Jesus Juice and Cocoa Butter

I do not drink the juice. Unless it is whipped cream vodka. Holy crap, that stuff is good. Too bad it’s a shitty brand because I would have loved more than one drink.

Where to begin. Weekend weirdness.

To say I was accosted by bible thumpers in Public Square between the bar and home on a Friday night is a gross overstatement, but for serious… This guy — thinking he was an everyday panhandler — handed me something, which I grabbed kindly without paying much attention, but he may as well shoved it down the front of my dress. I took a step or two, recognized “those words” on the front cover and put it back on top of his pile of books.

A holy bible? Is this the tactic to get kids to church these days?

I might have said “ew” when I gave it back. And then some skater punks called me disrespectful, but whatever — at least I gave his paraphernalia back. I could have trashed it or thrown it in front of a Healthline bus. Or shredded it for cat litter.

Finding Chi. And the source of that delicious smell.

We balanced out the holy bible with Hell’s sins of drinking, food and boobies to round out our last full weekend in the Cleve: YUMM! at Mercury, cucumber margaritas and guacamole sampler at Momocho, Five on It at Touch, beers at Bier Markt and dancing with the blondes at Hustler Club and Diamond’s Mens Club. Thank. You.

And how incredibly rude of me, I never asked our girl’s name. For shame.

Best line of the night: “Is this the Applebee’s of strip clubs?” in regards to the Hustler Club. Dead on. That place is stranger than ED’s downtown. Too much fun. And without all the unnecessary glitter. Yes, my life is debaucherous. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Working on my derby ass.

I also participated in the Blood & Thunder training camp, where I developed another 18 or so bruises and scratches and new derby pals. Ten-to-twelve hours of roller derby kicked my ASS. It was a super-fun Cleveland weekend — including the two-day hangover (not). Oooof.

Nearing the end.

Five days left.

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