Over the past weekend, Gerry (best boyfriend in the world, ever) took me to Niagara Falls for my birthday, and it was a surprise! I would normally expect to get taken out for dinner and drinks but he figured it had been some time since we had been away together, alone, sans children, so off we went. My wonderful mother, who looks after the kids while I'm at work, agreed to babysit yet again so we could accomplish this amazing feat.
So Friday night we're all pumped, figuring we'll get to the hotel, check in and pop back out again for the night. Well, we checked into the hotel, went out and ate entirely too much food, then looked at eachother and said, "So we'll rest for a bit at the room and go back out?" We laid down for about one minute at 9:00 pm and woke up twelve hours later in time for breakfast. God, we're getting old, aren't we?
Saturday was fun because we checked out the wonderfully tacky main strip of Niagara Falls on Clifton Hill, and went back to the hotel to have a soak in our cheesy heart shaped jacuzzi, a must have in hotel rooms. Then we went back to the strip, watched 4-D movies, went out for Italian food, my personal favorite, and had a few drinks on a patio. I love people watching, and while we were on the patio, I must say I was amazed at the sheer number of young people running around acting like dumbasses. The guys were walking around like drunken lotharios, and that's the only way I can actually find to express my utter distaste at this. The girls were worse. 19 or 20 years old, and dressed like complete tarts. I saw one girl who couldn't have been more than fifteen, dressed in low cut shirt, shorter skirt, and hooker boots. If she was one of my daughters I would have kicked her ass into boarding school. Oh, my god.
I'm so old!
Well, after this, we hit the casino, and I won big on the slots. Well, winning a hundred dollars on a 2 cent slot machine is considered winning big. Then, at like, midnight we got the bright idea of going on the Sky Wheel. The Sky Wheel is an enormous ferris wheel, 175 feet in the air or seventeen and a half stories, to be exact, in the fucking air. I'm not normally afraid of heights, but going that high, that slowly, and then you stop at the top while they let someone on and your're just hanging there...I would rather scale a 50 foot ladder on a rooftop on a windy day than do that again. Suffice to say, we paid twenty dollars for the two of us to go up in this thing and have me bury my head in Gerry's shoulder the entire time. He was trying to comfort me and saying stuff like, "It's perfectly safe, nothing's going to happen, it's made in Switzerland, see?" and I was wailing "AGAIN?" every single time they made us do another turn. Five revolutions on that thing is a very long time, by the way. Here's a pic of this torture ride:
Sunday, we made our way into town again, but it was a shitty, rainy day and Gerry sweetly held his peace while he got soaked to the skin so I could look for souvenirs. He's amazing, really. Best weekend in a long time.
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