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A Slightly Scary Story.

Sometimes in this life I find myself somewhere — stepping into new territory either mentally or physically — and it feels as though I’m slowly emerging from a haze of anesthesia. Everything feels cloudy, surreal, like it can’t really be happening. Read the rest of this gem…

Local Travel: When Government Mistakes Become Tourist Attractions.

Coarse brush and scraggly trees cleave deep roots into shallow soil and hunks of stone, breaking apart with slow determination the very lifeblood they need to survive. The lawn is maintained, for all intents and purposes, where no lawn should grow, and strangely verdant vines drape over the walls of the fortification, attempting to either touch its toes or swallow it whole. Read the rest of this gem…

Arlington, VA: A Gateway To (And Getaway From) D.C.

Spring is the best time of year because it holds the promise of a long, luxurious summer and it’s still possible for me to walk outside without immediately forming a sweat ‘stache. The days start getting longer, the birds start chirping sweetly, and suddenly that motivation I’d been missing all winter because I was busy being SAD attacks with renewed zest. Read the rest of this gem…

To WIT.

The city appeared newer than I’d expected.

Sodden and gray in its refusal to quit winter, I thought most of Boston’s buildings might be brick and colonial — not sleek and concrete. But modern monstrosities dwarf the stunted historicals as towering testaments to the industrial age. And somehow, interestingly, it works. Read the rest of this gem…

My Perfect Road Trip Bag and A Giveaway!

I’m not sure if you know this about me, but I’m not really a joiner.

Like, I enjoy the company of humans and socializing with like-minded people (or open, un-like-minded people) over unprocessed nibblies and the warm buzz of alcohol, but when someone tries to add an element of organization to the gathering, I get all sweaty and uncomfortable. Read the rest of this gem…

Home Away From Home: My Little Florence Apartment.

The plaster of the walls was cracked, and the stairs, though cement, felt ancient beneath my boots. I’d managed to find the switch for the stairwell’s light and crept hastily past the door at the bottom, which was now slightly ajar to reveal the nighttime blackness of the building’s crumbling bowels. Had that been open when I left? Read the rest of this gem…