Dear Kinsale...

"I hated chairs."
"Chairs?"
"And MASH."
Wait, did you say Cheers?"
"And Two and a Half Men."
"Now wait just a minute. You can't hold that against us."

The man who started this incredibly deep conversation was sucking on a lollipop, so I knew it wasn't going to get much better. Gienna and I had ducked into a bar downtown and found ourselves in hostile territory. I shit you not, the bartender gave us our beers and then removed himself from the bar, hiding behind a half door. I get the distinct feeling Kinsalians do not like Americans very much. Or maybe they save their smiles for summer tourists.

"What are you writing about?" asked Gienna just now.
"I'm writing about how people in Kinsale hated us."
"But we totally won them over," she said. "I smiled aggressively at the men on the street. They smiled back."
"I think they grimaced."

So, miracle of miracles, the sun came out today. And I did something I swore I wouldn't do--I kissed the Blarney Stone. And I fucking hate heights. Unpleasant.

Colors!

Blossoms!

Fifteenth century graffiti is fascinating. 

I wish I could have bought one for each of you.

I won't lie--Gienna and I are feeling preeeetty strong these days.



Fantastic jewelry shop that I could have spent days in: Stone Mad Gallery. A couple of my
friends would love this place--I'm looking at you, Robin and Noelle.



Cha-ching! Mama's got a couple new rings...