Naughty by nature, not cause I hate ya

I don't really remember when I acquired the shirt.

I want to say it was in 1995 and I think I accidentally stole it from my best friend growing up, Travis Castleman, who is now married and the proud father of two.

As for me, no kids yet. I just brag about shirts that have been in the rotation for more than 17 years.

This was the scene on Saturday before a boat trip to Jost with Capt. Morgan and Ms. Carrie. Surrounded by beautiful women is just half of what I adore living on these fine islands.

I also love it when my continental friends send me photos and messages that bring me back to the States. It happened early Saturday as I was buying cheap beer and beef jerky at a neighborhood grocery store.

My good friends Dana and Doug, their daughter Kate, and Dana's father (who is one of the best hikers on the trail these days), who goes by the name Baltimore Bob, send me this photo while they were driving to a family retreat for the weekend.

Anything associated with a family retreat brings me joy. When you throw in some hard-core rappers from the 1990's, it just makes my day...

I immediately put on my favorite shirt. They had inspired me. Via facebook.

Who doesn't like Naughty By Nature? Everyone with their hands raised, please stop reading now and log on to weirdo.com. Never heard of them -- I do have some late bloomers reading these days -- then go ahead and get your google on.

My friend, the Hersh, told me they performed at the BVI Music Festival earlier this month. And I wasn't there? For shame.

OK. Kind of forgot what I was writing about or the point I was trying to make. But please take this away: I love my friends, they literally dictate my fashion choices for the day and I'm down with O.P.P. Yeah, you know me.

Iced, Iced, Baby

I was cranking hard on some Ice, Ice, Baby on the way to work today and as a standard on St. Thomas, the island locals gave me the "crazy white boy stare."

Then I saw a girl I knew walking along the road, pulled over to give her a lift and quickly turned down the volume as to disguise my inept musical taste.

She got in the car and smelled like a brewery. As a standard on St. Thomas, she had been out late the night before and passed out at somebody's house.

I dropped her off but the sassy sounds of Vanilla Ice were still in my head. Then I came across this little picture.

Urban Dictionary defines the verb getting iced as the act of drinking a Smirnoff Ice on one knee as fast as you can, following the presentation of the 'ice' in a clever manner.

I think the first time I saw someone get iced was in college but on the islands, it's actually making a steady comeback. Just like drinking Jager. Sure, we poured that crap down our throats with little remorse at the university then we shunned it forever, right?

Not on St. Thomas.

Maybe it has something to do with the sailing but Jager is a go-to poison at the local bars.

Anyway, back to getting iced. That photo was taken moments after my friend Carrie strategically placed a Smirnoff Ice inside a cooler and asked me to grab it right before a boat trip. While captain Morgan fueled up the Black Pearl, I took a knee and reluctantly paid homage to the Smirnoff gods.

Remember back in the day when you drank Zimas with Jolly Ranchers inside them? No, you don't remember that? Well, I guess my childhood was more messed up than yours.

* * *

So I was sitting inside The Rock and working out a algebra formula on a cocktail napkin. I asked my amazing neighbor Emily to let my dogs out so they could pee and so I could keep wasting time in bars.

I asked Mr. Goldman how many bottles of wine I should get her for all the times she has let my dogs out. He started to formulate the equation and I immediately lost interest and watched Linsanity on TV instead. Not sure what he came up but that's not why I have him on the payroll.

Moments later, a phone call came in and Mr. Goldman sprung to life.

"As your attorney, I advise you to buy some beer, hop in my car and drive with me to Neltjeberg for a bonfire. This needs to happen right now."

I always take the advise of a trained lawyer. Before we knew it, we had three Spring Break girls in the back seat and we're headed to the north side. Before we hit the climb, we stopped at Race Track gas station (every gas station on this island sells booze) and I pulled out my credit card.

"What? 12 dollars for a six-pack of Smirnoff?" I barked at the gas attendant. "That's more than my 12-pack of beer. This is highway robbery. I'll get you for this."

The gas attendant was not scared and even snickered when he swiped my credit card. I tried to ice his ass but I didn't want to waste the two bucks.

When we got to the bonfire, a girl that was already there tricked her friend and coincidentally iced her hard. It was kind of hilarious. Then I remembered what was inside our booze bag and was instantly embarrassed. I quickly handed the bag to the Spring Breakers and ran toward the beach.

You can't get iced while in the water. Can you? Where's Vanilla Ice when you need him most? I subscribe to him on Facebook. I wonder if he likes Smirnoff Ice?