Rummaging around the house, this turned up. Bought a six-pack some two years ago to bring to a St. Patrick's Day dinner a friend cooked. Corned beef and cabbage, of course. I had one; no one else partook. Brought the rest home. I think I used the others for fertilizer. Indeed; I'd read somewhere about mixing beer and molasses for such - good for beneficial bacteria facilitating nutritional transport, or something like that. This one survived. Outdated. Will feed it as well to the oleander tree.
Amused to think about sharing a photo of me enjoying it for the benefit of an Irish friend back east. He retorts that Killian's isn't Irish anymore. It's brewed by Coors, who bought the brand. LOL Well, I don't particularly like the malty Guinness. But it's another reminder of a former attachment in the amorous sense, obliterated by the adage that only a schmuck falls for a bartender.
No, not a beer drinker. Nonetheless, after sampling a local IPA I found tasty, did imbibe. I do prefer hoppy to malty. Yet I don't like to drink. I told that to said bartender; it makes me feel lonely. I normally don't. But intimating with her about this and other matters really got to me. But she's a bartender... that's her job! Do I despise her now because I despise myself for succumbing. To the alcohol, to the amorous inclination. I don't know. I'm just awfully peeved it was all a phoney game.
One night, after a rye whiskey and feeling no pain, I felt I was in one of those intimate moments. Some yob intruded. I felt he was insulting and told him I'd cut his nuts off if he did so again. Well, she didn't see things from my perspective and wasn't supportive, so to speak. It dawned on me, "Why should I put myself in that position if she doesn't back me up?" Clue? Hint? I felt I had to get her out of my life. It was all a game. After several weeks, I do feel she's pretty much gone out of my thoughts. There are only reminders I don't need.
That's surely one of the motivators to get back to Oregon. Too many bad memories here dealing with misperceptions and misunderstandings in too many phoney games. So glad I don't have to deal with them any more, but difficult in the solitude. But for age, I'd be a lot more resilient. You know, a relationship doesn't go anywhere so you say to yourself you'll meet someone else. In the past, there always was. More difficult now, socially. Mistrusting the scenarios, OK... mistrusting women, does not help. I'd rather be alone than have to deal with nonsense. My imaginary friend in this instance prefers to be one of the yobs than be any sort of a companion to me. Plus, she was was cagey - never heard I'm not available but rather an odd supplication. Maybe she just wanted the attention. Double binding. She got it, then couldn't handle it. Sheesh.
She was odd. Not knowing what's going on quite gets to me. Intrigue. Boring. It's like knowing that the brew is the product of fungal metabolism, alcohol and bubbles the effluent. Good to know the nature of things. But whatsoever being of a nature to arise being of a nature to pass is contingent as well. Yeah, feed the beer to the tree.
Amused to think about sharing a photo of me enjoying it for the benefit of an Irish friend back east. He retorts that Killian's isn't Irish anymore. It's brewed by Coors, who bought the brand. LOL Well, I don't particularly like the malty Guinness. But it's another reminder of a former attachment in the amorous sense, obliterated by the adage that only a schmuck falls for a bartender.
No, not a beer drinker. Nonetheless, after sampling a local IPA I found tasty, did imbibe. I do prefer hoppy to malty. Yet I don't like to drink. I told that to said bartender; it makes me feel lonely. I normally don't. But intimating with her about this and other matters really got to me. But she's a bartender... that's her job! Do I despise her now because I despise myself for succumbing. To the alcohol, to the amorous inclination. I don't know. I'm just awfully peeved it was all a phoney game.
One night, after a rye whiskey and feeling no pain, I felt I was in one of those intimate moments. Some yob intruded. I felt he was insulting and told him I'd cut his nuts off if he did so again. Well, she didn't see things from my perspective and wasn't supportive, so to speak. It dawned on me, "Why should I put myself in that position if she doesn't back me up?" Clue? Hint? I felt I had to get her out of my life. It was all a game. After several weeks, I do feel she's pretty much gone out of my thoughts. There are only reminders I don't need.
That's surely one of the motivators to get back to Oregon. Too many bad memories here dealing with misperceptions and misunderstandings in too many phoney games. So glad I don't have to deal with them any more, but difficult in the solitude. But for age, I'd be a lot more resilient. You know, a relationship doesn't go anywhere so you say to yourself you'll meet someone else. In the past, there always was. More difficult now, socially. Mistrusting the scenarios, OK... mistrusting women, does not help. I'd rather be alone than have to deal with nonsense. My imaginary friend in this instance prefers to be one of the yobs than be any sort of a companion to me. Plus, she was was cagey - never heard I'm not available but rather an odd supplication. Maybe she just wanted the attention. Double binding. She got it, then couldn't handle it. Sheesh.
She was odd. Not knowing what's going on quite gets to me. Intrigue. Boring. It's like knowing that the brew is the product of fungal metabolism, alcohol and bubbles the effluent. Good to know the nature of things. But whatsoever being of a nature to arise being of a nature to pass is contingent as well. Yeah, feed the beer to the tree.
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