Category: Travel
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Survival Instinct on I-86
“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.” ― Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis Three-hundred fifty-six miles away, somewhere in the armpit of the Hudson Valley – more like a rat-hole, a stagnating dumpster on the edge of a bog – I’ve found myself…
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Couch Surfin’ All Over the World: Part Three
I’m driving around the airport in circles. Harry’s plane just landed at noon. He will be emerging outside at the Arrivals area any minute now. The weather is a perfect Buffalonian 22 degrees and dropping, with delicate snowflakes fluttering around peacefully. I hope he brought a coat. After my third lap down Genesee Street and…
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Couch Surfin’ All Over the World: Part Two
38,000 feet and landing in the bright blue sky. We’ve begun our steady descent. It looks normal enough, landing in Cancun, and I figure I’ll be in time for Thanksgiving dinner with Harold, somewhere rustic, street food with lime in the moonlight. Depressingly, after power-walking while applying lip gloss thinking I’m about to collect my…
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Couch Surfin’ All Over the World
Halloween’s ghosts have risen from the ashes to walk the streets again, visiting friends, relatives – maybe even you. Their old haunts may look a little different now – what was once a brothel, say, is now Popeye’s Louisiana Kitchen – but ghosts have a knowing sense of direction. They can find their way around.…
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Please, Stand By
Christmas Eve 2020 It hasn’t been 24 hours yet so it’s still ok for me to be fuming because once midnight hits and the ghost of Jacob Marley arrives in my boudoir along with the ghosts of however many other ex fling-a-boo’s, I have to be ready. Prepared. Armed to the teeth. It’s been four…
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Always a Side, Never a Bride
Jeremy the wine clerk won me over for the simple fact that I can’t “Just Say No” to a Gen X-er who looks like he fronted a 90’s band like Fuel or Bush. In fact, Jeremy plays guitar. I saw him working at the wine store last week and commented that I had never…
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Abducted in Poughkeepsie
“Gibson Mcaskill and Crosby, LLP,” I recite the law firm name painted on a brick wall behind me, in the tone of voice an anchor girl would use before removing her top. “You’re beautiful,” shouts a man from parts unknown. “Cut,” says Pete. He lowers the camcorder. “That was really good.” “Now what?” Randy says.…
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Lifestyles of the Rich and the Homeless
Oh, to be nice. Isn’t it so rare? Nice, nice, nice. Nice guys finish last. Well, that’s a good thing. Nice guys make sure their ladies come first. NICE! What I really need is a nice man. Someone who considers my feelings. Pete seems like he can keep up. Plus, he makes me laugh. He…
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The Sunshine State Affair
I’m down in the outskirts of Tampa, FL visiting Cousin Phil, and also his friend Blaine Templeton with whom I’ve corresponded a year. I was supposed to meet “Blaine” when I visited Phil last February. But apparently, Blaine got caught up in some sort of bender three hours away, and wasn’t around. I seized Cousin…
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The Slut Diaries: Part I
There’s playing with fire and getting burned, and then there’s dousing yourself in lighter fluid and going full-on Richard Pryor. Ever since the emotionally-abusive cycle with Billy ended, after he spazzed off on me in a jealous rage and things went totally caput, I’ve propelled myself into a Sluttylicious Spree of epic proportions, with party…
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