Whistler: Just the Beginning

White. All white. It was perfect, and tomorrow was bound to be the perfect day for a perfect ski. There was no way I was getting on that shuttle. That shuttle represented a ride back to reality. What fun is reality when you can live the dream?

That’s what I thought.

Drunk and sexually charged, I looked over at the statuesque man that I had met the night before, and who had just somehow managed to make it down the hill with me and all my luggage. He kissed me. I didn’t protest.  He wanted me, I wanted him. What else was supposed to happen? What was assumed to be the end of a 10 day excursion in absolute paradise was actually just the beginning.

10 days ago, I was sitting at LAX, having a Blue Moon and waiting for the effects of the Xanax to slowly take me over. It was the flawless start to what would be an unrivaled trip. In my euphoric state I handed over way too much for my beer and wistfully glided through the airport towards my gate, leather jacket and iPad in hand. After my Xanax, a much-needed beer, and a very strong Americano, I was good to go. While the herd funneled through the gate to the plane, I sat, waiting. I don’t do lines, and I was not about to start now. I watched them all. So eager to get on and wait some more. Not really my style. The final boarding call was announced. I got up. Slowly floated towards the gate and smiled. It’s On.

I only do window seats, so naturally, I had to climb over a burly man and his son to get to it. They were nice though, gracious, courteous, and my goodness they were not short of words. I had never met an 11 year old that was so eager to tell a 24 year old blonde all about his hockey days and whatever else 11 year olds these days do.

Strapped in, and all I wanted was that little stewardess to come by with the good stuff. I was flying high and loving every minute of it.

Landed. Yes. About freaking time. I was 3 beers and a Xanax deep, and had just been beaten in chess by an 11 year old. Awesome. It was time to make the call.

“Guess who just landed?” I asked sarcastically.

“Sweet, how long until you get up here? We’ve got reservations at 8.” That lovely Canadian voice responded.

“Uhhh, like, 2 hours the driver said. Getting on the shuttle now. Im ridiculously hungry, and could kill for a cocktail.” I giggled.

“Well both await. Get here.” Click.

I somehow managed to get my ass on the shuttle, and took prime position in the back. 2 hours and I was there. Whistler. The place where aussies flock like bees to honey and the snow flows like the pitchers of beer we drink at après ski.

2 hours later, and unfortunately, sober, I stumbled out of the shuttle, and was immediately knocked to the ground by some hot blonde. Awesome right? Well, that hot blonde happens to be Brynn. My roommate in college and forever best friend, Brynn and I are the perfect match with complementing qualities and dashingly great looks. Reunited.

Once recovered from the ambush, we headed up that infamous hill to the cabin. It had begun. It was so on.

As it was my first night in Whistler, an epic dinner was in order. Naturally, I spruced up and donned my finest leather boots. Not exactly the greatest idea, since in about 2 hours and a couple cocktails later, I’d be on my ass. In any case, I wore them because they looked good. Such a me thing to do. Beauty over brains right?

The village was white. Glistening. Phenomenal. I was ready for Whistler, but was Whistler ready for me? Anyone who has ever been to Whistler knows that’s a preposterous question. This place flirts with you, lures you in, and then consumes you. It’s like having a crush on the bad boy. Nothing good can come of it, yet it’s too good to let go of. Whistler does something to you. You don’t really know what it is, but you know it’s happening.

After filling myself with mussels, and yes, I’m talking seafood here, and a damn good truffle quail risotto, paired with a lovely chardonnay; Brynn and I took to the streets. And down. Man down. This is where I fall on my ass. I laughed. She laughed. It was hysterical, let’s be honest. It was a Monday, so we knew we were keeping it pretty mellow. There is only so much you can do to prepare for what was to come.

Sleep. Could I? I was already beginning to live the dream. And down. Man down. Eyes closed. Goodnight.

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