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Month: February 2014

Miami Meth Cooks

Miami Meth Cooks

It seems like yesterday that I went to Puerto Rico and couldn’t find anyone to go with me. A little more than a week ago, I went to Miami with three  friends that I’ve made since being in DC. Yay to having friends in real life. I really needed to get out of the cold and the beach seemed like the best place to go.

We left on a snowy Saturday. I was nervous that our flight would be cancelled but we only spent an hour sitting on the tarmac waiting for the flight crew to decide what was what. But alas, we were finally on our way to blue skies, white sand beaches, and 80 degree weather. Momma needed to get some color on these cheeks!

After landing and instantly changing into warm weather clothes, we made our way to the apartment we had found on Airbnb. It was a two bedroom – the master room for my friends Luci and Rowan (because they’re dating) and the other room with two single beds for my friend Chelsea and me (because we’re not dating). Chelsea and I had decided that if either of us brought someone home (for extracurricular activity), they would have to sleep on the couch. I thought this wouldn’t be a necessary arrangement, but I was incorrect.

We went to a restaurant with a view of the beach for a late lunch, where I drank a mojito the size of my upper body. That helped me overcome my body consciousness on the beach that day. I have been working out a lot more lately (thanks for asking) but I am nowhere close to the beautiful people of Miami who apparently have no day jobs and just bask in the sun all day.

Before our trip, I had googled gay shit to do in Miami. Although no one else in our group was gay, I figured I could explore on my own if necessary. I found a restaurant that does drag brunch on the weekends and thought it could be fun. I suggested it kind of off hand, but everyone in the group was on board. Chelsea had to go somewhere else, but Rowan, Luci, and I went to The Palace  on Sunday  morning – their motto is “Every queen needs a palace” (YAAAS).  We showed up and the hostess babbled some incoherent nonsense before telling us that because we didn’t have a reservation, we’d have to sit at a bar/railing thing. “Getting railed” as LaDonna the hostess called it was actually one of the best things that could have happened on this trip.

Slowly, the place filled up, which of course made me nervous. Being around a big group of gays simultaneously excites and scares me. I like feeling comfortable and looking at attractive boys but I also feel extremely judged. This guy-girl couple eventually joined us at the bar/rail. I tried to be social and said “Did you guys ‘get railed’ too?” to which the guy responded, “I NEED to get railed.” My initial reaction was that he belonged to the slutty gay category, those that just love dick and talk about it nonstop. Obviously, sex is a part of gay life, but there’s so much more to it in my opinion, so being obsessed with sex is just exhausting for me. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy that LaDonna had sat us next to each other.

But, it was fun regardless. I drank a million mimosas and saw some drag queens throw down. The restaurant faces Ocean Drive and the beach, which is a beautiful view, but those queens…shit! They stopped traffic. They walked in the street, danced on cars driving by, did the splits in the middle of the road. Lordt! It was a spiritual experience for me that Sunday. I kept overhearing slutty boy next to me talk about dicks and getting action and flirt with the waiter, who had made it clear he was straight. I kept rolling my eyes to myself.

At some point though, things changed between us. Maybe it was the alcohol but we started flirting casually. It couldn’t hurt, I thought. I found out this guy was from Ohio and worked on boats in Fort Lauderdale. He and his friend had come to Miami to see a concert the night before but had gotten thrown out because his friend (the girl sitting next to him) was too drunk. His dad is a pastor and his real name is Dallas (gross) but he goes by his middle name Steffan/Steve. After brunch, we split up but exchanged numbers and a little peck on the lips.

My DC posse and I headed to the beach for the day. When talking afterwards, Luci suggested that Steve looks like Jesse Pinkman from “Breaking Bad”. We all agreed and the nickname stuck. I texted “Jesse” after leaving but only half expected a response. He was a slutty gay, remember? But we exchanged messages throughout the day and I invited him to hang out with us later that night. These are some of our sappy messages:

IMG_0484IMG_0483

For the record, all I want in a relationship is someone that will cuddle the shit out of me. Is that too much to ask??

We were eating guacamole on the beach that night when I decided to call Jesse to tell him where to meet us. I left my friends and shoes because I figured I’d be back in two minutes. I found Steve/Jesse and started walking with him back to my friends. But he had other plans. We sat down by the grassy part of the beach and made out for a good thirty minutes or so. This is when he told me I smelled like Chipotle (dat guacamole). I thought about feeling self-conscious, but then I didn’t. He seemed cracked out on something (meth, maybe) so I didn’t want to go too far and plus, we were on the beach. I don’t want to get arrested or get sand up my ass! We finally decided to head back to our apartment and meet up with my friends, who had taken my shoes with them. I think I looked like a homeless gay prostitute walking barefoot through the streets of South Beach holding hands with a boy in the dark. It was one of the most romantic moments of my life though.

What were my friends going to think of me? I was a little worried not that they’d judge me but that they’d be uncomfortable having a stranger stay the night with us. They didn’t act weird at all though, which I was really happy about. I decided to take a shower alone but Jesse obviously couldn’t entertain himself for long. I’ll skip the nitty gritty and just give you this PSA: Don’t get Head and Shoulders shampoo on/into your penis. I shall give no details.

So, Jesse hung out with us that night. He actually turned out to be everyone’s favorite person. We played some drinking games like “Never Have I Ever” where we learned that he semi-lost his virginity to a girl when he was 21. He also warned us that having butt sex without a condom can lead to “poop dick.” Words of wisdom, y’all. Words of wisdom. Here are some pics of us fan-girling with our Aaron Paul look-alike. I thought about selling them to the Paparazzi.

I made him say “Gatorade me, bitch”
With a celebrity

Eventually, drunk friend from brunch Lauren joined us. She was, you guessed it, obliterated out of her mind. Her bra was full out of her shirt, her sunglasses were embedded in her hair, and her feet were covered in black shit. Where had that girl been all day???

It was a very fun night and I’m glad that I got to meet new people and have someone cuddle the shit out of me. Despite prior planning, Jesse and I slept in the super uncomfortable twin bed from IKEA while Chelsea slept in the other twin bed three feet away. I was just planning to sleep so I didn’t mind Chelsea being so close to us until Jesse started loudly whispering things like “Just touch it, babe.” Then I realized we should have slept on the couch.

The next morning, the three members of our bedroom crew went to breakfast together. It was cute. Then, sadly, Jesse had to return to Fort Lauderdale to live his mysterious life “working on boats” that I never fully comprehended. I always like the guys I meet on vacation, probably because there are no expectations about where things will go. I wish Dallas Steffan “Steve” a.k.a. Jesse lived closer to me so that we could date and cuddle the shit out of each other more often, but the universe has other plans for us apparently. However, he’ll always live on in my memory as the boy who taught me about “poop dick.” R.I.P. from my life, Steve. I’ll always think about you when I watch BB.

Soulmates

And the rest of our trip was fun. The end.

Body Complaining

Body Complaining

The body can be a beautiful thing. Besides having the capacity to be beautiful on the exterior, it also can be incredibly resilient in fighting infections, recovering from ailments, and adapting to new changes.

The body can also be gross as fuck. For example, my body has grossed me out NUMEROUS times in the past. I know that I’m getting older but damn, some of the stuff that has happened to me over the years really makes me think that God has a sense of humor. Here is a list of some of these less ideal occurrences:

1. Pimples anywhere besides of my face – I get that acne is a right of passage for many adolescents. Hormones, oily skin, blackheads, etc. But eventually, it needs to stop. Wet dreams do so why can’t acne? Recently, I have found pimples on my shin, inner thigh, and the surprisingly unsurprising ass pimple. It’s always right on the part of your butt where you sit too.

Every summer

2. I once had boogers coming out of my eyes – I got sick and I guess I touched my eyes after rubbing my nose. So, I’ll take the blame for that one.

3. Gray pubic hairs – I have two. You would think that they blend in with their brothers. They don’t. Therefore, sexy times must always occur in the dark.

4. Hair on my nose – No, not in my nose, on it. Have to tweeze that once or twice a week. The only other person that I’ve seen with this is a Turkish shop assistant.

5. Bald patch in my chest hair – No one claims to see it but I trim my chest hair when I bare it in public so that it looks even. I used to use this medicine for my chest acne and I guess it just Chernobyl-ed the shit out of that patch of skin. I should have used it on my ass too.

6. Male yeast infection – Most guys who get this usually get it from having sex with a yeasty girl. I can assure you this did not happen. I just wanted to wear cute tight underwear and work out to get in shape. This led to a six-month long series of red patches all over my junk, including one that looked like South America.

 

Despite all of these imperfections, I still appreciate my body a lot. I mean, how could I have survived so many drunken shenanigans and still look this good every morning?  Okay, not EVERY morning.

However, I do think a lot of these do crush my dreams of ever becoming a model. The number one reason I won’t be a supermodel though is my body and once again, that’s a little bit my fault. But who wants a pimply ass to walk down the runway? No one.

So Dove, please include me in your next Body Beautiful campaign. You have all shapes, sizes, and colors so why not add some gray pubes? TY