Bitches who Banff

August 16, 2017

Lets first address the elephant in the room. I ghosted on you guys last December. Ghosted hard. Ghosted mid trip. I sailed around the Belize islands for a week in a perpetual state of drunkenness and couldn’t be bothered to blog about it. Sorry I’m not sorry. Get over it. To be honest, there is very little from that trip that could be preserved for posterity on the internet in any sort of PG-13 way. Even the watered down version of reality I write about online would have been rated R at the very best. So let’s keep it moving.

I’m currently three glasses of champagne deep in an exit row on a plane to Canada. Seated directly behind me is the ONE AND ONLY STINA. My original partner-in-travel-crime, one of the founding contributors to the blog, and my forever travel soul mate has signed back on for yet another trip with me. I can already hear the sound of her adorable giggle as she proofreads my blog. I can already feel the tip of her nose on mine as we Eskimo kiss our way through the Canadian Rockies (just the tip, people – this is a classy blog).

The fun doesn’t stop there. Joining Stina and I on this trip is the majority of Troop 638. To give you some back story, I lived with all of these girls at 638 Landfair, which was our college apartment in Westwood where soberness went to die and bad decisions flourished. A place where your feet suck to the floors covered in stale beer, tenants bartered with kegs of beer like currency and Sundays were reserved for beer pong practice. If you went to UCLA about a decade ago and had any social life to speak of, you chugged a beer at the valve of my mighty beer bong at 638, while these girls screamed at you to stop being such a pussy and open your throat. But enough of reliving the glory days. Let me introduce you to the cast of characters for this trip. We will herein be referred to as “Troop 638” or “The Troop”.

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Name: Christina (aka “Stina”)
Relation: Travel soul mate and founding member of this blog as one of the Dinos Down Under. Most of you might remember her from blogs such as the double ocean kayak puke in Bryon Bay or the time we used the world’s hottest and tallest brothers as stocking stuffers for Christmas in Queenstown.
My favorite travel memory with her: When death was upon us as we hiked the Tongariro Crossing in New Zealand and she somehow managed to help me retain my sanity as I begged for instantaneous death in the depths of Mordor.
What you can expect: A zero tolerance policy for stupidity at all times, stone cold efficiency and the person who will ensure my last wishes are carried out after I die on a moderate level hike.

Name: Marissa (aka “Mar-Mar” or “Mar”)
Relation: Life soul mate, forever wedding date and the only person I let spill drinks on me on a frequent basis with no repercussions. You regulars will remember her from our bizarre Maui adventure where a four day relaxing vacation turned into a five day bender of epic proportions.
My favorite travel memory with her: It’s a three-way tie between her brush with death during the great Trukee River Beat Down of 2006, the time she fell from a building in Costa Rica after trying to scale it “como un gato” in 2009, and crashing a naked beach party on Maui in 2016. Our bad decisions and absurd stories span decades.
What you can expect: She’ll be given zero early morning responsibilities other than getting herself out of bed, she’ll spill her drink on at least 3 people a day, and she will without a doubt get us invited to some random locals party. Probably in a log cabin mansion. Extra points if she finds us a helicopter ride there.

Name: Lindsay (aka “Linds” or “Mata”)
Relation: Nubber from another mother, the only person I trust enough to eat unidentified baked goods with names like “Vegas Bars” from, and my future sister wife (once we get the old ball and chain to come around to the idea of supporting two unproductive yet super fun members of society).
My favorite travel memory with her: The epic naked bachelorette pool party at our rented compound in Santa Barbara that ensued after a day of wine tasting and amateur music video making. In case you haven’t picked up on it yet, this group is not fond of clothing.
What you can expect: Linds will retail the utmost respect for the timelines set forth in my aggressive itinerary. She will be the only one who manages to retain any level of composure and rational thinking after our group drinks all the Rose in Canada before dinner. And she will probably be The Who to apologize to the random people Mar spills her drinks on.

Name: Suzanne (aka “Suz”):
Relation: Marissa’s not-so-twin sister with far better hand-eye coordination when drinking. Despite being Asian, she is still a way bigger Jew than me.
My favorite travel memory with her: Flagging down a yacht full of bachelors from the beach of the Mango Deck in Cabo San Lucas to take 12 bachelorettes on a all day booze cruise.
What you can expect: A can-drink attitude and incredible ability to say yes to every opportunity for fun. I’ll be in bed every night before this married bitch, mark my words. She will probably make friends with some old Canadian men who will buy her drinks all night – just because they like her smile.

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The only missing member of Troop 638 is Allie McDoogly-Doo, who isn’t able to make this one due to the fact that life fucking sucks sometimes. But not to worry – we have some vague plans for a 2018 trip to a destination that is potentially rampant with Zika, because ain’t no party like a baby-free party.

Lets address your next and my least favorite question of all time: why Canada? After serious discussion, we needed a Zika free destination for the married girls who may be contemplating future pregnancy (yes, planned ones, because I’m really that old), a potential party destination for the single girls, and to get the fuck out of the USA for the good of all. Upon further investigation, we discovered Banff and Lake Louise seemed to have it all. There is enough physical activity to possibly make up for the amount of booze we will consume and an aggressive amount of selfie stick worthy locations to feed everyone’s social media appetite. Given the fact that we have three Jews in our group, the lack of Neo-Nazis north of the border in the current political climate is certainly an added and unforeseen bonus. Additional consideration was given to the fact that Canada is the home to the poutine – a dish made entirely of French fries and gravy – as well as Justin Trudeau’s ass. If I end up changing the name of this blog to “This bitch be drowning in gravy and universal health care” you were warned.

The itinerary is as follows: two nights in Lake Louise which will consist of 5:30am wake-up calls, crystal blue lakes, picnics overlooking glaciers and physical activities spanning no more than three hours at most. Nothing is fun for more than three hours. lf you horn dogs that are thinking to yourself how great three hours of sex would be – as fucking if you could last three hours. And who’s got that kind of time? If god took only 6 days to make the entire world, surely he didn’t intend for me to spend more than a few hours hiking a few miles of it. At least not while sober. After Lake Louise we’ll head to Banff for three nights where my itinerary loosens a bit to account for a hangover or two. Yes, I factor hangovers into my excel-based itinerary and yes, our hangovers must coincide with a spreadsheet. We aren’t animals, after all. Last but not least, I promise to actually finish this blog – unlike the last few.

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