I’ve decided to end my streak of bitter misanthropy and actually get out and socialize every now and again. Luckily this coincided with one of my oldest and prettiest* friends moving to Portland, where it is much easier to convince her to while away one evening a week passing judgment on everyone who is not us. Well, and drinking beer. I guess I like beer now. This is weird, y’all – I’ve never liked beer, not even a little, and now here I go drinking it on purpose. More than once! And in quantities of two or more!
So, whatev, apparently my big midlife crisis involves an appreciation for hops. This is encouraging, if only because it means I can go out to a bar and not end up either a) bored, b) trashed or c) spending the next 24 hours puking my guts out and swearing off all forms of alcohol including cough syrup and vanilla extract. IN FACT, the last time I had a drink that was not a beer I got such righteous alcohol poisoning that I had to cancel my flight home the next day. And you know how many drinks I had? ONE AND A HALF.
I do not make these things up.
*Seriously, she still looks exactly like she did in high school, and in high school she was what one would objectively call a knockout. Of course this does not make me feel like an elderly bag lady, why do you ask?