When I say, “I went on a hike with friends this Saturday” you’ll probably picture a small group of girls with fresh faces and coordinating lululemon outfits. Surely we would all be carrying water bottles, trail mix, and you’d be impressed with the level of difficulty in the hike we chose. We’d take a respectable picture at the top and then enjoy our homemade sandwiches, breathing in fresh mountain air and marveling at how beautiful life is.
Friday evening before we went out someone suggested we get one last hike in before it started snowing.
Saturday was the perfect sunny day for this healthy wholesome activity.
“I think I’m still drunk” from the back seat.
“Let’s do an easier hike. One that’s paved.”
“We need to stop for Starbucks.”
“Where am I going? How do I get out of this city?”
Here’s a short summary of a moderately difficult three hour hike with four girls, three of which were hungover and dehydrated.
We did not pack homemade sandwiches-we had cherry blasters and swedish berries and one mediocre cheese croissant from Starbucks.
And we only brought one water bottle.
Idiots, I know.
When we reached the top, there was no marveling at the beauty of life. We discussed Kate Moss’ breasts.
I love my friends. While I can count on them to have intelligent and meaningful conversations about life, love, careers, the future, etc. (yawn), I can also count on them for days like this. And these are the days I’ll look back at and be especially thankful for. Or at least have a laugh about.
Other topics of conversation included what was on our sex bucket list and all the ways in which one could make herself look big and scary if we ran into a bear.
“I don’t think bears like cherry blasters we’ll be fine.”
Pretty sure our obnoxious cackling kept all large hungry animals at bay.
We agreed that taking off your pants is the hardest part in a strip tease, especially if you’re wearing skinny jeans, but it’s something we’d like to master the art of.
Sex wasn’t all we talked about though–we have much more depth than that.
For example, we basically created a business plan for a new airline that will only fly to the biggest parties in the world and instead of “cookies or pretzels?” your choices would be “gin or vodka?” The airlines biggest concern would be ‘party terrorists’ and we would play mostly 2003 hip hop.
We also discussed what Disney Princess each of us would be.
I’m Sleeping Beauty, in case you care. It would get me out of a lot of responsibility.
Then we reminisced about the best night at National on 10th we ever had.
“We were peacocking like mother fuckers that night.”
The “Peacock Effect” was penned by Neil Strauss who apparently became ranked the worlds greatest “pick up artist.” Though his theory was created to help guys pick up girls, we like to think we’ve adapted the theory to work in our favor. For example, the night we’re speaking of was the night of the British Invasion. Please refer to this summer’s blogs if interested.
Apparently plaid shirts, purple onesies, and Octoberfest-sized drinks will have men flocking to you. Not necessarily men you like though.
“Woah what are you drinking?” they’ll ask in amazement. You’ll look like a bad ass who can really handle her liquor.
Until you order a second one.
You can read all about peacocking in The Game. If nothing else, after you read that book you’ll have fun calling guys out on using Neil’s pickup lines verbatim.
On the way back down the mountain my friend told an astonishing tale about a guy she dated who was legitimately asexual. Nothing did it for him. Male or female. Simply not interested.
In this case, no peacock effect or amount of work she put into her striptease skills was going to make a difference.
But there’s always a silver lining. We have a new explanation for when boys don’t want to date us.
“Hey Cynthia did you ever hear back from whats-his-name?”
“Mmm no not sure what happened there.”
“He must be asexual.”
“Yes that must be it.”
After a tiny bit of complaining, sweating, a pit stop at McDonald’s, and blaring Beyonce ballads, we made it home.
We ended the day by eating Oreos and watching Baby Mama. It was, in my opinion, the perfect Saturday. Because Saturdays should be spent laughing.
Leave the “important” stuff for Mondays.