My friends are reading this and going, “Wait, she’s not referring me, is she?” All except one. That friend is nodding smugly.
I’m going to lure you with this innocent picture of Coco into a deranged and diagnosable seven-minute span of my day. Let’s do this.
The pins I stick in a map of where I have traveled are starting to look like a severe case of acne.
It is yet again that time of year, I just realized. Which could explain why I feel like I just guzzled a pitcher of fire.
If you can’t say, “Hairy vaginas,” well then fuck ‘em.
Touching base as I recover from one of the worse cases of jet lag I’ve ever experienced.
What I hope will become an annual trek to the Northwoods of Wisconsin.
So far Leta has caught four fish, and Marlo has almost dumped the bait into the lake twice that number.
“Stilettos and broken bottles, I’m spinning around in circles…”
“I know that I belong to a small, eclectic community of men and women where status is calibrated precisely as a function of one’s ability to endure.”