Anyway, who lives a rich and beautiful life that I know? It's no longer possible, surely, for anyone who works for a living, or lives in a city, or shops in a supermarket, or watches TV, or reads a newspaper, or drives a car, or eats frozen pizzas. A nice life, possibly, with a huge slice of luck and a little spare cash. And maybe even a good life if... Well, let's not go into all that. But rich and beautiful lives seem to be a discontinued line.
The story we hear over and over again is: Boy in science class, very nice to the girl, says, "Please come to our party on Saturday night." She, of course, shows up. He hands her two, three, four, five drinks. She becomes so inebriated he says, "You can sleep it off in my room. It'll be safe." Or, "I'll walk you home." It's all premeditated with the intention of having sex with that woman without her consent when she's passed out. It's a huge issue.
One aspect of our site that I really appreciate is how I put up as much information as I've been able to keep track of: dates, the venue, the city, the country, the number of people there, the door price, opening bands, that sort of thing. One of the very first comments we had was from a guy who said, "By the way, the opening band in Albany in 1993 was not the Very Nice Neighbors, it was the Very Pleasant Neighbors." That brought a great joy to me.
He turned, throwing over hi shoulder, ”And if he growls at you, even once, he’s out. He looks wild.” I am, Riley snapped inside her head. Do not laugh, she thought to herself. Her dad paused at the door. “Where does it stay while you’re at school?” It. Nice. “Outside.” “You could be inviting flees into our home, Mary Ann.” No. Laughing. “He’s clean, Dad. I swear. But if I spot a single little bug, I’ll bathe him.” That could prove interesting, Riley said.