48 Hours in 140 Characters or Less (Or Maybe More)

I went to Quebec, Canada for a quick 48-hour tour this weekend to check out hotels for a potential association meeting. (Related-even customs officials don’t believe that is really my job.) Much to my surprise (and panic), my phone didn’t work north of the border, so I couldn’t post any status updates. Here’s what you would have seen…

  • I’ve been married for less two weeks and am in the most romantic city in North America. With my boss. #FML
  • How do you say hipster in French?
  • Nope, still don’t like mussels nor scallops nor three-hour dinners with small talk with strangers.
  • The only thing worse than Trying Too Hard is Drunk and Trying Too Hard.
  • So I’m totally pooped, ready for bed and then there’s this outside my bedroom window. Don’t let the relative silence fool you. These are not sound proof walls.
  • Ate my first poutine today. #notaeuphemism
  • All kidding aside, Maggie’s Poutine and Sugarbush Candy would be bloody brilliant with the 2am Water St. scene.
  • FYI single lady friends with an affinity for 1. Foreigners 2. Hockey players 3. Adrenaline junkies: this.
  • The Quebequois ice skate down cliffs and canoe across icy seaways. No quippy remark. Just a little guilt as I go  read a magazine.
  • Climbed up an icy cliff, down a blocked off, snow-covered barricade and stormed the Citadel walls, all while carrying a purse and wearing Converse. I think I just got my British Army “Defeat the French” girl scout badge (and 14 more reasons for the OC.)
  • Felt kinda bad about eating these chocolates which were sent to my room, but reminded myself I had French fries with gravy and cheese curds for lunch with concentrated maple syrup for dessert. I think today is what we call “A Lost Cause”.
  • There are 100,000 people outside my window. I feel like Evita.
  • I just had a Red Bull & vodka in a glass glass and with a lime and swizzle stick. #Imfancy #notright
  • Going underground between terminals at DTW is a little too Willy Wonka’s Wild Ride for 8:30 am on a Sunday.
  • How is it possible that I landed in Milwaukee, 1,500 miles from where I started, earlier than my typical Sunday morning yoga class would have wrapped up? The science of flight will NEVER cease to amaze me.

 

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