Written on May 25, 2015 at St. John's Airport, in St. John's Airport:
I am in an international airport.
I don't know if all British guys sound like assholes when they speak to their beautiful Asian girlfriends, or if it's just this guy.
Myself, I'm not speaking to my own girlfriend (fiance. She's on the paperwork now) for the time-being.
It's everyone's entertainment for themselves at the airport, that's what I always say.
I also always say that - oh! I have electrical tape on me. That's been there for hours.
Anyway, I met our Rose of Tralee contestant for Eastern Canada just now.
Her chaperone introduced me after engaging me to mention that she reads my Downhome ramblings. Before I get started, I should really mention that the chaperone was very sweet and a true fan, so if she happens upon this post (Hi Cindy!), I don't want her to think I'm shitting on herself, the contestant, or the Rose of Tralee event.
She is on the same flight as us, which is wild. We got a picture together (on her phone).
She's representing us among a brigade of Irish-background young ladies. The pageant's not about looks, and it's not about talent and it's not a pageant. Since learning this, Andie and I have been trying to deduce what it is about, exactly.
What's important is that Ireland is being honored, and these young women have the opportunity to enjoy their first sexual experiences.
Overseas!
I hope to do the same once we reach Ireland, which should be about six hours from now.
Wow, these chicks are either drunk or really immature (not the Rose or her chaperones; some other women).
I miss when wet floor signs signified something.
Remember when seeing a wet floor sign meant that the floor was wet?
Days gone by. Now, wet floor signs are just placed in a specific spot by a businesses's lawyer and left there. He then drafts a document explaining that the floor will be wet sometimes, as noted by the sign, and they are not liable if you otherwise trip over it.
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