Last weekend felt like the greatest of the winter to spring transitionings ever. I’m not one for sunburns and sweat, but without the burden of twenty pounds of winter coat, walking outdoors suddenly seemed like a joy. After three months of holing up with Kamran in his apartment and dreading every social invitation, I realized that I don’t actually hate my friends. Incredible!

On Saturday night, I first met up with Jessica-the-German-intern and Erika-who-moved-from-Boston-specifically-to-work-for-my-company-a-month-before-they-laid-her-off for dinner at Cucina di Pesce, which we chose because it supposedly had outdoor seating and giant plates of delicious food for tiny prices. But no! My meal was four pieces of toasted raviolo for $2 each. And you know I’m a growing girl. But luckily, the fresh air made up for it, as did the intense debate about whether or not the craigslist killer is hot.

After that, I took the ladies to my favourite freaky sour frozen yogurt place (which is, just so you know, NOT PINKBERRY), where we loaded up on toppings so intense I’ll only be able to tell you about them when I review it in donuts4dinner.com. Look how yogurt-filled and glowing Jessica and I are:

Then we met up with our friend Sonya for her boyfriend, Adam’s, birthday party at ACE Bar, where she was busy wearing a romper, showing off her side tattoos, and basically making out with innocent drunk girls:

Despite the fact that ACE has skeeball, darts, pool, animal-shooting games, and frat boys, Jessica and I were sort of sticking to the vinyl seats and having about this much fun:

So we gathered our friend Beth, ditched the Asians, and went to an outdoor bar down the street for an all white girl party with frozen margaritas and lots of talk about how we should all move to Paris, the white girl dream capital of the world.

I’d planned to meet up with Sonya to continue the Adam-related festivities at Beauty Bar, but then Beth offered me a ride home in her Alfa Romeo, which is a convertible, and convertible trumps claustrophobic bar. So we drove through the streets, wind in our very short hair, lights blurring, people yelling at us from their balconies, “Nice car!”, us waving back:

And that was only the beginning.