I almost hulked out of my shirt*

        Just when I thought I couldn't get any more awesome, it happened.  A bunch of my fool friends drove to Vancouver, B.C. on Friday evening for a bachelorette weekend.   I needed a night to decompress because my parents and brother stayed with me last weekend,  and then I flew to the Tri-Cities for work on Thursday.  I was busy okay?  You don't know me.

My Bro and the late great Dave Niehaus (obvi.)

        One of the girls took the Bolt Bus up to Vancouver on Saturday morning, but as one of the surgeons I work with said when I mentioned I was considering joining her, "You don't take the bus."  Duh.  What was I thinking?  We all know the bus is for poor people and hippies.  You should never take the bus unless you are on tour, and your face is on the side of it.

This is an F650 (which I didn't even know existed.)  It is roughly the size of a bus, but is not for poor people or hippies.

        I considered the train.  I do enjoy a good train ride (as long as it's in business class-obvi.)  Then the train got sold out!  BLERG.  Wait for it...this is the part where I get even more awesome.  I frickin' booked a flight on Alaska Air and flew to Canada!  Boom.  It was pretty fancy- and you guys know how I like to be fancy.  The best part is, I also got to take a train.  It went straight from the airport to our hotel.  Nailed it.  

YVR to Vancouver City Center

        I got to our hotel, and changed into my running clothes.  My running buddy and bride to be, Katie, and I took a great spin around Stanley Park- one of my all time favorite runs! It was so beautiful outside, and I was really thankful that I was able to enjoy such fabulous scenery with a good friend.  

Try and tell me this doesn't make you want to lace up your running shoes!

And then we took the next logical step...

Pick your own mustache wine charm- perfect.

        There were mimosas.  There was shopping.  There was food.  It was amaze-balls.

Remember Roots?  It is heaven for people who love sweatshirts and the maple leaf.

        Oh, and there were lumberjacks, but this shouldn't surprise you.  It's Canada.  That's where lumberjacks come from.

Do you see the flannel in the background here? It happened.

       Back to the food.  We ate at a delish Lebanese restaurant called Nuba.  I was a little nervous because there were things on the menu like taboulleh salad and vegan stew.  However the prosecco was flowing,  and the hummus was smooth.  Yum.

Did I mention the prosecco was flowing?

        As per usual, the things I love about Canada stand.  My top two would be that I never worry about getting murdered while I am there, and it doesn't smell like pee.

Two things I don't love:

 1.) Roaming cell phone service makes it hard to keep a group of ten together.

 2.) Middle aged soccer moms who cut you off with no signal and then flip you off (with their kids in   the back seat) when you honk. 

        Rude.  Someone may or may not have shouted, "F@#$ you! We're from America!" in response, but said soccer mom couldn't hear the retort.  Even if she could have heard it, she was too busy trying to kill us with her mind as she zoomed past us at the stop light for these words of wisdom to have made any impact.  Really, it was probably too sophisticated of a statement for her to handle, so it's better she concentrated on giving us the super evil eye as opposed to, you know, concentrating on the ROAD.  Fools exist in every country.  Let that be a lesson to you.  If you have to be outside your motherland, make sure to travel with the fools you love. 

       Also, for the record, only a really good friend would acquiesce to a bride's request for "mug shots" to be taken the morning after a late night on the town.  Come to think of it, I am friends with some serious weirdos.  Yeah, yeah, takes one to know one. You don't have to remind me.

 Hate it.

* The title of this blog is related to a conversation regarding what my super power would be if I could have any super power.  I would have a button that I could push and instantly be 2,000 pounds.  I would stay exactly  the same size, but just be incredibly dense.  I was  trying to explain this highly desirable super power to my dining companions, and demonstrated the face I would make once I pushed my instant 2,000 pounds on.  I was all, "Raaaawr."  Someone who missed my demonstration asked what the other girls were laughing at, so I explained, "I almost hulked out of my shirt just now." I am a supreme weirdo; I know this.

     

     

     

       

     

     

I'll Never Grow Up!

        If there's one thing I've learned about drinking vodka sodas on a Saturday from approximately 1pm - 10pm, it's this:  it will ruin your diet and your Sunday.  I don't think there is any need to elaborate.


        Just kidding! Why would I have a blog if I didn't want to elaborate on completely useless, self-deprecating topics?

It started with class- business class.

        Let me tell you, my friends.  If you take a train from Seattle to Portland- which you should- you must take business class. (Confession: as I was editing this post, I realized I had written 'you must take the business class' which is not classy at all.  It's akin to announcing you're going to the Wal-Mart.) The obvious reasons being that you don't have to mingle with the commoners prior to boarding (or at all,) and they give you a voucher for the dining car.  I guess all the reasons to take business class are obvious, unless you don't mind being surrounded by people who fail to see the necessity of extending a pinky while drinking beverages.  Then we probably shouldn't be friends anymore, and you can go ahead and get yourself a coach ticket.  *gasp*

What did I tell you?  If it's printed on a clock tower, it can't be wrong.

        I feel as though taking a train is much safer than flying or driving.  I have absolutely no scientific evidence to support this speculation, of course.  But as we all know, science is for losers.  First of all, you're not, you know, flying, so if you fall out of a train, it's less distance before you splat than if you fall out of the SKY.  Eek. Imagine falling out of the sky- wait...don't.  I just did it, and it's absolutely terrifying.  Then, if you figure there are fewer trains on a track than there are cars on the road, you've just eliminated a whole class of fools who might murder you with their vehicles.  How's that for evidence? Boom.

       Needless to say, I made it to Oregon totally alive.  It was a beautiful weekend to be in Portland...

Oh mini palm trees randomly found in the PNW- so embarrassing.

        And then we had some lunch with our Prosecco...

If only I had known then...

        It's like this was a fortune cookie, except that it was printed at the bottom of a drink menu at some hip Portland eatery rather than pulled from a crispy delicious chinese dessert.  Maybe my problem was that I was drinking Prosecco - which is Italian champagne, for those of you unrefined non-pinky out drinkers.  It did make me feel like it was Sunday and better days were just around the corner.  But better days were not around the corner.  Worse days were around the corner.  

        And that's what you get for not reading the fine print- damn Italian bubbles will lull you into a false sense of security every time.  Now, had I started with French bubbles, like a good Christian girl should, Sunday would have been filled with cotton candy and elephant rides.  Alas.  Italian bubbles! Curses!

        You may be asking yourself, "Did Nicole just join a sorority?  Isn't she too old for this?"  No, and yes.  But guess what?  You cannot be too old to get together with one of your oldest friends, channel your inner (if not slightly intoxicated) Peter Pan, and act like you'll never grow up.  It's really fun. You should try it some time.

Thanks for the bubbles and the laughs, my friends.  

        (P.S. I figure we can behave like ladies when we're grandmas, but for now, it's too much fun to be rowdy, and chug stranger's beers after accidentally drinking a bowl of spicy clam juice to drown out the horrible taste of a leaf wrap that was most likely filled with poison.  I mean, I've heard that's fun.  I wouldn't know from my own personal experience.)