Thank-you, MLK. Your unending commitment to nonviolence and the persevering spirit of men ended the soul crushing oppression that too many endured for far too long. You, and others like you, have set an example that we will be trying to live up to for generations to come. For that, and this most amazing 3-day weekend, I thank-you.
Oh yes, my weekend has been chock-full-o-craziness and surprisingly warm weather. (It’s 60 degrees and sunny!) That warm weather inspired Country and his crew to come out of hibernation and host the first bonfire of the year. That would have been the perfect way to kick off the weekend—free beer, sex-on-a-stick outfit (black over-the-knee boots, black leggings, short white tank dress, Sgt Pepper jacket), all my friends—if it weren’t for Mr. Jackson ignoring boundaries and hitting on me and a rugglet I’m quite platonically fond of getting alcohol poisoning. He’s alright now; recuperating safely at home.
Saturday brought on a team run and weight lifting session, deciding not to go with Mr. Jackson and Pollock* for an overnight to Pollock’s house (no need to confuse the poor boy even more), banding together with Westchester and Roomie-Dearest to take Newbie** under our wings, and one of the BEST parties of the year. The party: Ladies for Haiti, meaning girls drank free. The location: the Firehouse. Reasons it was awesome: free booze, dancing on a table to Michael Jackson, slapping a random creeper, getting busted by 6 cop cars (overkill much?), another sex-on-a-stick outfit (same boots, black rose-print high waisted skirt from Twin, gray v-neck), Roomie-Dearest going home with Country and me going home with the Minimalist.
While Roomie-Dearest ate up some shrooms on Sunday, I ate up a delicious burrito bowl and some licorice while watching Tough Love 2 online. Completely unproductive, but wonderful nonetheless. Later that night wasn’t so wonderful.
The party: Dance Party for Dr. King. The location: Country’s apartment. Reasons it wasn’t so awesome: the music wasn’t quite right, Mr. Jackson got too fucked up too soon and had to be taken home, a creeper was majorly creeping, and the Minimalist and I had our first fight. He apologized at the eleventh hour as I was putting on my coat to walk home and I returned with him.
Call me a pushover, but he looked genuinely upset about things.
And now I’m finishing an article for the paper and procrastinating clean my very messy room, all the while a delicious piece of chocolate cake soaks in rum for Mr. Jackson’s birthday.
G’afternoon. G’evening. And g’night.
*Pollock-a rugglet and good friend of Mr. Jackson
**Newbie-a transfer that just moved in down the hall. She's nice, but quiet. We'll change that.