Over 18, Sleeping with poets, and J Holiday in a towel

Some dear poet friends of mine, Max Parthas and his wife Tribal Raine came through Virginia yesterday to do a show. Since I hardly get to see them I decided I would make the two hour drive to Richmond to catch up with them.


Bad traffic and almost 3 hours later, I get to the show just in time for the finale. I missed a good chunk of the performances (but lucky for me it was broadcast to web so I will make up for the parts I missed as soon as it's all on youtube).

Since I wasn't in a hurry to drive back, I followed some of the others over to our DJ's house--DJ Tree to be exact (see below). He had a gig over at a local club so we all dropped our stuff off at his house and after a few shots of E&J and Smirnoff (I stuck with the latter--since anyone who knows me knows that brown liquor and I are not friends) we head out to the spot.

First of all since this was a 18 and up spot I believe, I can safely say I had about 10-15 years age up on average on these folks up in the club. So while Max politic'ed with some folks, Tribal and I played the back and clowned--which wasn't all the hard since 90% of the people who I saw were serious offenders, errr I mean contenders for You Know You Dead Azz Wrong. And if you doubt me here is Exhibit A:

The random chick who decided she would channel Nadia Cominiche and stretch her leg over the top of the DJ booth--btw that would be Tree in the background. I couldn't get my camera out in time to snap a pic of the girl who probably simultaneously caught an STD and got pregnant on the dance floor as many men as she had trying to pile drive, err I mean "dance" with her...note to self: cancel salsa lessons.

So after a rather entertaining night, Max, Tribal and I went back to the house where we ended up watching Norbit and crashing out--when I said sleeping with poets I meant that literally...lol. Although I will say we had a rather interesting wake up experience when Tribal tried to switch out the movie from the dvd/disc changer and the next one happened to be a porno.

At this point everyone in the house was up--a little groggy perhaps, and one of the other members of the household came around the corner. Now I had met dude the night before and I lie to you not, if this negro did not look like a J. Holiday with blue eyes.

Tribal made some crack about him coming around the corner the day before in nothing but a towel and that was all she wrote--the jokes and the commentary came out. Lawd, don't even get me started...lol.

Anyway, after that everybody dipped out and headed back up 95, but not before I stopped and took a few pics downtown.

Maaaaaan. That trip convinced me of two things 1) I miss the camaraderie of poets...I need to get back on my game and 2) that apparently it's cool to walk into a club on a 40 degree day with your boobs hanging out and smacking you in the knee caps, wearing half a skirt on your ass or looking about 18 months pregnant, with a gang of random tats for each of your baby daddies while letting horny, nasty little boys dressed like they put clothes on in the dark pseudo fvck you.

I prefer to only believe the former.