My glorious three-day weekend was a lovely mixture of alcoholism, fitness and relaxation. I have been eating so unhealthily these past few days that I hadn’t intended to drink on Thursday, but decided to hang out with some old classmates. And a bottle of Chef’s homemade wine.

 

Anyway, two hours later I’m at The Ship, except I could be on the moon for all it matters because I don’t remember anything. I was perfectly aware and capable of conversation at Caper’s house, but by the time I got downtown…messy. I spent at least 30 minutes fumbling for a coat check tag, when Caper approaches me and says, “Your coat is on the table, there’s no coat check here.” Awesome.

 

So Ani’s friends brought me home and I stood outside my door for another 30 minutes looking for my keys while they waited in the car. I barely know these guys. I’m a moron. Finally, I ended up crashing on Ani’s couch complaining about how my eyeballs were gonna rot out of my head because I’m not supposed to wear my contacts for more than eight hours (as opposed to 16). However, I was treated to an excellent breakfast the next morning. Bacon on Good Friday, I am such a heathen.

 

On Saturday, the sun decided to grace us with its presence, so the roomies and I headed out on an incredible four hour trek around Signal Hill and the surrounding area. I’ve lived here for five years, and have never hiked Signal Hill. Wtf. I love how we literally had to walk through peoples’ backyards to reach the trail, including one entry point that crossed someone’s personal patio. The trail is an incredibly intense path around the cliffs of the Cabot Tower with wide views of the city, ocean, and Cape Spear. At one point, the trail gets so narrow that you have to grasp a chain anchored to the rock-face to keep from plunging into the frigid water several metres below.

 

By the time we reached Cabot Tower, I wanted to collapse into a sweaty heap and cry (despite the promise of icebergs). But Chef and TOR wanted to trudge on to reach an incredibly steep, MASSIVE hill on the other side of the tower. I mean HUGE…I didn’t even know it was accessible to the public, but we would definitely claim the best berg views from that spot. So I cried a little and followed them.

 

We were clearly in no-man’s land, we had the whole area to ourselves (and maybe one or two other hikers). As we approached the cliff I looked up and swore under my breath, because sweet jesus it was intimidating. The only leverage we had was a single rope anchored to two trees, but I decided to suck it up and follow behind. I’m glad I did…when we reached the top we had the most amazing, expansive views of the entire city and the world beyond. We sat down on some rocks among the harsh Newfoundland shrubbery and took in the bergs floating among the ice, and I think we found the quietest place in the city. So worth it…the wind, the runny noses, the shrubs scratching our legs…all worth it. We treated ourselves to some Moo-Moo’s ice-cream afterwards, a perfect finale to the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last night, I went out with the gang and finally reached a good, balanced level of drunkness. I believe Miller Lite has solved all my problems…thank you, Molson. I went dancing downtown, and didn’t even black out or disgrace myself. The following picture suggest otherwise, but I assure you I was very composed and wonderful. And also very bitchy as I danced with a guy all night who wouldn’t stop twirling me or telling me how hot I am, but really I just wanted to amuse my friends who were laughing in the corner. After pounding back three warm White Russians in 30 minutes, I was feeling pretty good. We were all on a mission to creep people out, and I do believe the winner was Chef.

 

Going to hell in a hand basket.

 

 

Proof I am not a complete mess/troll all the time.

 

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