"Let's have a brown spirits taste-test!"
Them's fightin' words now. Last night was spent at my usual Blue and Gold second home, but the bartender was feeling saucier than usual,and after my customary 3 or 4 beers and a Jameson busted out about 10 shot glasses, with the prologue: "I know nothing about whiskeys, Melissa, you've got to teach me! What shall we start with?" This after my elaborating on the finer points of the Canadian whiskey they DON'T have (Vo), and her hand-lettering on a napkin a note to the pervy owner recommending they buy some.
However, we were still resourceful, and I suggested we start with what some people consider to be finer Irish whiskey than Jameson's: Power's. I'm not a really a fan, but we both gave it a shot (haha, get it shot hooooboy). We voted in favor of Jameson's, but admitted that Power's at least tasted better than it smelled. Next was the only other Canadian I could stomach the thought of, Seagram's 7. Definitely not a winner, and I started again on my verbal praise for its fairer sibling, Vo, until she barked, "I know I know! I left him a note, shut up!"
Thus we moved into new territory...Highlands, to be exact. I know next to nothing about Scotch, having only drunk it about half a dozen times, but my questionable advice to her was: "Anything that starts with the word Glen- is good." She took my word, and poured us both some Glenfidditch. After we both snickered at the unfortunate name of the poor liquor, I tried, without being too Girls-Gone-Wild-Borderline-Lesbo to describe to her the proper way to drink Scotch, i.e., to let it roll around in your mouth for a bit before swallowing. After what seemed like a psssable Rolling Time, we swallowed, and decided that it was definitely the best so far.
I just remembered...I believe we then had some Bushmill's to, you know, let the Protties have some fun. There was a martini somewhere along the line because, try as I might, she's still a vodka girl. Eventually it was closing time, and the owner came down to lock up. I drunkenly slurred to him the merits of stocking Vo, while he confusedly pondered the note she had left on the register, and I stumbled home. I don't remember getting home, or going to bed, but there is a little cobwebbed lantern flickering in my memory banks, illuminating the few minutes in between, in which I put on my hippie friend Steven's CD, which I haven't listened to in like a year, and stood at my kitchen sink eating cheese and crackers. I woke up naked and with my lamp and the damn AC on, but miraculously with my alarm set, by my bed.
The order of mental processing went thus:
I
whoa, I actually remembered to get undressed, and set my phone alarm and bring it to bed with me...
II
...wait, why should I be impressed by doing those things? why WOULDN'T I have done them? I do them every night!
III
Yes, but there are those nights that I am a bit, ah, not fully mindful of the more practical nighttime duties which must be performed...
IV
...oh NOW I remember...last night was one of those nights! Yay, I hope I had fun!
V
Oh man, this means I might be hungover now, doesn't it?
VI
Yes.
I can't wait to get off work, so I can go home and piece together the puzzle some more! Laugh and point at my clothes which I probably flung all over my apartment...shake my head and tsk, tsk the cracker crumbs all over the counter...make sure to throughly check my Recent Calls, to ensure I only listened to my friend's CD, and that I didn't actually call him at 4 a.m.
And why the hell do I keep thinking of Biggie Smalls??
However, we were still resourceful, and I suggested we start with what some people consider to be finer Irish whiskey than Jameson's: Power's. I'm not a really a fan, but we both gave it a shot (haha, get it shot hooooboy). We voted in favor of Jameson's, but admitted that Power's at least tasted better than it smelled. Next was the only other Canadian I could stomach the thought of, Seagram's 7. Definitely not a winner, and I started again on my verbal praise for its fairer sibling, Vo, until she barked, "I know I know! I left him a note, shut up!"
Thus we moved into new territory...Highlands, to be exact. I know next to nothing about Scotch, having only drunk it about half a dozen times, but my questionable advice to her was: "Anything that starts with the word Glen- is good." She took my word, and poured us both some Glenfidditch. After we both snickered at the unfortunate name of the poor liquor, I tried, without being too Girls-Gone-Wild-Borderline-Lesbo to describe to her the proper way to drink Scotch, i.e., to let it roll around in your mouth for a bit before swallowing. After what seemed like a psssable Rolling Time, we swallowed, and decided that it was definitely the best so far.
I just remembered...I believe we then had some Bushmill's to, you know, let the Protties have some fun. There was a martini somewhere along the line because, try as I might, she's still a vodka girl. Eventually it was closing time, and the owner came down to lock up. I drunkenly slurred to him the merits of stocking Vo, while he confusedly pondered the note she had left on the register, and I stumbled home. I don't remember getting home, or going to bed, but there is a little cobwebbed lantern flickering in my memory banks, illuminating the few minutes in between, in which I put on my hippie friend Steven's CD, which I haven't listened to in like a year, and stood at my kitchen sink eating cheese and crackers. I woke up naked and with my lamp and the damn AC on, but miraculously with my alarm set, by my bed.
The order of mental processing went thus:
I
whoa, I actually remembered to get undressed, and set my phone alarm and bring it to bed with me...
II
...wait, why should I be impressed by doing those things? why WOULDN'T I have done them? I do them every night!
III
Yes, but there are those nights that I am a bit, ah, not fully mindful of the more practical nighttime duties which must be performed...
IV
...oh NOW I remember...last night was one of those nights! Yay, I hope I had fun!
V
Oh man, this means I might be hungover now, doesn't it?
VI
Yes.
I can't wait to get off work, so I can go home and piece together the puzzle some more! Laugh and point at my clothes which I probably flung all over my apartment...shake my head and tsk, tsk the cracker crumbs all over the counter...make sure to throughly check my Recent Calls, to ensure I only listened to my friend's CD, and that I didn't actually call him at 4 a.m.
And why the hell do I keep thinking of Biggie Smalls??