Beer is proof that god loves us.

So over the weekend I took part in the great beer expo. This has become an annual tradition for me. A joyful exposition of many different beer companies coming together to offer samples of beers for the masses. Of course this year I went after working close to 18 hours straight. With this being said, I started drinking while fighting fatigue. A move which is about safe as taking a bath with your radio. 

The concept is simple, you are given a small glass and are given 2 ounce pours of the many beers being sampled. Very simple concept, where could things go wrong? It's only 2 ounces, I'll be fine! Right? Wrong. While we all play amateur cicerone, we all fail to compute that simple math that for every 6 beers you try, it's another beer. You quickly get into your comfort zone and the good times quickly flow. 

You make your way down one side of the expo center picking and choosing as if you are a Rockefeller to the beer game. Looking at companies, asking questions when everyone knows you are a steady coors light drinker and the thought of an IPA makes you vomit a bit in your mouth. 

There are various vendors as well. Some selling alcohol related products, such as pint glasses and bottle openers. This year I have to hand it to the guys selling replace my storm windows and vinyl siding. Why you may ask? Because these guys are sharks. The last thing someone wants to think about when they go to a beer tasting and they cannot control their thoughts on the way out, is to hear an estimate to fix their broken home. They escaped their wife for the afternoon with empty promises that he isn't going to get wasted, when he sees his chance to make it right and replace those damn drafty windows. Boom! The trap is set,and drunk Larry walks over and signs himself up for months of calls and estimates. Furthermore he has to justify to his wife that he worries about home improvements when his drunk, since we all know that this move isn't going to get him any tonight. 

As the afternoon goes on the crowd continues to poison themselves. Everyone becomes friendly and there is never a reason to fight. Which is a nice change from most nights that a meathead cannot control himself with less that 3 drinks in him. I'm glad that god and my ancestors blessed me with a gift of alcohol tolerance. However I was not blessed with the quick recovery of hangovers. 

One thing that has accidentally become a tradition is that I run into many old friends. We are all able to share a few 2 ounce beers and have a few laughs. This gives us our fill and we are able to move on from there. Which all joking aside, I must thank the group if readers who encouraged me to keep writing. I wasn't sure if people actually kept reading. 

As the afternoon continued, the creative juices were flowing. It wasn't long before Big Rob convinced me that I needed an air brush face tattoo. His argument was quick and strategic: "c'mon, it'll be funny. Do it!" In my older and more wiser years along with my drunken state of mind at the time I found it hard to come up with a rebuttal. 

Looks good right? I look like every parents worst night mare. Not for their child, but for fear their kid may come home with a man with a face tattoo. As the day progressed, accessories were gained. I soon had a red bandana and was quickly earning street cred among the other drinkers. I even caught myself exclaiming phrases such as: "I didn't choose the thug life, the thug life chose me", and "don't quote me boy, I ain't said shit". 

 

Soon after this was completed I returned to my safe house where my quick 5 minute nap turned into an 8 hour sleep this ended my trip to beer fest. Atta boy joe, atta boy. Till next years beer fest, I'm gonna go on the hunt for that beer that tasted kinda like that other one, but I can't remember any of their names. Prolly shoulda wrote that down.