college days.
Only, I didn’t like keggers in my college days. You meet the worst girls at keggers, and you meet the guys you don’t want to be stuck with. I found a corner and hid until a girl I later learned to be named Faith drunkenly grabbed me and tried to get me to dance. I shook my head. She asked what I did do, and I told her I was a pretty good shot in beer pong. But the fact of the matter is, much like friendship and fucking, you only make good partners with some people, and we got our asses handed to us. Faith cupped my face in consolement, and tried to kiss me, and this is when it hit me that I hadn’t seen Jamie in more than a while, and I dreaded why. Sure enough, she was off playing with some boy toy for the evening, and I was strained alone with Faith and losing hope. I grabbed another cup out of the keg of PBR…a college staple. But a few beers, and being corned, and bad judgement set it, and I spent a good two minutes with my hand on the small of her back, and kisses I couldn’t take back. Luckily, I was shortly rescued, and passed out on the foot of the bed in a Hilton shortly thereafter.
For the first time I took note of Kate Love when discovered Dan West Sublime-Nudes on deviantART. The image I liked the most was called Mountain Kitty Kat. It brings the wonderful feeling of the warm summer, wildflowers, deep and clear sky, life in harmony with nature.
Mountain Kitty Kat by sublime-nudes on deviantART
Kate Love is currently based out of Athens, Greece. She describes herself as
an artistic nude model and self-portrait artist born and raised in San Francisco.
So it isn’t surprising that her gallery on deviantART consists of two sections, Nudes – Modeling and Self portraits. The first one includes some impressive works of photographic art,
Resentment by katlove on deviantART, Photographer: Ken Chen
the latter features the brilliant art photographs that, as one might think, allow a glimpse into the soul and personal life of the model and photographer.
Settle by katlove on deviantART, Self portrait
Links:
1. sublime-nudes on deviantART
2. Dan West Nudes
3. katlove on deviantART
4. katelove’s Nude Self Portraits on deviantART
5. Kat Love . Model . Self Portrait Artist
On the 19th January VBS.TV will release an hour-long documentary in eight segments over eight days, following VICE founder Shane Smith and Editor Andy Cappa on their visit to Monrovia, the capital city of Liberia. One of their three guides (each of whom participated in the 14 year long Liberian Civil War) is Joshua Blahyi or ‘General Butt Naked’, himself the subject of a documentary charting his life and change of ways.
Blahyi, who gained his name by forcing his soldiers to fight wearing nothing but shoes, admits to having killed over 20, 000 people and drinking the blood of children. Today all he seeks is forgiveness, as he travels from place to place preaching about his redemption and how Jesus came to him at just about the right time.
Who better then to lead Shane and Andy to the most treacherous spots in Monrovia? They’re talking jails, brothels and heroin dens here, in a country still trying to find its feet after a war that came to an end almost seven years ago. In the trailer alone we watch some kid speedballing his way into the evening.
The VICE Guide to Liberia – Trailer
A couple of months ago in VICE – The Film Issue Ian F. Svenonius wrote a feature called ‘The Documentary Crisis,’ basically about how documentaries have become so bland that they must be destined for some distant alien race to learn about ours. It was really good, made a lot of sense and it’s brilliant that VBS.TV can come up with examples of what a good documentary should be, particularly with this guerilla expedition into potentially hostile Liberia.
Since the removal of the real live Christmas tree (and the fourth or fifth dumping of the water from the stand on the carpet) and the fake Jenny Craig skinny tree with blue ornaments, the regular furniture and accessories have not made their reappearance in the house yet. It looks quite naked in the living room and the family room. The garage is uncomfortably stuffed at the moment. We need to bring in two coffee tables, three lamps, one chair, two silk Ficus trees and whatever used to be on the entry table and the piano.
I think I’m liking the barrenness of it all. Less to dust. Not that I ever dust anymore. I have children who do, despite the infrequency that it gets accomplished. Embarrassingly enough, the dining room chairs did not get their seats wiped for months… and in the dusty AZ desert, that is NOT good. A guest in black pants, who shall remain nameless, came over, sat down, scooted back and unknowingly dusted one of the seats for me. Yikes! When said guest was not looking, I caught Larisa’s eye (the living room duster….) and pointed to the dust on our guest’s backside. Good grief!
We had house guests visit for five days, so the loft/sewing room/school room had to be cleaned out. I dusted the sewing machine and folded it back into its table. I even dusted the elliptical machine. It does get regular use, but the metal bars are a magnet to dust balls. One of my helpful children loaded all the fabric from its obvious hiding place under the cutting table into a black garbage bag and to the garage. And even the loft/sewing room/school room looks bare naked at the moment. It makes me feel lighter…. or slimmer…. or something.
All this nakedness needs to rub off in our master bedroom. I desperately need to clean out the file cabinet drawers and file all the files on my desk. It is a seriously organized conglomeration of files that simply need a home of their own instead of a pile… many piles… neat piles, but piles nonetheless.
Anyway, I’m staying downstairs because it’s all naked and clean feeling down here.
Tomorrow January 10th, No Pants Day is celebrated again.
All big cities around the world are participating. In Berlin, they take part by taking a subway ride with no pants on. The German city hopes to attact hundreds of pants and skirtless people, who are willing to defly the current temperature.
Also Amsterdam will be participating. Registrations are open on Facebook.
It’s spending money on memories, not on material objects, without a second thought.
It’s coming down from the night before with no regrets.
It’s running naked and having no shame, no insecurities – and not because you know you waxed, tanned and pampered yourself the night before vainly trying to emulate the sense of ‘perfection’ the beauty industry pushes onto us.
It’s understanding the difference between fear and love and knowing that you loving someone is enough & not being fearful as to weather or not they love you back.
It’s seeing sex for what it is – self expression. There is no need for guilt, worry or regret.
It’s laughing at yourself and all the stupid ‘errors’ of your past, but, enjoying the experience of it all nonetheless.
It’s choosing what happens next, creating every moment, consciously, and relishing the results.
It’s enjoying the consequences of your actions, having no expectations and therefore choosing never to be disappointed.
It’s saying ‘I am’, ‘I will’, ‘I can’ and ‘I desire’ [rather than 'I should' ‘I want’ or 'oneday...'], and knowing your word to be truth.
It’s doing, changing, pursuing, things because you want to and not for anybody else.
It’s knowing that this is heaven.
It’s understanding that the world is just an illusion, and that it is perfectly okay to milk it for all the pleasure it provides and taking up all opportunity it gives birth to. Money, power and happiness are not bad.
It’s understanding the importance of quality not quantity, understanding that more is not always better.
It’s speaking your truth quietly but clearly.
It’s following your dreams with no fear.
It’s believing in what you sell.
It’s never judging, but observing, keeping an open mind and seeking to understand why another has a different preference to yours.
It’s enjoying the journey as much as the destination.
It’s accepting the truth, not even trying to justify your actions - just knowing that you are what you are and what you are is magnificent.
I habitually go for steam baths. It’s therapeutic, relaxing, and more often than not I sleep better after one. Perspiration burns a whole lotta calories.
That aside, what amuses me no end about steam baths is best reflected in a typical incident.
I normally walk into steam baths with a towel in hand to sit on, and totally naked with my dangly bits for all to see. I figure that if men can walk about in locker rooms comfortably naked in the presence of other men, why not steam baths? Right? Right?
Unless I’m the only bloke in the steam bath that day, I’m usually wrong.
As I strut in nonchalantly, I can sense the fleeting glances, averting eyes, and that uncomfortable shifting in the seat due to either shock or surprise. And here I am, the only one without a towel wrapped around me, feeling smug and looking royal.
I was told that a naked dude in a male-only steam bath is an unsettling sight. Perhaps it’s the close quarters, but hey, I’m no homo, so chill, but I speak for myself when I say that.
I’m told that in photos of steam baths, people are always clad in towels. My response is that having a towel wrapped around one in a steam bath is akin to wearing suspenders AND a belt: redundant, ridiculous, and only shows how insecure one is. My other response is that if they were to show you photos of naked people in a steam bath, you wouldn’t even be seeing them in your traditonal promotional material. What it’s really like doesnt necessarily mean it’s fit for print, people.
Steam baths are best done naked, and I’d bet the women do that too. And if this doesn’t give you the courage, here’s food for thought: a shy guy is a contradiction of sorts.
I don’t think I was ever much of a college party kind of guy, even in college. At least, not the frat party kind of guy, but a girl I’d recently been in contact with from my alma mater told me about an alumni frat thing, and begged me to go to it. If there is nothing else MLK day is good for, it’s an inappropriate Sunday party at a predominately Caucasian school So, I took the long train ride home prepping with a flask of Jameson. After the train and the cab I stepped onto all familiar pavement. I walked around the campus a little bit, trying to re-adjust, and get my bearings.
