Hello girlies, what can you do for me?

If you're not some kind of wacko ski fanatic, don't go to Whistler. Especially if it's summer. Goodness gracious it was a tad dull, even with a large snowy glacier to climb up (which I did. all the way to the "saddle"). But I'd much rather go to a regional in Vancouver, and go to Bard shows... over and over... and eat caremal corn and drink sobes. Ah yes... just one of my little heavens on earth. But getting back to the trip, I think the best part was the last night, when I played a strange variant of tag in a big pool with a bunch of girls. One might think that sentiment is a mite pathologically lecherous, but then again, maybe it is. All I know is, it was muy divertido. The only bad thing was, some of them were a little inarticulate, and when I made up for that with my dictional ostentation, they supposed I was gay. Naturally I vociferously refuted the scurrilous hypothesis many times before the pool closed. I hope I got through to them. If not, no me importa.

I hope I can learn enough French to actually know the damn verb-forms. I am ignorant of the little buggers as of yet. I'll get them... they'll see.

But tally-ho! It's time to go. Goodbye you ingrate loon(s).