He made reservations in a very expensive restaurant in the five star hotel district in town. I bought a necklace and underwear that matched the necklace. I thought about how tall he was, and the way he talked, and how nice it would be, with an American again. I thought about his big ass house and his big ass TV and his car and walking around in his t-shirt telling him to come back to bed.
The map strikes again! The "ski" trail was directed onto ploughed and gravelled roads. No chance of the skis or the pulka sliding on that. After some cryptic directions from a local with a heavy accent, we headed off vaguely in the wrong direction . . . .
You can be sure of seeing me in Paris. Sitting in a bar as far away as possible from a noisy machine which takes money from those foolish enough to gamble. I would be drinking coffee, or cognac, or both. As you entered I would look up, and, catching your eye, quickly look away.
The Casey/Colette dinners were a look into a world where seemingly everyone had significant restrictions and scruples: vegan, lacto- or gluten-intolerant, Kosher, a raw diet, or something called paleo.
One neighbour told us that another neighbour would quickly drown any kittens she found if they were small enough, or, if they were too big, would walk around dropping them one by one into other people's gardens.
It’s a man thing. There are so many man things. Ball scratching, scab picking, fire starting, dignity demolishing: these are not the things she means. The man things she means have to do with the gut. The beer and the pepperoni in the gut. The gut over the pants with the beer and the pepperoni inside. The man behind the gut . . . .
An introduction to cave diving, gear, safety, and destinations from an active diver.
I adopted a slightly different mindset for the race. Rather than assume my typical position somewhere near the middle to back of the field at the start and then work my way towards my general pacing group, I elected to start near the front with fellow club runner Wendy Shaw. It was Wendy’s idea to go for a fast, not quite suicidal, but comfortably quick pace, and we set off near the front of the field.
When I was seventeen, I decided that for no good reason and with no friend's on the way, I was going to hitchhike across the United States of America from Connecticut to California, in the middle of winter.