Real Life is Awesome

I have noticed recently the stunning amount of people who constantly have something to say concerning politics, economics, sociology, and pop culture. Now these things are valid subjects to talk about; they make up a lot of regular social discourse. But what is bothering me is this: it's become some sort of standard that if you don't constantly have an opinion about any/all of these talking-points, then you are somehow deficient intellectually.

And the kicker is that if you don't have something to say about these things ON THE INTERNET, then you aren't worth talking to or knowing. All these people with blogs and clever little comments on people's FB walls. Long drawn-out comments on threads, 'liking' every single random comment in said-thread. I can guarantee that the majority of these types of Internet Authorities, are probably some of the most boring people in a real life face-to-face conversation. Unable to read social cues such as body language and tone of voice because all they know how to do is be clever on a computer.

"Yeah, well, my blog is better than yours."

 I know a lot of my social media 'friends' probably think I'm a sort of vapid silly child. (Took a lot of effort not to call myself a cunt there. See? I still couldn't resist.) I don't talk about politics, I don't pretend to be a therapist, I don't know every line of dialogue from obscure schlocky horror films, I don't post news stories or 'insightful' commentaries on the state of the economy. I don't do these things ON THE INTERNET. I do them in real life.

"I think somebody needs a hug!"

 You know that place? You sit down with a REAL PERSON and talk about stuff? You actually breathe the same air as another living human being. You share time and space and smiles and occasional hugs or high fives (if you're really awesome). Unfortunately nobody wants to do this anymore because it takes effort. And don't give me that crap about being shy or socially awkward. You do it to yourself by hiding behind a computer day in and day out.


Everybody's a scholar on the internet. It takes a real genius to be interesting in person.



****disclaimer: writing this blog is just the thing I'm condemning but I had to get it out of my system. Now come join me for some conversation. In REAL LIFE.****

Company

I've never been the type of person to enjoy being alone. This personality fault(?) probably originates from my childhood: the oldest child + the first grand-baby = center of attention constantly. As an adult a lot of people try to tell me this is a bad thing: that I enjoy being surrounded by people, going out, having parties, having friends, being loved, and meeting people is some deep psychological fault and needs to be corrected. I don't see it as such.

Humans are social creatures. We're descended from primates for Darwin's sake and how many of those fools do you see sitting alone in a dark room by themselves crying to Morrissey and wondering why nobody likes them?

"Nobody likes me."

I mean, don't get me wrong. I enjoy some silence every now and again, but for me, good company is the key. The older I get, and the more self-assured I become, I've realized just how much drama people perpetuate. A friend of mine recently coined a phrase that describes a good bit of the negative nancys that I know: "bubble of bullshit". They surround themselves with it and one day it's gonna explode all over them.

No more drama, people. It's not particularly difficult to ignore crazy people, separate yourself from petty gossipping foolishness and focus on the happy.

So if I smile too much, laugh too much, dance too much (and badly!), enjoy acting like an idiot at karaoke, dress like a cartoon, drink a small lake's worth of beer, hug everyone I meet....and this bothers you, then I'm sorry for you. Who'd have ever thought being a happy person would be considered a deeply ingrained psychological defect?

Guess I'm broken then.

Fashion Fever

Unfortunately I am one of those girls who has expensive tastes. It never fails that if I'm in a store I'm always...always...attracted to the most expensive stuff in the place. I don't go looking for high-end items. I just have eyes that are way way bigger than my bank account.

It's a very horrible disability.

Whenever the promise of a change in season is in the air, such as the beautiful unfiltered warm sunshine we are having today (despite the chill in the air) I get the urge to torture myself by perusing various designers' new collections.

This never ends with a happy smiling Manda. It typically ends with much depression and cries of "I want it I want it I want it." Then reality hits and I spy the price tags and well...I just have to drink a beer.

Today my choice of torture was Dolce & Gabbana's Spring 2011 collection. Big mistake. D&G has always been one of my favourite fashion houses and they just loaded up their new collection with lots of leopard print and clean cut, very very short dresses. Though I'm loathe to wear white (simply because it makes me feel like Caspar the freaking ghost) there were some truly beautiful white pieces in the collection.

I thought maybe if I switched to the Hermes site it would help but that really didn't. It just made me want to look at Versace's Spring/Summer collection and then I cried my way to Diane von Furstenberg and finally ended up drooling over Louboutin's Spring collection...oh god shoes.






 Here's some pictures of Louboutin shoes. They hurt my soul. I want them.



I seriously need to win the lottery or find a rich relative.

le sigh.

A Brief History of Drinking

Growing up I was never terrorized by overly-protective parents who preached a gospel of the evils of alcohol or drugs. Yes, they both gave me the little talk about how drugs are dangerous and how alcoholism is destructive and really just not cool, but they never sheltered me from the realities of the world, which was summed up by the very basic: Life can be fun and enjoyable and beautiful but for the most part it's rather boring and miserable so having a drink or two occasionally won't make you a bad person.

I think most people would find the liberal household I grew up in to be a little odd but that's what you get when your father was a motorcycle riding pot smoking hippie with a penchant for beer and your mother was a sort of hyper-intelligent pot smoking wanna-be hippie with a strong love for tequila.

I remember a trip to Fort Myers Beach Florida one year when I was about 5 (before my little sister was born) where we had the door to the hotel room open to let the nighttime sounds and smell of the beach crash through the place and my mom, dad and aunt were sitting in the little kitchenette drinking and laughing about something. My mom calls me over to get me to help make bloody marys, because I was such an enthusiastic helper. She handed me a bottle of V8, a small bottle of Jose Cuervo gold and some celery stalks and a pepper shaker. Then I learned how to make bloody marys. It was fun!

Memories of being 14 and doing freezer-cold shots of JC gold tequila with my mom on New Years Eve --
Me: "So how do you drink this stuff?"
Mama: "You pour it in a shot glass and just down it. Only wimps use salt and lemons. And really the best way to drink it is warm. But your dad put it in the freezer so we'll have to make do."
Me: "Alright."

At the time one shot was way more than enough for me and to be fair after I was born my mom really quit drinking as much as she did when she was a teenager. New Years Eve was the one time a year she had a drink and it was always tequila.

As it was, being raised in such an interesting family, I was never inclined to be rebellious. Apart from those few rare times I did a shot with my mom, or drank my first taste of gin with my best friend Kara at her house (which her Lutheran pastor mother gave us permission to do at the age of 15), I never had really any desire to drink.

Once I was legally able to buy alcohol I would occasionally buy a small bottle of Malibu rum or Smirnoff Raspberry vodka, but it'd take a few weeks to finish it and it was always mixed with diet coke or cranberry juice. I didn't really get into drinking until I was 23 and then I was still a straight-on-till-morning liquor drinker.

The first time I got drunk was when I was 22 (almost 23) and Jason came over to the house with a bottle of aforementioned raspberry vodka and a KMFDM concert dvd. We sat on my bed and took turns drinking small sips out of the bottle. Well Jason's a notoriously slow drinker and I'm so not, so within 30 minutes I had consumed nearly half the bottle by myself. Not being a seasoned drinker this led to nothing pleasant and the following day Jason joked at how he had never witnessed ANYONE go through every stage of inebriation as fast as I did that evening.


 Needless to say I never again drank Smirnoff Raspberry Vodka.

Never again. Ever.

 It was about a year later that I started getting into beer, thanks to Kara returning to SC from her stint in California. I hadn't seen her in like three years  and I was quite excited to have my best bud back in my life.

We started making bi-monthly trips to The Flying Saucer and at first I stuck to beers like Harp and Newcastle. My first beer love was Harp and even now I hold a little special place dear in my heart for it. Jason never passes up a chance to...harp...on how I used to tell him "Beer is so disgusting. It's only for boys."

My first (beer) love

 It took about a year but I really branched out into different styles; starting off with the simple easy to drink pale ales, lagers and pilsners, but then I discovered my true-love: IPAs.

The intensity and complex palate of a good Imperial Pale Ale really hit me hard and I fell deeply in love with beers such as Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. Everyone else I know says they taste like one of the following oh-so-pleasant items: sawdust, tree sap, or juniper bushes. To each his own.

3 Gorgeous Pint Night Pints 

 

Joining the UFO club at The Flying Saucer pretty much demanded that I taste different types of beer and within a year and a half I had sampled 200 different kinds.

As the years have gone by, a 5 day stint in Belgium and a 6 day trip to England, I have really blossomed into a true beer snob. It pains me deeply when people say they only drink Bud Light and I absolutely cannot fathom drinking the same beer all night long.

Enjoyed in London near British Museum

Currently I realize that my tastes are branching out a lot more. Since the England trip I have become completely enamored with ales and this winter season I have discovered some of the best winter warmers I have ever had. Despite all the glorious Belgian beers that I hold so dear to my heart (St. Feullien Tripel, Maredsous 8, Duvel...just to name a few) I found my most favourite beer in the world last November: Highland Cold Mountain. It was by far the best beer I tasted during all of 2010 and I'm looking forward to my 2011 quest for the best beer of the year.

I would have this beer's babies.

Insanely good with apple pie.

 I have been working on moving into porters and this year I have already found one I really enjoy: Kona Coffee Porter, but still I'm hesitant to enjoy stouts. Maybe next year.

As an update: I am currently only 15 brews away from my second plate in the Ring of Honor at Flying Saucer. Quite an 'accomplishment' for a girl who only 5 years ago crinkled her nose in disgust at the thought of a beer.

You Have to Keep Things Clean

When you have a day off from work thanks to some random We Need to Be Politically Correct Holiday, nothing is better than cleaning up the house and cleansing your aural palate with some beautiful Tear Garden.

As a huge audiophile (really thanks in good part to my wonderful husband) I've discovered that there is a song for any mood, any activity, any day. Your brain stores these songs/albums in a flesh & blood iTunes folder in your mind and if you have a big enough library up there you are sure to find the perfect song for any occasion.

My problem is that I never remember song titles, not even to my most favourite songs, so my 'search engine' is a little wonky...kinda pre-google era. You know...like using a dictionary or encyclopedia. And the worst part is that when I most want a particular song is when I most certainly can never remember it.

Oh well.

Enjoy Tear Garden. And remember...you've got to keep things clean!