Hmm, when'd ya get some chips?

Oh, what a weekend. Shortly after Dad left on Friday, Nic and I drove over to Superior to check mini golf off of my summer to-do list. When we got there, we both realized that we had almost no cash, so we wandered up to Capt'n J's to see how much a round costs, because lawd knows they're not set up to process credit card payments in that little shack. $4.50 apiece. Nic found two dollars in his wallet and I managed to find seven while scouring my purse. Then, unsure if mini golf is taxable, I tried my hardest to scrape together some change just in case. All the while, my coworker was in the group right ahead of us, probably watching me scrounging around in my purse and empty pockets for some change, assuming I'm either underpaid or have an alcohol problem. Like I can't get enough of it.

The adorable old guy told us it would cost $800 for both of us, but quickly dropped that figure to an even $9, which meant--allelujah!--we were going to do some putting. Here's the deal with me and mini golf. I hate it. Hate, hate, hate. It's not even so much the game itself that I hate. It's more the interaction with the people I'm playing with. I have a mean competitive streak and I don't like losing (which is downright comical, because I very rarely win) and I hate that there's no referee to strictly enforce the rules because I often feel cheated, especially when somebody hits his or her ball off the course and then drops it back in near the hole. I know. I could benefit from some therapy.

Much to Nic's amusement, I kept my deficit (because it always was a deficit) calculated in my head, recalculating after each and every hole. It came down to the very last hole and I detest the very last hole. It is the bane of my existence. It's a big hill (which I NEVER do well with) and the hole sits on a relatively small flat area on top. It took Nic two shots to get the ball to sit like a good dog on top of the hill without rolling back down and I was cursing him for not doing worse. I was only one stroke behind. It was so close I could taste it. The pressure was on. I putted that defiant little orange ball in without only TWO shots. I was feeling good. We were going to tie, and I can live with that. And the next shot? NIC MISSED. He really and truly effin' missed. I gloated, of course. I announced proudly to the old guy manning the shack that I won and he declared Nic a chauvinist. For reals. He was on my side from the get go.

When we got to the car, Nic added up the scores, just to confirm my mental math and announced that I did, indeed, beat him. When my little victory song and dance died down, he smugly replied, "I let you win." Okay, so not cool. I very seldom win and I wasn't letting any dumb boy take that away from me. They never let girls win. Hells no. Not a chance. I growled, "take it back, motherfucker" and he laughed his ass off. Yes, on Friday night, more than a year after our first date, Nic came face-to-face with Competitive Angie and he wasn't sure how he felt about it...except scared...definitely scared.

By the time we left Barker's Island, it was already nine o'clock, the fireworks were scheduled to start at 9:15, and we had to stop for beer. Not stopping wasn't even an option. Unfortunately the closest place to stop was Liquor Store (not even The Liquor Store, it's really just called Liquor Store), in the 'hood, which is frighteningly close to where I live. I had every intention of paying for the beer but there was no gd way I was going into that shithole. I was scared just sitting in the car. I think Nic had pissed himself twice by the time he got back with the beer. I'm pretty sure that's the closest thing to peeling out I've ever seen him do before.

Upon leaving Liquor Store, Nic decided it would be a good idea to take a shortcut home. I advised against it, but he's a boy and you know they do whatever the hell they want to do. Leave it to a woman, the more rational of the species, to realize that it's probably not a legit shortcut if it's never occurred to you or been brought to your attention by somebody else before. Right-o! I had to give him the old told you so, as the "shortcut" basically doubled our driving home time. Needless to say, the fireworks started while we were still driving home. However, the stupid shortcut was actually worthwhile and I'll tell you why. Sometimes I underestimate just how trashy my city is...especially the part of the city I live in. As we drove down one of the back streets, I saw a suspicious looking character walking into a small building with a neon "OPEN" sign glowing in the window, but no other sign telling me the name of the establishment or what services it provides. Don't worry. Good ol' Nic, a Duluth boy his whole life, told me it was the happy ending sauna place. HAPPY FRIGGIN' ENDING SAUNA. I had no idea any such thing even existed. Apparently Finnish people don't like massages? Not a problem! Come to the O'Chico's and you can take a sauna where your personal attendant will massage you in that one place where EVERYBODY likes to be massaged. Lordy. I hope the Finnish president made a stop there last weekend when she was in town for Finn Fest.

As it turns out, being late for the fireworks wasn't such a big deal. I was dismayed to see, before we even got home, that they weren't being shot off from Lucia's dock. The fireworks were mostly hidden, along with the Aerial Lift Bridge, a fact that never ceases to irritate me, behind a couple of trees in front of my building. It is the Duluth way to cut down trees when they obstruct your view of the big lake, and I don't see why that shouldn't apply to fireworks as well, but by that time it just wasn't feasible. The fireworks display would have been finished by the time we even made it back from Nic's with a chainsaw. Maybe next time. Instead, I settled back in one of my shitty, plastic lawn chairs with a delicious Bud Light and enjoyed those fireworks high enough to clear the tops of the trees.

Saturday morning, Nic and I slept in and then started our North Shore adventure. That sweet boyfriend of mine had decided he was going to take me to the Scenic Cafe, which I was pretty excited about. I was starving from the minute I woke up and even skipped breakfast in anticipation of this nummy lunch. Unfortunately, by the time we got to the Scenic Cafe, the parking lot was so crammed full of cars that I couldn't understand how they even managed to fit all those people in the little building. Upon closer inspection of the menu (posted outside the door, thank goodness) Nic decided he wanted to go elsewhere. The menu looked delish to me, but hell, I didn't want to wait an hour to eat, so onward!

Well, actually backwards. The dork gave me two options: 1) We could head back south (you know, where we'd just come from, the opposite direction of our final destination) to try out the Lakeview Castle, where, aww, Nic had his pre-prom dinner a million years ago or 2) we could press on to Two Harbors, where there's a Blackwoods. I chose Blackwoods. Nic shot me down because he wanted to try something new. Thanks for the options, buddy boy!

As it just so happens, I got my wish anyway. The dining room was closed for an event at the Castle (which, by the way, has an actual drawbridge and some life-sized knights in full armor in big glass display cases...pretty sweet), so our only option was to dine in the lounge. We waited around for about five minutes before a sweet-looking, too-old-to-still-be-working lady told us to seat ourselves. So, we found a little booth, which we considered the least of all evils. The place was dirty and sticky and there were flies everywhere. I was relieved when Nic got pissed enough after five minutes of no staff member actually acknowledging our presence that he insisted we leave. Hells yes!

I was famished by the time we made it to Two Harbors, but it was so worth the wait. I'd only eaten at Blackwoods once before, coincidentally with Nic's family. We had some bomb-ass (because there's really no other adjective that does them justice) Bulldog Bites and then I ate a delicious steak salad. Anything that combines steak and salad is a-okay with me. Also, I had a glass of the most delicious root beer I have ever tasted in my entire life. It blew Fitgers out of the water...even when you consider that my root beer at Blackwoods was $4.05 and at Fitgers it was free because the old guy next to us had a medical episode. It was worth $4.05 more, FO SHO.

Next stop: Gooseberry Falls State Park. This was our ultimate destination because, duh, it's on the to-do list. I was dismayed to realize that I had never before seen so many vehicles there. It was a beautiful day and everybody and their brother, neighbor, and third grade best friend was there. The parking lots were full, people were lining the road all the way back to the highway, some even squeezed their vehicles into the ditches. I couldn't even believe there were that many people in Minnesota that weren't in Duluth looking at the old sailboats. This is off the topic, but the sailboats drew the biggest crowd EVER to Canal Park. Bigger than Grandma's marathon, bigger than any Fourth of July, bigger even than Finn Fest (I know!). Whoever marketed this Maritime Festival deserves a medal. Or at least a big pat on the back. Perhaps a happy ending sauna.

Do you know what I love most about Gooseberry? It's HUGE. There are trails all over the hell, and most of the tourists never progress very far from the gift shop and the big falls where the teenagers in their skimpy swimsuits gather to dry hump and sun themselves, so at any point, you're only a ten-minute walk away from the madness. Also? It is an absolutely beautiful state park. Seriously. How could this not be my happy place?


Nic and I walked for a couple of hours along the beautiful river, through the (mostly) peaceful wooded trails. We spent a little extra time relaxing by the Fifth Falls, a portion of the park I'd never visited before. I kicked back on a rock near the edge of the falls and soaked my feet in the rushing water while Nic explored the caves and river like a little boy in a toy store. It was a PERFECT day. I wanted to pitch a tent right there next to the river and never ever leave. Ever.

Unfortunately, my dreams of staying forever were shattered, as I knew they soon would be. There's always shit to do and people to see. We eventually wandered out of the park and drove back to Duluth, stopping briefly in Two Harbors so Nic could pick up a piece of equipment.

Back in Duluth, Nic and I walked down to Canal Park (past all the crazy, scary gang graffiti under the freeway, which gets worse every time I'm down there) to see Stepbrothers. This movie was fucking terrible and I would highly recommend it to anyone with a fourteen-year-old male sense of humor, which, luckily, I have. We went into it expecting it to really suck and it didn't disappoint. It was a really funny brand of suck though. Nic ranked it among the top ten funniest movies he's ever seen. His gut still aches this morning from laughing. My immediate reaction was that he needs to get out more often, but, to be honest, I laughed my ass off too. Will Ferrell's voice is a combination of Fergie and Jesus? Come on. That's good stuff.

After the movie, we went to DQ for some delicious blizzards and to watch awkward teenage couples uncomfortably sharing banana splits. Then we walked down to the bridge, feeling old enough to be residing in a retirement community the entire time. From there, we found a nice spot near the lake where we settled in to chat a little, throw some rocks (which turned into a competition, obviously), and dip my toes in the lake. It was a perfect ending to a perfect day. How could I not love Nic? What other boy would still be doing anything in his power to make me happy, a year after he won me over in the first place? He's the only one I've ever met and I'm keeping him.

This morning, we had breakfast at Embers with Nic's friend Steve and then he dropped me off at home to have a day to myself. It was glorious. What's better than a good book, a cold beer, a bubble bath, and a thunderstorm, all at the exact same time? Nothing I can think of. Well, not spilling the beer would have made it a little bit better, but who am I to find faults in perfection?