My friend, CT, is a pretty cool chick. (Don't worry, she doesn't mind if I call her "chick" - she's about as kindly and un-offendable as they come.)
We grabbed a drink this weekend (as we some times do) and talked (as we always do) and CT said something that really was quite profound: "some drinks just remind us of certain times and places."
Maybe that's simple, but that doesn't make it any less profound. We were talking about this guy we know who likes Hacker Schoor. He absolutely flips over Hacker Schoor. Myself and CT's BF, MB (dig the acronyms, you can tell I've spent too many years at the Farm) anyway, me and MB think Hacker Schoor tastes like some freakish kind of deli meat, like Mortadella or something equally gag-worthy. Anyway, our friend who likes it takes us on a walk down memory lane every time he orders one, which got me walking down my own lane-o-memories:
Old Speckled Hen: When I went to London (by myself because I just couldn't wait another day to get a stamp in my passport) I made a deal that I would drink whatever was on the handpull. OSH was on the handpull at the bar where I crashed a mason's retirement party and had one of the best nights of my life.
Bell's Oberon: The summer before I moved back to Michigan - I saw this amazing band called Third Coast Something or Other at Bell's Brewery, hung out with my oldest friend, danced like a crazy woman and discovered there was a beer that got you drunk after only two pints.
Merlot: When I was new to the Hartford theater community, I was trying to act so much more mature and grown-up than my (nearly) 21 years. I hadn't had much wine (unless we count 2-liters of Sun Country Wine Cooler) up until then. But drinking wine with these wonderfully creative and smart people made me feel creative and smart too.
Vanilla vodka: My friend, K(H)B. She's my soul sister. I drink vanilla vodka (or even a Diet Dr Pepper Cherry Vanilla soda) and I think of how much I love her.
Old Style: Egads, it's almost the worst beer on earth, but every time I even catch a whiff of it, I think about hanging with my cousin in the smokiest bar in Kalamazoo, MI (rhymes with Preen Mop) and having these insanely funny conversations about our family, our lives and what we had just written on the bulletin board in the Womens bathroom.
Coors Light: Canoeing and Tubing. It doesn't matter if your can gets half-filled with river water, it still tastes the same.
Jack Daniels: an old boyfriend, no matter how hard I try to reassociate. I stopped drinking it all-together.
Guiness: damn the ex-boyfriends.
Tangueray and Lemonade: A delightful afternoon on my father and step-mother's deck. It totally changed my opinion of gin and the cool-factor of hanging out with one's parents.
Dirty Martinis: Hanging with my girlfriends. Even if I was the only one drinking them - I remember eating a bleu cheese-stuffed olive and thinking "We have become Bawdy Women".
Margaritas: For some reason, the most Mountain Manly man I know, KDave, has probably been my most frequent partner in crime around the blender. I'm not sure if over the course of our friendship he's changed or I have or we have, but he's this amazingly intuitive and precious soul. And when the sour and salt meet - I think of him.
Bell's Amber Ale: Shitcan Monday. The day I got "let go" from the best job on the planet. My oldest friend hooked me up with a case at 10 a.m. My friend, Carter and I both got the boot and every time I think of ordering an Amber Ale, I remember his sage and experienced words of how Shitcan Monday would go: "10:30a.m. apply for unemployment. 11a.m. we start drinking. Soon we'll be fielding phone calls from ex-co-workers and family. We will console them and continue drinking. Start making plans of where we will meet up with ex-co-workers. Start a tab at 3pm at our bar of choice. By the time our still-employed friends show up - they will pick up the tab and buy rounds of shots. Tomorrow, start looking at the Want Ads." I no longer drink Amber Ale. That is exclusive to me, Carter and life-altering events.
Okay, I've gone on and on.; I could go on and on some more, but will let you go with this thought, our lives are in the details. Graduations and weddings are captured in pictures, but it is in the odors, smells and tastes of life that lie our true life stories. These are just a few of mine.
7 comments:
Margaritas: K(H)B's backyard with M & RK, lounge chairs, sunscreen, laughing.
Cosmopolitan: 1/2 off martinis at Z's the day Camp Good Times closed it's doors. I still drink them to remind me life can completely change in the course of a morning.
Red Stripe: Guess we all have an ex-boyfriend beer. However, the fun little bottles are too cute to resist.
Sam Adams Cherry Wheat: I'm hoping this doesn't become an ex-boyfriend beer, it's too tasty. Hope he's not planning on going anywhere.
Your post actually made me say "awe..." out loud. Love that CT!
Ain't that the truth, sister. I remember guzzling Sun Country Wine Coolers (in the two-liter, plastic bottles no less) in our high school softball dugout with my future husband. That was, um, 19 or 20 years ago. I will always remember how insanely irresponsible that felt.
You guys rock! Cheers to drinking in more memories.
Too many bottles, too many memories. The mention of parents and Gin reminds me of a time after Pete passed away and before my mother moved to Florida for good. I stopped at her house to drop off some paperwork and she asked if I'd like something to drink. I looked at her glass and said that I'd be happy to join her in a glass of water. She said, "Well, you're welcome to a glass of water if you want, but that's a Gin & Tonic". We wasted the rest of the afternoon with G&Ts, laughter and stories. I think of my mother more often than I drink Gin, but whenever I pour Gin over some ice, I recall a special day with my mom.
Even with all of its faults, I miss the Preen Mop. Many a good idea has been hatched over an oversized pitcher of Old Style and many a long haired lumberjack ogled.
Margs w/ M, CT, and K(H)B... that was a great day. I think we actually planned a number of weddings that afternoon, in between the hourly hosing down's because it was so hot that I actually had little pools of sweat behind my knees.
Bloody Mary's: ND tailgates, back when Notre Dame actually won games.
Tequila shot: Being forced to play twenty questions with newfound friends and drinking a shot of tequila for the wrong answer. I've forgiven the perpetrator of this game, but not the tequila.
Sam Adams Cherry Wheat: My sometime travel companion to the Zoo ordered this once on a pub crawl. I've been drinking it ever since, but I don't think of him when I have one. :)
MB,
It's not easy being the new guy. And sure, I'm not proud that I set you up to fail and thereby have to do the tequila shot. But, what I'm REALLY not proud of is that I bought you well tequila and for that - I am sorry.
M
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