<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Gothchick on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/gothchick/</link><description>Recent content in Gothchick on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Fri, 15 Jul 2016 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/tags/gothchick/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Black Saturday</title><link>/stories/2016/07/15/black-saturday/</link><pubDate>Fri, 15 Jul 2016 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2016/07/15/black-saturday/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Black Saturday&lt;/strong&gt; (or an adventure of the guy who likes dressing like a Goth Girl)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;So, let’s talk about Saturday night. Actually, this starts a little sooner than that. On Sunday last week, my wife found out that her Godfather had passed away and was on her way to Dayton, Ohio starting Wednesday to Sunday night. My daughter was to go to a sleepover birthday party on Saturday night and so, I had the house to myself. I thought this might be one of the rare times that my alter ego Elizabeth would get to come out without anyone knowing.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>