My favorite things

October 13, 2007 at 11:13 am | Posted in sloppy drunk | 2 Comments
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A portrait of heaven: Black Butte Porter, by the Deschutes Brewing Company.

This is the beer love of my life. When I started undergrad in Portland, OR, I was the polar opposite of a beer snob, thanks to my parents’ unspeakably horrible penchant for Natural Ice and Old Milwaukee. I was raised on piss beer. Awful. I began my college drinking career by carrying on the family tradition of filthy-brew loyalty — Natty Ice, Old Milwaukee, Olde English 800 — and then I was exposed to the wonderful world of microbrews (THANK GOD).

Somewhere along the way, I discovered that I genuinely like beer. Aside from its ability to get me drunk, I like the taste. Fortunately for me, I went to college in a beer-lover’s paradise. There are a bunch of breweries in the city, brew festivals, brew festivals, and brew festivals, several versions of the movie-theater-slash-brew-pub (See a movie. Drink a beer. LOVE IT), and the beer store.

Anyway, Black Butte Porter was my perennial favorite. It isn’t available here, and that American microbrews are missing from the shelves of the Beer Store and the LCBO is probably my single greatest complaint about Canada. Say what you want about the US — and there’s a lot of bad stuff you can say — our microbrews kick ass. So, when I went to San Francisco last week, I made sure that Aundra got me a sixer of my favorite beer. (Similarly, when my friend Paula visited me in Miami (again, the lack of BBR was depressing), I made her bring me a six-pack, too.) Mmmm….delicious.

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None the wiser

July 22, 2007 at 9:04 pm | Posted in sloppy drunk | Leave a comment

I guess there’s a moment for most people when they realize that they’re getting older. For some, it’s a first grey hair or wrinkle; for others, it’s the slowing down of their metabolism and the sudden ability to pack on weight like never before. I figure that it’s mostly a physical thing. When something goes “wrong” with our bodies, we’re usually pretty quick to notice it.

I’ve always prided myself on my ability to drink. I’ve been doing it since I was 14. I quickly learned my limit and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve thrown up from drinking since 9th grade, as it’s very rare that I disrespect that limit. Fortunately, and handily, I’ve also been blessed with the ability to drink a fair amount before I have to stop. Thanks, English/Irish/Scottish/German genes! Also, over the years I’ve built up what I thought was a failsafe hangover plan. I get hangovers just by looking at alcohol, and since I usually do a lot more than just look at it, I’ve sort of devised a ritual for myself, consisting of food, a shitload of water, and a multivitamin right before going to bed after a night of drinking.

Lately, however, my tolerance just hasn’t been the same. This started in the winter, after I’d gone out one night, without eating, and had four pints. That’s it. Four pints of beer. I didn’t eat anything while I was out, and just sort of poured myself into bed without implementing any of the hangover plan. The next day, I was convinced that I was going to die. This was no ordinary hangover — for me, a hangover is usually a pretty bad headache, the inability to sleep in, and that boozy feeling that stays with me all day. No, this was certain death. Death by raging headache; death by queasy, churning stomach; death by the shame of a mere four pints. I tried to drink water and couldn’t keep it down. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat: all i could do was lay in bed, surely dying. My head was pounding with the force of a thousand hammers and I had no pain reliever in the house. I ended up calling my friend Heather to bring over some ibuprofen.

Since then, this has happened twice more, most recently on Friday night/Saturday morning. Apparently, 3+ bottles of wine between three people is more than enough alcohol. I staggered home from the party, my steps unsteady. I picked up Lebanese takeout to eat before bed. Let me just say that while Lebanese food is delicious going down, it’s not as tasty coming up. Eight hours later.

Is this my getting older wake-up call? Is this my body telling me to chill the fuck out, pace myself, and drink responsibly? For some reason this disappoints me. I mean, I knew that I wasn’t 21 any more; that’s been obvious by my apparent inability to be productive past 11 on a weeknight and my lack of interest in staying out all night every weekend. But this? Why does it have to be drinking that’s taken away from me? I’d been looking forward to a long and productive drinking career, but I guess I’m just not 14 any more, damn it.

School, wine snobs, the Who

April 17, 2007 at 9:53 pm | Posted in school, sloppy drunk | 1 Comment

1. I am finally fucking done with school. It feels fantastic. I’m sure that the I-don’t-have-a-job panic will set in soon, but for now, I’m just enjoying having free time again. I mean, I haven’t even been in the darkroom in weeks!

2. I hate wine snobs. Admittedly, I’m a total book snob and a bit of a beer snob (Portland, OR, educated), but wine snobs are the worst. Why shouldn’t an $8 bottle of wine be decent? I didn’t ask if it was the best, dude*, I just asked if you’d heard anything about it and whether it was ok. No need to be all, “Uh, it’s $8.45. What do you expect” about it. I’m drinking it right now and it tastes fine to me! Clearly, I will never be a sommelier, but as long as I’m happy, what difference does it make? There’s no need to try to make me feel like a cheap-ass, cause it’s not going to work and only makes you look like a douchebag.

3. I have this song stuck in my head. It’s The Kids are Alright by The Who. (I considered writing that like this: ‘I have a The Who song stuck in my head: The Kids are Alright,’ but then I couldn’t decide if it was ‘a The Who’ or ‘a Who’ or what, so I changed it up a bit. I’m flexible like that.) It’s the kind of song that, when it plays when my iPod’s on shuffle, I tend to skip it. It sounds kind of Beatles- or Beach Boys-esque, and while there’s nothing wrong with that — they’re two of my favorite bands — I also kind of feel like there’s a time and a place for that music. Lately, I haven’t been interested in listening to ’60s music. But this goddamn song is so catchy and now it’s just going around and around in my head. Stop. Please.

* The guy at the LCBO.

I woke up this morning sans underwear.

December 10, 2006 at 10:07 am | Posted in life, sloppy drunk | 12 Comments

I woke up, confused as fuck, completely unable to comprehend why I was wearing a top but not bottoms. In the dim light of 7:18 am, I could just make out my pajama pants and underwear bunched up on the floor by my bed. I sat up, and memories of last night started trickling in…

It was the FIS holiday party, and I certainly celebrated in style. Here is what I remember:
* Alli and I having a contest to see who could collect the most virginity stories
* Flirting–and what I remember here is specifically laying my head on his shoulder and oh god I sincerely hope I didn’t say anything to him about Too bad you have a girlfriend, which, if I did the filter is conveniently blocking it out but I know myself and when I get drunk…–with a boy who has a girlfriend^

Here is what I do not remember:
* Drinking enough to render me as drunk as I was
* Leaving the bar
* Walking home
* Taking my coat, scarf, and boots off in my roommate’s bedroom, which is possibly why I woke her up at 7:21 am to tell her, in a tiny voice, that I think I left my coat at the bar and walked home in the minus-zero weather, to which she responded, You idiot, you took your coat off in here and when one of your boots wouldn’t come off, you told me I was not your real friend, and why the hell am I awake at 7 in the morning?
* Crawling–literally–out of her bedroom last night

^ I know that worse crimes have been committed by drunk people, even by me, but God how embarrassing. I barely even know this poor boy and there I go, throwing myself at him. I think. I don’t even know. Ugh. Well, hopefully he will accept my apology.

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