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Neff's Canyon Sounds a Lot Like Death Canyon

My friend Jeremiah called me fat. Can you believe that shit?

He will likely pretend he didn’t say that, but he invited me to go hiking yesterday. Um, hello, that’s exactly the same thing as telling a girl she needs to exercise more. Why else would he invite me? I’m not exactly an outdoorsy chick and I’m super whiny when the conditions aren’t to my liking. This is code for sober.

Jeremiah coaxed me up Neff’s Canyon with a bottle of wine. He knows me well. The two things that motivate me most are wine and fear. He managed to use both in one day. I should explain the fear thing…

I’m not scared of him, not at all. He’s a hippie and everyone knows they wouldn’t hurt anyone or anything. And if he did I’d threaten to rip his favorite tie-dyed shirt. The fear stemmed from the storm that threatened our perfect hiking conditions. Getting hit by lightning is not my death of choice. Speaking of which, I’d rather drown in a wine vat. Also, I’m not an alcoholic. Yet.

We didn’t die, but at the point of destination I checked my iPhone and got this:

Neff's Canyon coordinates

I was pretty sure, by this point, that Jeremiah had invited me because he intended to kill me. I can’t blame him. I do question his manhood a lot, and tease him about his love of Hugh Grant and jorts.

I prepared the best way I could: I drank. I’ve seen enough movies to know you always get a last meal before you die.

Drunk Hiking

Wine is and will always be my meal of choice.

P.S. I wasn’t murdered.

P.P.S. I’m not as much of a wino as this post implies, but only because I forgot to wear my wine rack hiking–also known as the best invention in the universe! It’s like a Camelbak, but obviously so much better.

P.P.P.S. The rest of the photos can be seen here.

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