Nutty? Musty? Fruity? How I like mine...

I dreamt about beer lastnight. I pretty much think that is the way to go. I mean if you're gonna dream it might as well be about your true love, right? So anyway, I dreamt about beer. So I'm walking to my weight training class today and I'm walking through the arch to the main gym and suddenly, without warning, I am engulfed throughout my senses by beer. I could smell the musty rich aroma and I could taste the liquid that somehow leaves my mouth dry and I could hear the sound of someone popping the can open and seriously I just stopped walking and soaked up the glorious experience.

I coulda sworn I died and went to heaven, it was that good. No joke. Somehow the experience carried me all the way through classes and I only started getting remotely depressed when I realized I have to go to work tonight, for one flipping hour. Who schedules people for one hour?

So now I am left with this glorious inticement to go find me some beer. I really am no classy drunk. I like the stuff the construction workers in town drink and I like the stuff my old warehouse buddies still down late at night and early in the morning. I like me some Budweiser. Although in recent times I have become a great proponent for Smirnoff. This stuff is a classier beer but not so frivilous that you feel like Champagne has been downed.

The first time I tried Bourbon. Ahhh. There's something very glassy tasting about the stuff. It's almost sharp, like tasting sharp cheddar after years of eating the original stuff. It leaves you with the desire to sit in front of a blazing fire, completely comvered in a blanket and snuggle in close to someone and quietly sip the stuff. It gives you a richer, more full drunk state.

I find myself in teh deepest trouble with my bud but champagne has left me in quite a state many time too. Somehow the fruitiness of the drink and sugar that it is doused in leaves you not realizing just how many glasses you have drunk. I have never been much of a "no" person and realy why keep track of anything? If something is worth keeping track of it won't be a conscious effort, right? And thus I have often been led down a drunken state where attempting to remember the number of preious drink becomes deja vu of a ACT test where you coulda sworn you knew what a square root was and what a function of pie meant and exactly how to use angles to find other angles but somewhere in the cogs of your mind the information has been locked away and no amount of searching has turned up the key.

I'm dreaming of just one drink.