Welcome Back, Bitches

Let the blogging recommence!!! I have returned from the USofA, prepared to attack my final two months in the land of the plunging necklines with renewed vigor. Well, that and finish off the application process, but you get the idea. You will be happy to know that I have concluded the initial stages of med school application, the effects of which will no doubt be made apparent by my inconsistent punctuation: namely, I may end a sentence with either one or two spaces after a period. In strenuously paring down my application's essay materials, I learned that one space is just as correct as is two; the old standard was rendered irrelevant with the dismissal of the typewriter. But I digress. Oh! didn't see that coming did you!?
Anyway, I will keep this second inaugural address fairly short, and give you a brief recap of the not-so-brief trip from Logan airport to Melbourne, TLOTPN. First of all, I was neatly snuggled next to Johannas, a portly airship mechanic from Orlando. On my right was a 250 pound hasidic jew whose beard nearly spilled into my aisle. While his beard did not quite infiltrate my bubble, his aroma surely did. Fantastic. When the lovely flight attendant came 'round to take drink orders, and my eastern partner was bequeathed a glass of manischewitz, I politely requested a decant of formaldehyde to kill my nasal epithelium. Alright, I shouldn't be so hard on the guy, he did offer me a handful of cashews. He must have recognized my nose-of-Jacob. Besides, after the 20 hours spent flying just to land in Sydney, I realized part of the unsavory odor I was picking up was from myself. Understandable. So now I'm sweating through my new Samoan rugby jersey (thanks, Colin), and wonder to myself if this is what a sweaty Samoan rugby player smells like. I guess yes. I then head for the nearest duty free shop to cleanse myself using the bathing methods of a french whore.
Now I know the following may be deemed "too much information," and I know I have "close friends" and "family" reading this blog, but I feel it must be shared, if for no other reason than for someone to tell me that it's not normal and that I should probably have it looked at. Anyway, I think it has something to do with the changing pressure with altitude, and its corresponding effect on blood pressure, but without fail, no matter how homely the flight attendants may be (and in this case, I would describe them as a poor man's joan rivers), every time my plane descends and lands, I end up with a massive erection. Fortunately I had much carry-on baggage I could use for slight-of-hand (and by that I mean covering myself, you sick vultures), but I really wonder if I can be cured. Either way, it might be a risk-free version of viagra. That is, unless you are poisoned by airplane food.
I am getting bored with you so I will wrap this up. Since TLOTPN is an island, they want to keep their pristine little country free from "contaminants" like foreign egg products, frogs, and rabies. So they have adorable little beagles all through customs to sniff for intruders. At this point in my day, I wonder if my canine compatriot is the one who busted Sly Stallone for steroids upon his arrival down under. If it is, I should probably be careful: as evidenced by my severe B.O. and erections, I most likely have an obscene amount of testosterone oozing out of me, hopefully Rover doesn't mistake it for illegal performance enhancing drugs. And hopefully it doesn't cause me to turn into a monosyllabic washed up actor.