I have a friend named “Bayonet” who has beer parties at his house about four times a year. I always look forward to them. Good friends and good fun. Everyone is supposed to bring at least one type of craft beer to share.
I brought a date with me to the most recent party. Little did I know it was a big mistake. I met her at another party. Her name was Sherry. She seemed cool. She was sitting all alone in a corner reading a book. You know those kind of women, quiet, standoffish, and hard to read. This prompted me to approach her. I opened the conversation with my thoughts about abortion. Fortunately, she talked back to me. We went on to discuss our most awesome dumpster diving finds, how golf courses destroy forests, how animals are more important than people, and opening organic farms in Oregon. A lot of the things she said were connected to music or films. I liked this girl and decided to invite her to the upcoming beer party.
Fast forward a week. The wonderful craft beer party. Bayonet has a kick-ass house. It is a tiny house with all hardwood floors, located not far from downtown. He has a small community garden in his front yard. The house had no AC, it’s a feature not a bug. Air conditioning is so artificial. There was a real DJ, not the lame asses who play song on their iPod connected to a laptop, but used a real boombox and played a bunch of mixed tapes.
We were greated by Tanya sigh, an obnoxious lesbro. She blurted out “It’s Africa-hot outside, isn’t it?” What a politically-incorrect way to describe the weather! I looked around to see if any African-Americans heard what she said. I think one of them did, and I turned beet red. Anyway…
I bought a sampler. A bottle or can of 400 Pound Monkey IPA, New Belgium Snapshot, Breckenridge Vanilla Porter, Sweet Baby Jesus Chocolate-Peanut Butter beer, Hoegaarden, Sam Smith Oatmeal Stout, Kasteel Rouge, and of course Arrogant Bastard Ale. Little plastic bathroom cups for people to sample the brews.
The Breckenridge Vanilla Porter was alright. It poured a milk-chocolate brown into the little cup. Malty with some vanilla notes. A small head. It had a metallic taste that was off-putting, however. It tasted like you were going down on a girl after you know what.
The 8-bit pale ale was awesome. A superior session beer. A little bitter with a special orange taste. Similar to some oranges I tried at an Amish farm near Goshen, Indiana.
Hoegaarden. Yeah, it’s a bit mainstream but it is still a solid beer. Nostalgic. It gives off a very strong olfactory note of Pacific Northwest pine trees. Reminds me of home! Appearance is light gold with a minor cloudiness. Tastes like a Christmas tree in a bottle. Pronounced as WHO-garden, not fucking hoe-garden! People think they’re all edgy calling a beer a hoe garden. It drives me crazy!
And the we have…Arrogant Bastard Ale! ABA separates men from the boys, women from the girls, and Nouveau Bros from the frat boys. I’m normally not the type of person who trolls, but I like to give this to intermediate beer drinkers and watch them gag and their faces wrinkle. It’s all in good fun. It pours a reddish brown, leaving a fluffy head. Taste is very bitter in a good way, balanced by caramel hints. Grapes and chocolate will pop out too. A very sexy and unique ale, just like myself.
Oh yeah, back to the party, sorry I’ve been having trouble focusing. Lanky people in tight jeans wearing leather bracelets. Guys with mountain men beards wearing man buns. Even a few kilts were sighted. Every iPhone tuned to the front page of reddit. I smiled to myself because I knew I was in my element.
I leaned back in my chair and rested my feet on the table and closed my eyes, feeling self-satisfied…and then I quickly glanced at Sherry and my heart skipped a beat. She whipped a six-pack of Bud Light Lime out of a thick opaque grocery bag. WTF??? I looked across the house to see if anyone noticed it. Indeed, some did and they rolled their eyes. Bayonet started giggling. I was mortified. Seriously, who they hell brings Bud Light to a beer party??? I told her to put it back in the bag. She gave me a confused look. People made jokes about her when she walked into the bathroom. I stood up for her and told them to shut up, but at this point I lost my attraction to her.
I should have questioned her taste when I learned earlier on that she was a straight woman who adored chaco sandals.
Must be from people who are too young to remember when that was lamer than a dog with no legs.