Oh week 7. It feels more like 17 at this point and my patience is wearing thin. I went to Kingston's local pub on Friday night. That was interesting. The chicken fingers were above average - fries were of the McCain crinkle cut variety, but I ain't complainin'. The bartender gave me a double. Considering I was the only one there with a full set of teeth it may have been a 'sex me' move but I'm pretty sure it was out of pity. None the less, I mixed it with the Delotted and felt pretty darn good. I dig country livin don't get me wrong. It was almost charming. I would have realllllly had a good time with a couple more pity doubles but I didn't want to embarrass myself. The entire city of Saint John may know of my antics, but I figure why ruin my 'classy city girl' image for the country folk? (Plus, the bartender had a mullet) Somewhere in between"God Bless Texas" and the 15 year old romeo offering me a smoke I decided it was time to call er a night. Dad drove me home. Awesome.