OK, so our keg ran out.
Sigh.
That is just such a fucking bummer, I cannot even tell you.
It’s not the end of the world, because Mark bought a case of beer.
Yes, at Costco . . . mock all you like.
I like IPAs. The hoppier the better, and so I look at this bottle of beer Mark is offering me suspiciously. Dead Guy Ale from Rogue Brewery.
It has a picture of a skeleton on it, and so I am afraid it’s a Halloweeny holiday beer. I imagine spices and hints of pumpkin and a general fruity vomit flavor that I detest.
Fruity vomit is way gross coming up, but worse going down.
Ack!
So I ask Mark, who drank one of these bottles of beer the night before, “What’s it taste like?”
You should know here that Mark and I have tasted perhaps 8 billion beers over the course of our 24 years together. I have faith that he can guide my expectations with respect to this bottle of beer. He is all beer sommelier.
And so he says to me, “It’s good.”
“Ummmm, babe? What the fuck does that mean?”
“It’s not an IPA, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, I know that . . . if it was an IPA, it would say IPA on the bottle. Really? That’s all you’ve got? It’s good?”
“It’s . . . oh shit, I don’t know. I can’t think.”
I bring the bottle to my nose and sniff it, “I just want to be sure it isn’t all fruity and disgusting. It smells pretty mild.”
Mark is distracted, “Why don’t you just taste it?”
Snort!
I giggle, “That’s it, babe. You are fired as my beer expert.”
He laughs and turns, “What?”
“I come into your brewpub, ask for your expert opinion, and you tell me to taste it and see if I like it? You are so fucking fired.”
I take a drink, “Malt, babe. Is that the word you couldn’t think to tell me? It’s got a sweetness, lots of malt. Some grassy something or other. Almost no hoppiness. And some weirdness in the finish.”
I take another sip, “Pepper . . . there’s some pepper in this beer. It’s not bad. That pepper aftertaste is a little weird, but it’s drinkable.”
Mark stares at me.
I take another sip, “You are so fucking fired. Why do I need you when I can just taste it and see if I like it? Your career as a beer sommelier was short-lived and not that glorious.”
Mark says, “Cicerone.”
“What?”
“A sommelier is an expert on wine. A cicerone is a beer expert.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nope.”
Who knew?
Anyway.
It’s a good thing Mark has other skills.
No, not that.
People? Your minds are all guttery this morning.
Snort!
No, Mark is able to do impressions. Voice impressions. He is way fucking awesome.
This is a recently discovered skill, and so far?
He can do two.
OK, the first is Sam Elliott. And if you do not know who this deep-voiced sexy man is?
Then I am all annoyed with you. Click the link and swoon, people.
He is way hot and his voice is like mud over gravel.
Fucking delicious mud over gravel.
We are watching some old crappy movie the other night and Sam Elliott is in it, and then he is talking and I am all swoony.
I say, “Oh my god, he has the best voice ever. He could sell me anything. Why is he not doing every voice-over for every commercial that is ever made? We would be all sitting here watching TV, and then the commercials would come on, and I would be in sudden lustful need of a car and a pair of jeans and shampoo. Geez . . . whatever he was selling? I would want to buy . . . and then fuck.”
Mark looks at me, and then?
He says, in a dead-on Sam Elliott impression, “So if I were to speak all slowly and deep like this, that would be a good thing?”
Oh . . . my . . . god.
Mark wasn’t selling anything, so we just skipped right to the other.
Ahem.
OK, that’s his first impression.
His second impression is of the girls’ school bus driver.
She has some sort of electronic megaphone thingie, and when she stops the bus to let the kids out? She yells out things like, “You may cross the road now!” and “Have a great night!” and “See you in the morning, girls!”
Mark has her voice down.
He is forever yelling (in the voice of the school bus driver) at the girls as they head off to school, “Have a great day, girls! See you this afternoon!”
Hilarious!
OK, but here’s the thing.
As I sat on the couch this morning and listened to Mark do his school bus driver impression?
It occurred to me that the bus driver?
Sounds a lot like Sam Elliott.
A lot.
True story, people.
And fucking the girls’ bus driver?
Not quite as sexy.
Sigh.
I need a beer.
Plus also? If you missed yesterday’s post? You may want to stop by and read it.
Or?
You can just make me come.
I don’t need foreplay.
You can ask the bus driver.
Snort!
I’m working on a Sam Elliott mustache.
Does that do anything for you?
Hmmm . . . I am normally not a big fan of mustaches.
But for Sam Elliott?
And for you?
I will make exceptions.
Sam Elliott does have a pretty hot ‘stache…
It’s almost a 70′s porn-star stache.
Which brings all kinds of interesting to the imagination.
OK, now that Nigel is not paying attention?
Nigel who is growing the Sam Elliott mustache?
Remember when he posted that mustache ride song?
Yeah.
Hee hee!
And I do like porn.
You know that.
Snort!
I am Sooo with you on the Sam Elliott issue. Didja see “Lifeguard” when he was 32 but looked 20ish. yum. :)
I did not.
Making a note.
Was he a lifeguard in this movie?
That would be awesome.
I too love strong hoppy beers, although I am partial to ESBs myself.
Don’t know if you can find it where you live, but my current favorite is Boulder beer’s Hazed & Infused, and their Cold Hop is also good. http://www.boulderbeer.com/
OK, people?
If today’s post turns into a thousand links to beers I should try?
That would be way fucking fabulous.
Just saying.
ESBs are good, but?
They tend to have a higher alcohol content. And as I am a huge lightweight? Too fast-acting for me.
Hee hee!
So your review of “drinkable”. I’ll take it you don’t recommend the Dead Guy Ale?
Here’s the thing . . . It’s a safe beer.
Nothing too special about it. Nothing bad either.
But that peppery aftertaste?
It lingers.
So I would choose something else.
But not for the next little while, as I have a big fucking Costco case of this beer.
Snort.
Mark and I are all about mass quantities.
Oooooh . . . remember the Coneheads on SNL?
We’re just like that!
Hee hee!
We’re from France.
That just made me laugh out loud.
You and Mark really drunk a bunch of time. You’ll be through the case in no time at all
Wow you would think I was drunk when I wrote that. It should have read…
You and Mark should get really drunk a bunch of times. You’ll be through the case in no time at all.
You?
And your typos?
I am all fucking giggly over here.
Oh my god.
Hee hee!
Same Elliot is yummy! You should think about brewing your own beer. Not as hard as you might think and you control the hogs and barley
Oh my god.
Mark used to make his own beer.
Like a fucking black magic wizard he was . . . our neighbors thought he was INSANE.
When Maj was born?
I made him a deal.
He stopped making beer and we could start buying kegs.
Best fucking deal I ever made.
Oh my god . . . I will have to blog about Mark’s beer-making exploits sometime.
HYSTERICAL.
Hops. Damn swipe
Hee hee!
Plus also?
Same Elliott?
Snort.
Sam Elliot = the reason I will never be a vegitarian.
OK, for just a second?
I thought you were suggesting that you couldn’t be a vegetarian because you want to eat Sam Elliott.
And I am pretty sure that vegetarians are allowed to give blow jobs.
Correct me if I am wrong, but that sort of meat is OK, I think.
Snort!
But then I remembered that Sam Elliott did that Beef. It’s What’s for Dinner! campaign.
That makes more sense.
That’s probably what you meant.
But now?
My imagination is all happy.
Plus?
I want a steak.
Yay!
I want steak too! It made me happy inside to get your tweet! ;)
Hee hee!
Back in the day, OK 1991, I worked with Sam Elliott on a movie called Rush. Can I just say
1. NICEST man on the face of the earth
2. Swoon is an understatement. First time he walked in and stood in front of my desk and talked in that voice we both love so much I stammered for a good five minutes and made an ass out of myself.
I am so fucking jealous.
Even though I would never want to actually meet Sam Elliott in real life.
But I would like to have the memory of having met him.
I am all fucking crazy that way.
His voice?
Oh . . . my . . . god.
Okay, so much to comment on.
1. The typos in comments are cracking me up. My super annoying self is noticing them all and I want to fix them.
2. My husband is a total beer snob. His “cheap” beer is Labatt Blue Light. He does not drink domestic. He loves IPA’s. Have you heard of Bell’s Brewery in Michigan? (www.bellsbeer.com). His favorite there is Oberon, a summer beer. Think Blue Moon, but according to him, better. The most ridiculously named beer I’ve seen him drink? Huma Lupa Licious.
3. I don’t like beer. I drink white trash drinks like Smirnoff Ice
and finally…
4. Can you please record Mark’s voice impersonations?? Especially the bus driver one? No picture required…just sound.
Oh, and I forgot #5. Even though I don’t drink beer, as stated in #3, I witnessed a big accident this afternoon and I’m still jittery as shit and I would TOTALLY drink a beer right now if I had one. At work.
Ack.
That sucks.
Especially after the scare you had the other day?
That sucks.
You need a beer.
1) The typos always crack me up. I never fix typos because I am all OCD about typos. And if I started fixing the typos? I would never be able to stop. So I just leave them and then mock. Way fucking fun.
2) OK, I know you did not just call your husband a beer snob and then suggest that he drinks LaBatt’s. I am all judging him and finding him to be lacking, babe.
LaBatt’s? Not fucking even.
3) I have lost track of all of the goofy beer names . . . But Huma Lupa Licious? Hee hee!
4) Smirnoff Ice? Gag.
5) Mark is so not going to let me record his impersonations. He would fucking kill me.
I will just say that anyone out there who is not yet married?
Pick someone who makes you laugh.
Oh my god, Mark makes me laugh.
Happy sighs.
Perhaps I miscommunicated. Labatt is the only cheap beer that he will drink. He doesn’t drink it often. It’s all IPA’s, unless he has run out. And then it’s a sad, sad day.
We are finishing our basement and space for a kegerator has officially made it into the plans.
Oh, thank god.
I am glad we have got that straightened out.
And a keg?
Only way to go.
It is lovely.
Plus?
No piling the bottles out for the recycling in front of nosy neighbors.
Ahem.
I so hated buses when I was a kid. Hated hated hated hated with fiery passion hated.
My bus driver for school was a nice lady – sometimes (since I was the last kid, which may have been some of the reason for the hate), she’d drive closer to my house than the bus was supposed to go.
So, no Sam Elliot. Not even. Just a nice lady.
But still with passionate hating.
Because it meant yucky, poverty-infused, addicted-mother-complicated things to me.
HOWEVER…
If Sam Elliot HAD been driving any of those buses I hated so much, there might have been just a leeeetle less hating.
Sigh.
I also have school bus issues leftover from childhood.
Such a weighted carrying from here to there.
The distance between two worlds.
And only a few miles.
Sigh.
You wanna do what to the school bus driver?!?!?!
And I still have no idea how to pronounce sommelier nor can I spell hors dovuerurueuseuruseus or however the heck you spell it. Boo to the french
Boo to the French?
I believe I have only one French reader, but if she shows up today?
She is going to kick your ass.
She is way fucking bossy, Miss Maryline.
As for the bus driver?
Perhaps phone sex.
Her voice is way fucking sexy.
Hee hee!
Voice impressions never cease to make me laugh. I can do quite a few of our staff members voices and it cracks up the lunch room. Sam Elliot? Cool and smooth, but a bit too elderly for my liking. I am pretty sure he could be my grandpa.
But he is NOT your grandpa.
Silly woman.
I’m not going to fuck my grandpa. That would be insane and highly inappropriate.
Plus also?
My grandpas have been dead for many years, and that kind of shit?
Frowned upon.
Sam Elliot is not my grandpa.
And the fact that he may be somebody’s grandpa?
Does absolutely nothing to lower him in my sexy esteem.
The man is all kinds of hot.
Seriously.
Way fucking hot.
I have always had issues with age. Too old or too young gives me the creepers. Of course, it doesn’t bother me at all when someone else is into an old guy or a youngster (ok, maybe it does creep me out a bit), but for me? I’ll stick to my own age group. gray hair (head, mustache, pubes, whatever) and wrinkles are not my idea of sexy. But you go for it. More for you!
Happy sighs.
More for me.
And just out of curiosity . . . you do realize that there will come a time when that gray hair is on the head (and elsewhere) of your loved one, correct? And that the wrinkles will be yours?
What then, babe?
well then it will be ok because we will be all gray and wrinkley together. Just one big gray, wrinkley, soft skinned mess. sigh…
Or we will have a pube-dying party.
or a pube-shaving party.
no…we will just be gray and wrinkly because we are also lazy.
and I don’t see that changing.
See?
And you will be way fucking sexy.
Like Same Elliott!
Wait . . . what?
I feel all warm and fuzzy…you actually came to visit my blog.
Seriously that bored? Couldn’t sleep?
And I have to ask…you have your own keg?
Way cool.
Sigh.
Do not talk shit about yourself.
I came because I wanted to come.
And it was lovely.
The keg?
Yes . . . we have a keg.
Love it.
“I came because I wanted to come.”
snort
Snort!
your beer skills? way cool. you’re all perfect for this part of the world. they love their beer. correction, their microbrews. yum.
quick story: at my old house in California, my internet went out and they sent a tech to fix it. who, I swear to god, was the twin of Sam Eliot. I swear. looked like him. talked like him. was super cool as I imagine Sam to be. it was awesome!
How do you stop the story there????
That is so a porn story!
The tech guy shows up to service you, the terrible music starts playing (brown chicken brown cow), he loosens his shirt and asks, “What seems to be the problem?”
And you lean way over to expose your breasts and explain about the connection that you think needs to be made.
And then the connection is made.
Duh.
Plus also? Thanks to Pop at http://gopopgo.wordpress.com/ for the brown chicken brown cow thing.
I am all giggly!
Brown chicken brown cow! I am in tears. Yay gopopgo. Fucking awesome.
I know.
Best thing that has happened to me today.
Brown chicken brown cow.
Happy sighs.
When he said brown chicken brown cow on Twitter, I laughed a lot. He cracks me up! Glad to see your new soundtrack being played…
Guess what?
I did not realize until a few minutes ago that he?
Was a he.
And now I love him!
Love my male readers.
Ahem.
Love you as well.
But . . . swoon!
well that’s where you went wrong. I’d have to take off my shirt entirely in order to expose what breasts I have. it’s all in the details.
Damn it.
This is why YOU needed to tell the story.
Because in my version?
Boobs.
Hee hee!
HA! great post.
LOVE LOVE
giggling…
Hee hee!
Love giggling!