Three Shirts DO NOT Equal One Bra

Alright, back to the task at hand. I began sharing the horrors of the hotel situation down here in O-dot, but had to run screaming from the bugs.
Bugs.
So to recap, the shit-ass room we originally had we vacated. Quick.
Picture this: two tired as girls with suitcases on wheels roaming the streets for another hotel. At 11 pm. In Ottawa. Thankfully the lovely Holiday Inn was willing to take in these two strangers, and actually it seems that they are NO strangers to the horrors of the Embassy Hotel. Seriously people? DO. NOT. STAY. THERE.
We'd like to give props to the Con-Con man, otherwise known as Conor the night desk clerk. He set us up good and proper. After falling in love with the new room and gorging our tired asses on a vending machine dinner, we slept beautifully. Note: French Onion Sun Chips? ARE a meal.
Besides the aforementioned insect attack and the two new blisters between my toes - who knew THAT could happen?? - we've had a blast.

This city? Is CHILL.

Only one problem. Ottawa seems to definetly enforce a "no bra - total service" motto. The amount of free swinging girls around here is frightening. It would be ok (I guess, although it makes me feel violent) having a size 00 body and being 6 ft tall with tiny little appley boobs but the ones I see are attacking each other, and possibly anyone standing within three feet. I know gravity is a bitch, but cmon. Three shirts DO NOT equal one bra. Not now, not ever.

On a finer note... or less fleshy... I ate a beaver tail yesterday. SO BAD for you. SO loverly. Fried dough, chocolate spread...heaven. Who can't love a city whose famous for such a caloric treat?

Viva l' Ottawa!!