It's Funny Because It's True

From now on, when people ask me to relax, I'm just going to hold up a picture of this sign:

*smooches...wishing CALM was in my dictionary*
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if it's not one thing over here, it's another.

Lyrics To Love: The Girl You Lost To Cocaine By Sia

The Great and Powerful Jaded has never been involved with someone who preferred hard drugs to her lovely company, but if you replace cocaine with "Madden 2000" or "Your Funky Ass Attitude" or "That Other Girl's Larger Breasts" then you can a) ruin the rhythm of the song and b) describe all the relationships of my life.

Must be why I love it so much.

I've stuck around, through thick and through thin
You cannot deny, I've always been in
But I've watched you stand, still as a snowman
But I don't see you change, you're always at meltdown

Yeah I've been your crutch, your smell sight and touch
Yeah I took you home when you've drunk too much
But I can't survive, with you by my side
See I'll never get laid, while I'm running your life

No I just don't wanna, so I'm walking away
There is nothing that you can do I will not stay
No I don't need drama, so I'm walking away
Yeah I am a girl with a lot on her plate

So just cut me loose, learn to tie your shoes
There's somebody here, I'd like to introduce
So look in the mirror, look for the glass
?Cause you're not my problem, you are my last

No I just don't wanna, so I'm walking away
There is nothing that you can do I will not stay
No I don't need drama, so I'm walking away
Yeah I am a girl with a lot on her plate

No I just don't wanna, so I'm walking away
There is nothing that you can do I will not stay
No I'm not your momma, so I'm walking away
I'm just a girl that you lost to cocaine



*smooches...doing my white girl sway*
---------
Sia does that to me. every damn time!

Rope Pulls & Box Jumps: A Healthy Jaded Update

Listen- I've not done a lick of physical activity since my last post. I had all manner of good intentions, but the pull of Netflix and potato chips was stronger. Watching episodes of "Til Death" and nacho cheese Doritos are the perfect Jaded Escape. But it's not healthy so let's move on.

This morning I met with my new trainer, Hector, for the first of a two-day-a-week, five-week training schedule. CHILD.

First of all, I decided to schedule these sessions at the ass-crack of dawn in Manhattan, when the only people riding the rails are scary, scruffy-looking, blue-collar Russian and Mexican men who side-eye me as if I walked in donning a swastika and an INS badge. Excuse me, Ivan and Paco, I'm just trying to get my workout on. Go back to your Daily News, coffee and buttered roll. Mmmmm, butter...

Secondly, WHO SCHEDULES WORKOUTS IN A DIFFERENT BOROUGH AT THE ASS-CRACK OF DAWN, ON A WEDNESDAY, RAQUEL?

Finally, OUCH. Being out of shape blows.

I didn't take a "before" picture, weigh or measure myself because I have a good mirror. I know what's not working on my body ::looks at midsection:: and I know what needs to be done. I'll know I'm #WINNING once my jeans stop creating this muffin top situation and my bra doesn't pronounce my back fat to the world. I'll know everything is okay when I can run up the stairs and not feel winded or dizzy (although I'm pretty sure the dizziness is the result of something else. No, not a baby. My uterus is out of commission right now, remember?) and I can bench press Mari. And if in the end this gets me some good ass sleep at night? Bonus!

But let me just say this: Pulling that god-awful ogre-rope with a 40-lb kettlebell weight attached to it, and jumping on and off some stupid little platform, is something the devil made. I'd better be able to kick Ivan and Paco's asses after these five weeks or I'm gonna eat some faces!

*smooches...bitter because I had to wake up so early*
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also? fuck jumping jacks!

We're Thankful For Our Ratchet Blessings

ME: How is it not even noon and ALREADY you ain't shit?

SmartyPJones: Girl...I wake up ain't shit. It's a gift.

*smooches...with a dose of tomfoolery*
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this is how we pass the time in between deadlines, in case you were wondering what writers do all day.

Crossed Off The List: Attend An Opera

After hearing so much buzz about Audra McDonald in Porgy and Bess (and getting discounted tickets through work), I decided to take in an afternoon of booze and culture with my homies on Saturday.

My lovelies, I wish someone had told me it was an opera because I would have picked a different show. I wasn't prepared for all this:



What the hell? I didn't expect to be yelled at, and I really didn't appreciate every bit of dialogue being sung. I need real conversations. And regular singing. I mean, it was good if you like that sort of thing. It's just not my cup of tea, I suppose, but at least I've crossed OPERA off of my list of 50 Things To Do This Year.

I will say, though, that the scene where Audra sang "I Loves You Porgy" did move me; she is a very talented actress and that song has always had a special place in my heart. I may or may not have allegedly gotten a little choked up at that part, mostly because versions of this tune by Nina Simone and Billie Holiday were so passionate. Seeing the events leading up to the song really put the puzzle together for me and it was truly moving.

As a treat, here are the Simone and Holiday versions:



Amazing, right???

Also, why didn't anyone tell me my girl Christina covered this tune? WHAT? I loved it!


AND, let's not forget my dear sweet love Janis Joplin's cover of "Summertime"


Ella's was good, too, but I fall into a trance whenever I hear those electric guitars in Joplin's version.


The best part about this outing (besides seeing The F$%k-It List's little baby bump and catching up with Eb and her breasts) was that afterward I added a ton of Billie Holiday songs to my Spotify account and grooved to it. I'd almost forgotten how much her voice soothes me.

Operas? Not so much.

How was your Saturday?

*smooches...getting ready to slow it down for the winter*
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I see a lot of days spent under blankets in my future; ain't nobody got time for this cold weather!

It's Not OK To Be Angry On Fridays

Each morning I walk N over to the bus, you know, to make sure some crazy pedophiles don't grab her in the five minutes it takes to walk from my door to the corner. Hey, this is still Brooklyn, however gentrified. YOU NEVER KNOW.

Each morning we hear yelling, scolding and fighting coming from one of the houses in front of the bus stop. Without fail. I mean, I don't know what misery lies behind those doors, but it kind of has me wishing I knew Hebrew or Yiddish so that I can understand what all the hubbub is about. Right now it just sounds like angry gibberish.

N and I decided, last Friday, that there's no reason to start the day like that, especially with the weekend about to unfold in front of you. Like, who does that? And ESPECIALLY as you're prepping for shabbat? Chill, Mordechai. Hug your wife. Smile. H-shem has bestowed upon you another day to make wondrous things happen. Do so, with arms outstretched. Your day of atonement approaches.



Happy weekend, folks!

*smooches...hoping our good cheer spreads around*
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no, seriously, these people fight every. freakin. morning. it's so sad!

Dominican York Proyecto GRAFICA: Opening Reception Tonight!

From the press release:

Dominican York Proyecto GRAFICA (DYPG), a printmaking collective of artists of Dominican descent who live and work in and around New York City, announces its group show at Northern Manhattan Arts Alliance (NoMAA) Gallery, The Cornerstone Center, 178 Bennet Avenue at 189th Street. Curated by Rocío Aranda-Alvarado, the exhibition of prints provide rare and critical insight into the Dominican experience in New York and around the world.

Dates and activities around the exhibition, open to the public at no charge, are as follows:
Opening Reception: Thursday September 20, 6 – 8 pm
Workshop: September 22, 1 – 4 pm
Artist Talk: September 27, 6:30 – 8 pm
Exhibition Dates: September 17 – October 26
Gallery Hours: Monday – Friday, 11 am – 5 pm

To register for the opening reception and be added to the email list, click here.

*smooches...enriching your life because I can*
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now, push away from the computer and get yo' culture on!

Raquelita Ivelisse (Cascarita Bermudez) Penzo, Writer, Online

So okay, it's no secret to y'all who I am, especially because all 20 of my readers know me in real life. BUT it occurred to me that I am also in need of an author site. You do remember that I wrote a book right? RIGHT.

So here it is, my new website.

Add it to your RSS feed and share it with all your friends (especially if they're agents or publishers or big wigs at Conde Nast. Or Martha Stewart because I still totally want to meet her!).

But don't stop coming here; this is still the home of Jaded and all her rants, raves and ratchet likes and dislikes. Like, OMG did you see the Kardashians this past weekend? KOURTNEY HAD HER BABY!!! Also, I found this video:



See? Shenanigans still reign supreme over here. Now your Wednesday is complete!

Shout out to the homie Michelle for designing my kick-ass site. Go ahead and tell me how awesome it is in the comments. NOW!

*smooches...with new chapters and all that*
---------
and don't forget: The New School, tonight. COME OUT!

Come To The New School, Tomorrow Night.

Because I'm awesome, and your life will improve tenfold from being in my presence.

No, but for real, it's a cool event. Come on out!

*smooches...taking the Empire to the next level*
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will you be there to witness it?

How I Launched Latino Heritage Month

A bit ago, while I was in my feelings about the anniversary of my grandmother's passing, I wrote something very flippant about my Penzo grandmother. I don't regret it because it is how I genuinely feel; she and I don't have a real relationship. But I should never have disrespected her in that fashion. My family raised me better than that. GrandMami and Papi raised me better than that.

So last week, on the way home, I called my aunt to say I'd be stopping over on Saturday. I pulled myself out of bed, bought her some yellow roses (according to Mami they're the only acceptable flowers to bring someone) and spent a few hours chatting with her. I told her about K & N and my aunt and grandmother informed me that one of our ancestors was a stolen Indian (Native American) woman. Child. The more stories I hear about my ancestors the higher my mutt factor increases. I don't know if this was a true story or not, but I enjoyed hearing it. More puzzle pieces. Bigger puzzles.

I decided, this woman won't live much longer. She probably doesn't even remember treating me like a delicate flower to be kept at arms length instead of family. I might as well get to know her and learn my family history before it's too late. I know GrandMami would approve of me behaving like a respectful granddaughter, so I do this in her name. Saturday night I had a dream about her apartment again. It was like a message. Like, she's pleased with me.

Maybe next time she'll even stop through and give me a tight agua-florida-scented hug.



In other news, my cousin's youngest son...LAWDAMERCY. I've never wanted to shake a child more in my life. I had to WOOSAH so many times. I have never appreciated my children more...

*smooches...digging deeper to be and do better*
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honestly, it's the only way to honor those who sacrificed everything for me.

Exciting Empire-Like Things

As you saunter off into the weekend to enjoy the sunshine and bunnies and avocado masks (I honestly don't know what you people do), take these tiny morsels of goodness with you: The Jaded Empire has been hard at work and it's paying off!

First- I pitched, organized and booked a literary program at The New School in time for Latino Heritage Month. WHAAT WHAAAAAAT?!?!?! I KNOW!!!!

I'm moderating it, and the panelists I asked to join the panel will be discussing life as a working writer and the courage it takes to tell their stories. AND I PUT IT ALL TOGETHER!!!

Also, SO EXCITED that I'm probably going to get to meet Junot Diaz at The New Yorker Festival next month. WHOOP WHOOP!!!!

And I'm launching a new site next week. LAAAWWWWWWDDDDDDD what am I doing to my nerves?

Finally, I'm co-hosting a fitness event through Baobab Wellness and it will feel great to finally have another health & wellness shindig under my belt. This one has sponsors and everything. CHILD. I'm in the big leagues now!

What's new in your world?

*smooches...overwhelmed but in a good way*
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wait- is there even a good way in which to be overwhelmed? Whatever dawg...

Fall Reads

As seen on modernchairdesign.com

My Lovelies! The weather has turned and it's once again time to load up on hot beverages and carve out a comfy place to read. At least that's what's going on in Brooklyn. Either way, here are my suggestion for autumn reads that you cannot miss:

This Is How You Lose Her by Junot Diaz. He's a Pulitzer Prize-winning Dominican author; why wouldn't you automatically pick up any book that he wrote? It's a collection of stories about male infidelity, i.e., about Dominican men.

Blindness by Jose Saramago. Another Pulitzer Prize winner; the movie was pretty good so I'm very excited to crack open this book! A "white blindness" epidemic breaks out and those who are quarantined fall prey to a criminal element.

Come Together, Fall Apart by Cristina Henriquez. A random book of short stories I found at the library while looking for something else. The tale about the girl who goes to visit her grandparents because her parents are splitting up is my favorite.

The List by Siobhan Vivian. I just got this one from the library, too. At a random high school, an annual list of the prettiest and ugliest girls from each grade causes havoc. Yes, it's a young adult novel. SO?

Letting Go of the Person You Used to Be by Lama Surya Das. One of the books Kelly sent over (side note: how AWESOME is she to just mail off packages of free books? It was like Christmas in the summer!).

Darkness by Bharati Mukherjee. Another book of short stories (are you seeing a theme here?); Mukherjee is a great writer so I can recommend this without having read it.

The Creative Life by Julia Cameron. I'm always looking for writing inspiration and Julia Cameron never fails me.

A Wedding in Haiti by Julia Alvarez. Did you really think I'd have a reading list and not include Julia? Get real!

What You See in the Dark by Manuel Muñoz. I bought this book because the back cover read, "Desire turns deadly in Bakersfield, California, circa 1959, when a famous director arrives to scout a location for a film about murder and madness at a roadside motel." YES, PLEASE!

The Funeral Party by Ludmila Ulitskaya. Another gift from Kelly. It's a skinny book about a group of Russian immigrants at a memorial service in Manhattan. You know how I like that kind of stuff.

Those are my picks, or at least some of them. How about you-besides MY BOOK, what are you gearing up to read this fall?

*smooches...excited to dive into these other worlds*
---------
I'm aiming for a book a month or so. let's see how I do.

Insurance Won't Cover What I Need: A Healthy Jaded Post

Normally these updates deal with my fitness journey, include a photo of my ever-expanding jelly-belly and list whatever Challenge Of The Week I'm involved in to get a better body. Today, however, I'm discussing my journey to get right on the inside.

So we already know my uterus and surrounding lady parts are acting a fool (you can read about that here); it's annoying and sad and annoying. Yes, annoying TWICE. What's worse is that the alternative treatments I want and need (you know, as opposed to letting some butcher get all up in my nether parts and remove perfectly good organs) is not covered by insurance. Namely, the services of a naturopathic doctor.

In case you're not hip to the latest in new-agey lingo, the American Association of Naturopathic Physicians defines their beliefs and members as such:

"Naturopathic medicine is based on the belief that the human body has an innate healing ability. Naturopathic doctors (NDs) teach their patients to use diet, exercise, lifestyle changes and cutting edge natural therapies to enhance their bodies’ ability to ward off and combat disease."

This is right up my alley.

But when I finally found an ND that I thought would be perfect (given reviews, etc), I find out that she, and other NDs in New York, are not covered by medical insurance. BY LAW. Because they aren't allowed a medical license. What the fuck, Cuomo?? Why not?!?! (Click HERE to sign a petition to change all this.)

It was a setback I wasn't prepared for. I had to cancel the appointment I made because it was just too costly and sought out a highly-praised MD in Chinatown that boasts the use of "holistic treatments" for patients. Thankfully, after I found this magical Chinese doctor, the ND wrote me back and offered me a lower fee on a sliding scale. HOT DIGGITY DOG!! Clearly, there are still amazing and generous people in this world. This ND knows nothing about me except that some evil OB/GYN is threatening my uterus and she wants to help.

So now I have an appointment with the ND and then next month I see the MD. All three of us will come up with a comprehensive solution to this annoying (times three!) problem of mine...and then in ten years I can start enjoy (NOT) menopause in peace!

*smooches...learning more about red tape than I ever wanted to*
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thank goodness the issue isn't more serious...damn HMO!

Suicide Attempt #2

Originally posted elsewhere on July 14, 2009. So glad to not be in THIS PLACE anymore. Sometimes I read it to remind myself that things could be worse. For those of you who need it, get help wherever you can.
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"There's never been an endeavor so strange as trying to slow the blood in my veins..." -ani difranco, Studying Stones



We all get to that point. You know the one, where we perceive everything in our lives to be going to shit, that we're doing everything wrong, that there's hardly a reason to even get out of bed and breathe.

There's always that point. That crushing, suffocating point where you cannot see the forest for the trees, and the only solution that seems logical is to not be. To disappear and pray you're reincarnated as something that does not have feelings or rent or breasts.

I was there very recently.

Every solution I thought up to my myriad of problems seemed stupid and un-doable. Life became this super-gigantic chore that I hardly had the energy for. I laid on my couch listening to my stomach grumbling and refused to feed it. I had to pee, felt the pain of my bladder & kidneys SCREAMING for relief and I refused them. My lips were dry from thirst and I only eyed my water bottle with disdain.

I wanted to refuse my body every request it made of me, no matter how dire or necessary that request became, because I wanted it to stop feeling, stop doing, stop BEING.

Almost an entire day I spent like that, fighting natural instincts the human body had developed over centuries of evolution, hoping against hope (because I'm a closet scientist and I know for a fact this wasn't going to work) that I'd just die.

My head was throbbing, I was dizzy; my vertigo was kicking in big time for lack of food and water and relief and even the slightest movement was really at my own risk. Eventually I really felt as if I'd gone mad, and in only a few hours, too. I really began convincing myself that this was going to work, that I just wouldn't eat or drink or use the bathroom and before sunset it would all be over.

Then my eye caught sight of Grandma's picture, tacked to my bulletin board, looking back at me. All of a sudden I felt so ashamed and embarrassed that I would sully her name by leaving behind a messy house. Stupid, right? So I got up to clean but I was so dizzy I fell on my ass right back on the couch. The impact triggered my strong urge to urinate but I didn't want to ruin my sofa... my beloved sofa that I'd paid for with my own money. So I ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I let loose such a stream with an uncontrollable sigh of relief escaping from my lips.

And as I washed my hands afterward, nothing looked so inviting as the water pouring from my faucets. I wanted that water so bad that if I had to, I would have killed for it. So I drank it until I was gorged on tap water and some had threatened to come back up through my nose.

When I looked up into the mirror, my face... god my face was so sad. Just the saddest eyes and mouth I'd ever seen on another human being ever. I cried right there on the floor in front of the sink at this sad, sad girl I'd become. I didn't know this girl. This wasn't who I set out to be yet here I was: depressed & suicidal.

There were no pills in my cabinet and I dared not draw my own blood. My apartment is only on the second floor and traffic by me was not the kind one can get killed in. I wasn't even successful at death.

What was there to look forward to? More days like this? Unable to even take my own life? Failure upon failure upon failure?

But as my mind wandered, as my mind is wont to do, Sean Paul came on my iTunes and I thought, "I wonder if he'll sing song this at Wingate this summer?"

Isn't that always the way? Just a simple question that demands an answer... sometimes that's all it takes. That's all it took to get me off the floor and in front of a peanut butter & jelly sandwich and a tall glass of milk.

*smooches...in a much better place today*
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how are you all feeling today? everyone ok?



Suicide Attempt #2 by Raquel I. Penzo is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Love Song Shuffle Conspiracy To Evict My Neighbor

There are a disproportionate amount of lovey-dovey songs on my Spotify account, and it was never more evident to me than this weekend as I tried to rectify a bit of a Hoarders situation happening in my bedroom.

But it's OK that those songs played; Jaded NYers still believe in love. They especially LOVE to annoy their obnoxious neighbors by singing along to said love songs, too, even though they cannot carry a tune.











Yo, but peep my man Billy Ocean, though, looking like the guy that sells sugar cane at Church and Nostrand. "Suddenly" is my damn song, still. I played that one the most. "Never felt like this before..."

What love songs make you sing at octaves you're not really capable of singing? I'm actually interested in your response this time so don't let me down!

*smooches...enjoying the message in the music*
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and you don't even want to know what happens when the Buffy or Wicked soundtracks play. CHILD...

A Jaded Moment In History Presents: I'm A Native New Yorker

When I was little and locked in my ivory tower, my cousin Minnie and I would, on occasion, pass the time by putting on records and singing along as if we were the artists. I know, lots of kids did this, I'm sure, but we raised it to an art form.

We had dance routines. We had a highly rated variety show that even went so far as to break for commercial (READ: we pressed PAUSE on the tape deck).

One group we played a lot was Odyssey. We had lots of great albums at my grandparents' house and they were the bees' knees to us. More so because we played them at a higher speed than we were supposed to (think of your favorite songs sung by the chipmunks). Our favorite was "The Woman Behind the Man."


(I wish I could have found a sped-up version so you can get the full effect of our playtime shenanigans.)

I'm sad to report that the lead singer of Odyssey, Lillian Lopez, died on September 5. She never knew it, and maybe she knows it now if there's an afterlife, but she was a huge part of my childhood.

And she will always make me SUPER PROUD to be a Latina born in this great City in the 70s. Rest in peace, sister.



*smooches...sad to have lost another one*
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they're dropping like flies...my childhood idols are LEAVING ME!

What The Hell Is A Key Grip?

***This post was previously published on an old, discarded entertainment blog I used to have back in 2009. 

It's still interesting today.***

I'm one of those people who will sit in a theater after a film is over and read all the credits. And when I say ALL the credits I mean ALLLLLLLL the credits. As in sound engineer and property master and soundtrack listing credits. That's right... that person you always see not budging an inch while everyone scurries out of the theater is probably me, curious as to who the 2nd assistant director was.

Don't even get me started on the gift from heaven that is the Internet Movie Database (IMDb); when that website came into my life I honestly found a reason to live. It's like a movie-credit-junkie's wet dream... all those facts and quotes and trivia and CREDITS... ahhhhhh... I think I just jizzed in my pants at the thought of it all.

But I have to admit, as much as I get off knowing that Soldier on the Beach #4 in Saving Private Ryan was Shane Johnson (Jeremy from the 2002 film Pumpkin) I cannot tell you what some of those production jobs in the credits even mean.

The magic of the Google, however, came in very much handy, though, and after typing in "What does a best boy do in a film?" I found oh so many articles on the subject, and now consider myself a film production expert.

And fret not, young grasshopper- I won't keep the information to myself; what would be the fun in that?

According to a post on ProVideo Coalition by Matthew Jeppson & Kendal Miller, here are the job descriptions to some of the more puzzling gigs listed in movie credits:

>>Key Grip
The key grip works with the gaffer in setting and cutting lights to creating shadow effects for the set lighting and supervises camera cranes, dollies, platforms, and “wild wall� movements according to the DP. Specific duties will include:
* Creating shadow effects
* Supervising dollie, crane, and other camera movement
* Maintenance and management of grip equipment

>>Gaffer
Also sometimes called the lighting designer, the gaffer is the chief electrician who supervises set lighting in accordance with the requirements of the DP. Specific duties will include:
* Lighting of sets and locations
* Maintenance and management of lights and lighting equipment
* Specialized electrical work such as generator operation

>>Foley Artist
The foley artist creates sound effects to accompany specific visual objects, movements, and sound sources, such as footsteps or punches. Specific duties will include:
* Generating and recording sounds to accompany specific on-screen sound sources.

Interesting shit, right? I used to think these were all so mysterious and, frankly, quite a load of bullshit that made movie tickets that much more expensive, but when you read all of the descriptions you have to admit- a lot goes into making even the tiniest of independent films. A lot.

So don't you think at the very least you can sit in the theater and read the names of all the people that worked hard to entertain you? Especially the dude who worked hard to design the titles... he chose that font just for you.

*To read the article in its entirety, click here.

Lyrics To Love: The Fear By Lily Allen

I want to be rich and I want lots of money
I don't care about clever I don't care about funny
I want loads of clothes and fuckloads of diamonds
I heard people die while they are trying to find them

And I'll take my clothes off and it will be shameless
'Cuz everyone knows that's how you get famous
I'll look at the sun and I'll look in the mirror
I'm on the right track, yeah I'm on to a winner

[Chorus]
I don't know what's right and what's real anymore
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear?
'Cuz I'm being taken over by the Fear

Life's about film stars and less about mothers
It's all about fast cars and cussing each other
But it doesn't matter cause I'm packing plastic
And that's what makes my life so fucking fantastic

And I am a weapon of massive consumption
And its not my fault it's how I'm programmed to function
I'll look at the sun and I'll look in the mirror
I'm on the right track, yeah we're on to a winner

[Chorus]

Forget about guns and forget ammunition
'Cuz I'm killing them all on my own little mission
Now I'm not a saint but I'm not a sinner
Now everything is cool as long as I'm getting thinner

[Chorus]

*smooches...white-girl-dancing in my living room*
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an "oldie" but goodie. her cheekiness is what makes me love her so.

Mari Speaks On...

...her beau, Yankee shortstop Derek Jeter, and his sexual orientation.

ME: He's gay? How is he gay?

MARI: How is he gay? I don't know! He likes men!

*smooches...still recuperating from my long weekend*
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this girl is CRAZY. she really is.

Why Monday's Post Was Late

I was keeping a promise to myself: Living more than blogging.

The First Borns + The Little Sisters

Hope your holiday was as great as mine!

*smooches...making memories with the people I love*
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so tell me, how many casualties were there on the Parkway this year?

Jaded Photographs: September 2012 Edition

"Check Their Pedigree"

*smooches...raising the bougiest poor kids you'll ever meet*
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and we're proud of it, too