Spring fevah

It's been a hell of a good weekend 'round these parts.

Difficult to put into words the intangible energy teeming through the joint, so it's best conveyed by the image of four females dressed to the nines (to the extent that we appointed ourselves the "hottest girls in the bar") at Dance Cave, rocking the hell out of Depeche Mode and laughing until our faces hurt. Sometimes, everything aligns and things are just friggin' fantastic.

Over the past three days, I have consumed a bottle of Irish whiskey with a dear friend, caught a Sarah-show on Richmond St., travelled to Hamilton for a Mc4 reunion, travelled to the Local for an Eva reunion, enjoyed a three-hour pancake and gossip session, hiked the Mono Cliff trail, ate mussels in a tiny cavern of a pub, danced my arse off, enjoyed the best breakfast in the city at Mitzi's Sister, and polished myself up nicely for a fancy Sunday night dinner.

As a result, I'm feeling giddy and excited about life, as if I'm taking actual steps to make great things happen. And I'm not the only one. You know things are going well when all parties in the morning-after brunch can do little more than spout hyperbole through shit-eating grins.