After I got home Friday, I attempted to take a nap. That attempt, of course, failed. By then, I figured, I'd had about eight hours of sleep since the previous Saturday morning.
Yes, I was tired. Thanks for asking.
But I guess I must have hit some kind of wall, like long-distance runners always talk about. I reached a certain point of exhaustion, and not only did it not get any worse, it actually got a little better.
So I was dicking around on my computer, catching up on some of the reading that I'd let lapse during The Week Of Hell. I clicked over to the blog of MrPopular, and saw this entry.
For those of you who didn't feel like clicking, it has a mention about how this dude Mike was selling some bottled overstock and such. But even more interesting than what it says now it what it used to say.
It used to say that the items for sale included some bottles of Alaskan Smoked Porter.
It used to say that, and it doesn't anymore, because of me.
Now, I happened to be wearing pants when I read that Alaskan Smoked Porter was for sale. So the Rich O's crowd was spared the
thrill disgust of seeing me run into the place as God might have intended. Not sure that a little public nudity would have made much of a difference, though, as I broke every traffic law known to man getting down there. I think that the trip that normally takes 15 minutes took about 15 seconds.
See, MrPopular has been sitting on these bottles (not literally sitting, I don't think) for a very long time. Every now and then I'd hear rumors about them, but rumors were all they were. Rich O's used to sell Alaskan Smoked Porter, but it's been years since that happened. I could, and did, have that lovely beer every time I went to Las Vegas, but even that luxury had been unavailable for over a year.
So I was excited. And I was also quite fearful that I'd be too late. That it would all be sold before I got there. That's why I broke all those traffic laws, and that's why it was probably a good thing that I was wearing pants when I read about the sale.
What ended up happening was that this server dude and I spent a few minutes looking for that Mike dude. Then, when we found him, I bought every bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter there was.
Fifteen bottles of ebony ambrosia.
It's out there in my beer fridge now. That crappy dirty old refrigerator. Never before has it served such a noble purpose.
Those beers call to me. I estimate that, if I limit my intake to special occasions, I can probably make those bottles last a year.
But tonight I'm going to have one. As soon as I post this entry I'm going to sit in my detached garage and I'm going to have one.
"What's the special occasion?" you might ask.
It's quite simple, really.
I have fucking Alaskan Smoked Porter, and if that's not special then I don't know what is.
UPDATE: Fucking yummy! The only thing that could have made this beer taste better would have been if I'd been sharing it with her.