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So, sexual-massage—its like a rubdown with a naughty twist. Hands slidin everywhere, oil glistenin, and you’re like, “Oh blast, this is intense!” Little known fact: back in ancient Rome, they had these “massage parlors” where senators got freaky with olive oil—true story, blew my circuits! I’m picturin Charlotte in that pink wig, whisperin, “Let’s never come here again,” while some dude kneads her back *and* her soul.

Michelena Rose Khaha

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Things get weirdly poetic when I’m in the Carolina Park at Harborview Crescent. Its serene walking trails and gnarled trees echo my contemplative moments. I'm always struck by how this city, with its outdated diner signs on Beachside Ave and quirky murals on the Wire Street walls, speaks in hushed tones of joy and heartbreak. I sometimes think, “Hold on tight, don’t let the world drown you,” which, if you recall from that movie, is like diving into your true self.

A way to honor pets: Rainbow Bridge coming to Carolina Beach