the n word

after seeing falstaff at peabody on friday night, i went to brewer's art with hilary, cory, jessica, dan, john, and a good friend we'll call laquonda. it was a lot like the "old times" that andrea and i have been reminiscing about so much on the phone these days--fighting for spots on the worn out beige couches, drinking really strong, spicy homemade beer, and gossiping. i tried to explain to cory, who'd never been to brewer's before, that it wasn't always a haven for univeristy of baltimore law students and their slut girlfriends. i tried to explain that when we started going it was a bunch of indie rockers and queer kids. he wasn't buying it.

i'd love to say that we do more than gossip and badmouth, but i'd be lying. anytime you have to say "peabody curse!" and look around you to make sure that the person you're talking about isn't listening more than three times in a conversation, you're a gossip. (for those of you non-peabsters, the peabody curse is that, inevitably, whoever you're badmouthing will appear within 30 seconds. i'm not kidding. it happens all the time.)

the quote of the weekend, however, wasn't gossip or hearsay. it was provided by laquonda, as we had a conversation about elizabethtown, specificially the hotness of orlando bloom:

robert: yeah, he really is hot.
laquonda: i think he's the hottest man in hollywood right now.
robert: yeah?
laquonda: i'm telling you, girl, i think he's so hot that he could call me "dumb bitch n****r" and i would still be on my knees sucking his dick.
robert: -hand over mouth, trying to suppress an unladylike scream-
laquonda: he's so hot that he could say that and i'd be down there doing my job sayin' "oh, yes, massa! yes, massa!"

this, dear readers, is what separates my friends from all the other struggling singers out there: we are a bunch of sick fucks.