I love the Oregon Coast.

Both of my parents grew up in Coos Bay. So many good childhood memories...of going fishing and crabbing, having cookouts on the beach, my grandparents' old house with the cuckoo clock, watching Top Secret over and over because it was the only kid friendly movie in the house (though in hindsight, I think Porky's is relatively tame).

Now it has a ghost and a beautiful renovation. l love vacationing there. Every time I do, as soon as they open (11am), I like to start the day at Seven Devils Brewery.


                 

http://www.7devilsbrewery.com

Named after Seven Devils State Recreation Area, one of Oregon's ridiculously photogenic beaches, this is a special find.

Their backstory makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. I LOVE Oregonians. Nicest people in the world. Hippie Dippie FABULOUS.

I highly recommend starting with a beer flight, and come hungry. Not only do they have delicious beer, their pub menu is sublime.

I always MUST have their albacore tuna melt (made with local tuna from the dock in Charleston and Bandon's Face Rock Creamery smoked cheddar...totally worth getting a zit for) paired with their Groundswell IPA (of course). All of their ingredients are local, and they only distribute within a 100 mile radius.

They also feature local wines and spirits, as well as non-alcoholic options, 2 standouts being their "Pro-biotic" Lemonade and the Extreme Ginger Beer (SO GOOD!...like buy a growler and fill it every visit good).

They also have live music nights featuring local musicians. 100 free concerts per year!

With a full tummy and nice buzz, I usually head to Sunset Beach for some Yoga and Yoda playtime (Doga). There are several hiking trails leading to secret coves and the most spectacular views. Spacious recreation areas, from grass and shade to sand and sun. BBQ grills and picnic tables everywhere. Clean bathrooms. No sneaker waves. It's paradise.

My dream vacation continues with a late lunch at High Tide Cafe in Charleston.

http://hightidecafeoregon.com

I have to have their award winning clam chowder, with albacore tuna fish and chips. They have a great selection of local beers and wine, and a pet-friendly outdoor patio facing the picturesque bay.

If I'm in a picnic/hors d'oeuvres kind of mood I'll go across the street to Chuck's Seafood.

http://www.chucksseafood.com

Known for their locally caught everything (tuna, salmon, crab, clams, oysters), they also make up a pretty swell gift basket. My dad's sister only buys canned tuna from here, and she lives 3 hours away...near a Whole Foods!

Armed with smoked salmon sticks, a fresh crab cocktail and an ice cold bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, I'll head to Cape Arago Point, a magnificent place where you can watch gray whales migrate, and/or listen to your drunk dad confide things in you he hasn't told your mom.

I like to end the day at Bastendorff Beach, with a sunset walk, watching the wetsuited surfers ride big, dark blue waves. Too bad I watch Shark Week. I would love to take up surfing, but considering the large pinniped population off the Oregon Coast, and subsequent large great white shark population, I'll be staying on the beach.

Except for this one time...

A while back, I was attempting to film my first masturbation video (a cam model essential). I didn't have a script, just incredible locations, a patient husband/cameraman and a concept.

It was our final day of camping at Bastendorff's Oceanside RV Park in one of their stunning oceanfront tent sites.

https://highwaywestvacations.com/properties/oceanside

We had been unsuccessful the past 2 days and nights in trying to come up with something good, given the constant rain and lack of inspiration.

I knew I wanted to begin emerging from the ocean, doing my best Bo Derek run towards the camera, but that meant I had to get in the water. In November. I was starting to lose my nerve. It was noon and I was sober.

Before I had time to change my mind, suddenly the sun came out, the tide came in, my husband said go, and I ran out and dove into the waves. I didn't meet Jaws, but I did end up with sand in every crack.

The next scene was a big fail, but it still made the vid.

CUT TO:

Cape Arago Point - Almost Sunset

It was SO beautiful. The kind of breathtaking beauty that inspires one to give one's husband an outdoor blow job, possibly a shag, with the backdrop of gigantic waves crashing onto the rocks, without getting caught by tourists walking on the nearby trail. I love sex in nature, not because I want to get caught, but because I'm a witch.

The park closes at sunset, so we knew the rangers could be walking through at any moment. Without giving away any plot points, we got the shot we needed right before some hikers and their dog walked by.

CUT BACK TO:

Campsite - Dusk

The sun had just set. We would only get one take before we completely lost the light. I won't say any more than that, but I will say this:

Yes, I got to the finish line.

We had a little wrap party at Seven Devils Brewery.

And I'd like to thank the Coleman Camping Equipment Company...

...in my acceptance speech when I win Best Solo Vid at the AVNs next year!


P.S. On my way out of town, I've gotta swing by City Subs in Coos Bay.

https://www.citysubs1.com

They make their own fresh bread daily and it is HEAVEN. I have their albacore tuna melt, made with...you guessed it...local tuna from the dock.

Then I waddle out to my car, head for the 101, and call Jeremy Piven to discuss the symptoms of mercury poisoning.

So I survived my annual family reunion.  Dad's side of the family.  It was a 5 day event, camping at one of Oregon's beautiful lakeside campgrounds.  My husband and I showed up for the last 3 days.  It was a beautiful drive.  We arrived in the early evening, pleasantly surprised to find my older brother had grilled a huge batch of marinated chicken for the entire family.  What a sweetheart.

It was all downhill from there.

My mother made an absolute ASS of herself that night.  My niece and nephew had choreographed a little dance recital with neon bands all over them.  Reminded me of a rave (ah the 90s).  I don't remember their playlist, but they had picked it out special for their dance.  Suddenly into the first song, my mother jumped up and started shouting PLAY YMCA!  PLAY YMCA! (she spends a lot of time on cruise ships).   She pounced on my brother's iPhone.  Ever the good son, he had no choice but to indulge her.  YMCA started blaring.  The kids kept on going with their dance (consummate professionals at age 6...Auntie Pam was so proud...of them).  At this point my mom had joined them onstage and was completely spazzing out, picking them up, trying to throw them up and down.  My dad's family watched in bug eyed horror (they're very low key).  There were a lot of hands on mouths and shaking heads.  One of my hot cousins came over to me.  That's your mother up there.  [sigh] I know.

My brother turned off the music and put his kids' playlist back on.  He actually said to my mom (in his nice way) no more.  The kids had chosen this playlist for their dance.  My mom sat down next to me.  What's in that coffee mug, mom?  Tea.  Just tea?  Yes!  Uh huh.

The next morning my husband and I had plans to get the fuck out of there and go to Bend.  We'd nearly frozen to death the night before and wanted to buy a camping heater.  Also, I had forgotten to pack toothpaste.  As we sat in our car in the Target parking lot brushing our teeth, a shopper walked by, looked at us, elbowed her husband and pointed.  They both laughed.  So did we.  We looked ridiculous.

Feeling slightly better, we continued on with our original, wonderful plans...a tour and tasting at Deschutes Brewery.

Their tasting room was an oasis.  3 sips (gulps) into my first IPA and I was playing grab ass with my husband.  We didn't have reservations for a tour and they were fully booked all day (July 4th), but they were kind enough to squeeze us into the next one, giving me 30 minutes to drink.

To start off, if you can find the entrance, both the tour and tasting are FREE.  So free, in fact, that they offer 4 free 4 oz. tastes per person PER DAY.  Yes, for free, you can get 16 oz. of Deschutes beer everyday.  I tried 4 different IPAs plus 2 of my husband's.  The other 2 of his 4 were their fresh brewed root beer and ginger ale, which were delicious and so interesting on the palate...like what you'd imagine they would taste like if they were made at the soda counter of a pharmacy back in the days when cocaine was legal.

My favorite was their Fresh Squeezed India Pale Ale, and  I was delighted to find out this is their current best seller.  (IBU 60 ABV 6.4%  $10-$12 per 6 pack)  Also worth mentioning...their Black Butte Porter is the best selling porter in the US.

With nice buzzes on, we began the tour.  Our tour guide was a happy woman with great energy.  As we started, she asked our group what we loved about beer.  People came back with the politically correct responses of THE TASTE!  IT'S REFRESHING!  Only I had the balls to say what we were all thinking...BEST THING FOR A HANGOVER!  The group cheered.  Cowards.

I learned more about beer on this tour than I have on any other, thanks to our very informative tour guide (and I figured out the reason for her happiness: all Deschutes employees are co-owners who are forced to drink a pint after every shift).

Deschutes Brewery is the largest craft brewery in the Pacific Northwest and 8th largest in the country.  If you love craft beer and find yourself in Oregon, THIS WAS AN INCREDIBLE EXPERIENCE.  And some of the BEST beer I have ever tasted.

Here's why.  Not only do they use the glorious water from the Deschutes River, the water has been burtonized (they add minerals to make it harder), to make it like the water in Burton-upon-Trent, England, where IPAs are thought to have begun or at least been perfected.

Story time.  One upon a beer keg, the English were having quite a conundrum (nothing changes).  Their beer was spoiling on it's long voyage to their troops in India.  Luckily hops, the plant that gives an IPA it's classic bitter flavor and aroma, are not only a natural antioxidant, they're also a great preservative (and a relative of the cannabis plant!).  They added extra hops to their beer, which allowed it to survive the voyage without spoiling, and the India Pale Ale was born...and the troops lived drunkenly ever after.  The End.

I also learned that Deschutes gives all their used barley grains to a local cattle farm.  The cows eat the barley, then Deschutes buys the beef from the farm and serves it in their fantastic pub, which we ate at after.  Confession time: I had a burger.  It was the best burger I've ever had.  Oh yeah, I went back to eating beef.  Later.

We returned to the campsite to find many of the elders had started drinking hard liquor.  I saw a large mint julep in my mom's hand.  Oh Jesus...  Against our will and better judgement, we joined everyone around the fire.  My mom made her way over and stood in front of us.  She was getting loud and sloppy, and about to start a long rambling conversation at us.  I said I needed to go to the bathroom.  Oh goodie!  Let's go together!  Actually, mom, I prefer to pee in the woods because that bathroom grosses me out.  I turned and saw my sister-in-law with her new toddler.  Miranda!  We haven't had a chance to talk to Miranda yet.  Come on honey.  I speed walked over to her mouthing HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME, husband in tow.  She laughed.  As we hugged and caught up, my 18 month old niece walked up to my husband.

Hi!

Hi.

She pointed to the ball at his feet.

Soccer!

No...football.  (okay he didn't say that last part, but he wanted to).

We survived the final night, both by the fire enduring the drunken pontifications of my uncle (until he went to the dark side.  My husband had us out of there just as my dad and his brother started a debate over whether or not I would ever come back to the family reunion.  Fucking Crown Royal), and sleeping in our tent, having been lent 2 goose down comforters by merciful, prepared relatives.

The next morning, as everyone was packing up and saying their goodbyes, Yoda actually went up to each relative and said his goodbyes, too, getting a pat on the head from each one.  He was the rock star of the reunion, with his adorable buzz cut and star spangled bandana.

Feeling a lot like Roy Scheider and Richard Dreyfuss at the end of Jaws, my husband and I were quiet for most of the drive home.  Finally he spoke.

They get drunk and try to provoke you, and if you respond, you're the crazy, drunk one.

Yeah...and I always take the bait.

Well now you have me, and I won't let you.

My hero.

Aw...

I can't wait to go back to Bend.  Wasn't that a great town?

Yes it was.

You can go left, you can go right, all roads lead to beer.

Yes they do.

Hey...what day is this?

It's Wednesday...uh, it's Tuesday, I think.

You think the tide's with us?

Keep kicking.

I used to hate family reunions.

I can't imagine why.

[cue John Williams]

Isn't it funny how the sight of a wonderful wine can bring you back to a miserable memory of your past?

I was in the wine section of a fancy pants grocery store (which I'm no longer intimidated by because they tend to have good wines at EVERY price point, even $10 or less) the other day and there it was...the wine that got me through the worst weeks of my life on vacation in Estonia.

Before we go to the dark side, I want to say that Chilean wines are one of the best kept secrets in the wine industry.  Wine by the glass lists often feature many of them as the quality is high and the price is low.  I love Cono Sur wines so much I've decided to manifest a trip to Chile just to visit their winery.

www.conosur.com

The European vinifera grapevine was first brought to South America by the Spanish conquistadors.  Like Washington's Columbia Valley, Chile is one of three places producers can plant on their original vitus vinifera rootstock, the other being Tasmania (Incidentally, my folks are considering buying a winery in Tasmania.  Remember when I said, 'Who the fuck goes to Tasmania?'  Me.  Apparently me.  Weed had better be legal...).

Chile has very little precipitation, making fungal disease less of an issue, while the snow capped Andes Mountains provide the vineyards with all the irrigation water they want.  Combined with plenty of sunshine and no phylloxera, Chile is a viticultural paradise.  These conditions also make organic viticulture easier (hooray!).  Cono Sur has an organic line, but to be honest I prefer their sustainable ones (shhhhhhhh...).

So here's why the vacation was so bad...

I'm a bipolar bear (I hate when people say 'She's bipolar.'  What the fuck does that even mean?  Do they say 'She's depression?'  'She's schizophrenia?'  No.  But for some stupid fucking reason, 'bipolar' is used to describe the person, as well as the illness.  It makes more sense to say someone is a manic depressive.  That at least describes a person.  I am no longer in a state of disorder.  So why am I still 'bipolar'?  Whatever.  Til we figure it out, I'm a bipolar bear.  Where was I?  Oh yes...)

Par for the course, I had stopped taking my meds 2 years earlier, thinking I could solve the problem with bioidentical hormone replacement therapy (I love you Suzanne Somers), supplements, yoga and meditation.  They helped a little bit, but didn't solve the problem.

I wasn't sleeping, my bro and I weren't getting along ('You became an asshole after you got your tits done.'  'Hey...fuck you...I was ALWAYS an asshole').  The physical pain was excruciating.  I don't know quite how to describe it.  Just know that shaving my head and jumping off a balcony would've brought relief.  When I saw the Cono Sur wine the other day, I actually FELT the pain again.  Then I bought it, drank it, and the pain went away.

It is beyond frustrating no one ever seems to know the cause of bipolar disorder (not even my shrinks!), they just focus on the symptoms.

Luckily, the men in my chat room (and life) had been driving me so bat shit crazy, I picked up a copy of John Gray's 'Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus'.

And I'm so glad I did.  First of all, it was nice to finally have permission to acknowledge men and women are different.  Thanks to feminism, I've been taught my whole life that men and women are equal.  This may surprise you, but I'm good at math.  Got 700 on my math SATs.  Equal means the same.  HOW CAN WE BE EQUAL???  WE ARE NOT THE SAME!!!  We have different bodies, different brains, we don't fuck the same way, we can't drink the same way (motherfucker), but I digress...

I found this on his website.

http://www.marsvenus.com/blog/john-gray/what-is-bipolar-disorder-or-manic-depression

Armed with this new information and his encouragement (twitter), I made it home (barely), got back on my meds (not lithium), and am feeling better.  Eventually, I can head in the direction of his treatment plan.  I know I'm not out of the woods yet (dammit...now I have that Taylor Swift song stuck in my head), far from it, but I'm out of the danger zone (GODDAMMIT...now I'm picturing Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer playing shirtless volleyball...competing with Sylvester Stallone and Carl Weathers frolicking in the waves for gayest scene ever...).

Aaaaaaaaand now I have the Rocky theme in my head...and the overwhelming urge to watch Predator.

Oh!  That reminds me.  The best portrayal of bipolar disorder I have EVER seen is Claire Danes in Homeland (Predator...Arnold Schwarzeneggar...Terminator 3...Claire Danes).

She is BRILLIANT.  So many times my jaw has hit the floor and I've looked around for cameras. Whether she's having a meltdown in her closet, or washing her meds down with chardonnay, she masterfully illuminates the highs and lows and everythings in between that make up the daily struggles in the life of a bipolar bear.

And if I could ever meet Carrie Mathison in person, I'd only have one question for her.

Have you tried Chilean wines???

Happy 420!!!

A year ago today I was in Amsterdam for the first time ever.  Oh yeah...

But let me back up a bit.

After that fun weekend in London, I continued on to Estonia with my brother, where he resides.  I should've been headed for home to get back on my crazy pills, but for personal reasons I just deleted, I couldn't.  I had to stick it out another 4 weeks.  He'd bought us plane tickets to Amsterdam for 4/20.  I had never been.  We ARE the Wonder Weed Twins.  It meant a lot for us to finally go together.

Estonia is located on the Baltic Sea, north of Latvia, west of Russia.  It consistently ranks high on the lists of most alcohol consuming countries (right on!).

Old Town Tallinn is charming.  Takes you back in time.  Very Game of Thrones.  So many fantastic restaurants to choose from.  My favorite and highly recommended pub is The Third Dragon.  It's located in the town square, where the Christmas market is held every year.  They have the most delicious (and ridiculously inexpensive) elk jerky, elk stew, meat pies, sausages, homemade pickles, fresh cider and homemade schnapps (theirs was a neutral grain spirit flavored with what I'm guessing was apples and infused with cinnamon).

Going to buy weed, though, was no fun.  We had to walk many kilometers in the freezing cold to a section of town that looked like the Soviet Union in the 80s.  The weed was 100 Euros ($113) per quarter (I pay $50 here in Oregon) and it was TERRIBLE!!!

Somehow I made it to the end of the 4 weeks without shaving my head or jumping off my brother's balcony (both were starting to seem like good ideas) and got on a plane to Amsterdam.

And WOW was it worth it.

After we got checked into our hotel, we went to a nearby coffee shop, ordered lattes and eighths, grabbed some rolling papers and sat at an outside table, facing one of the canals.

What a beautiful city.  Beautiful people with beautiful bodies on bicycles who were more aggressive than New York City cab drivers.  Every time I hear a bicycle bell now I clench my butt cheeks.

We finished our coffee and celebratory smoke, braved the bikers and made it to a gourmet grocery store with the cutest little wheels of cheese I have ever seen.  Bro grabbed us a 6-pack of Heineken, a baguette, a wheel of Gouda and back we went to the room for a proper breakfast.

Heineken, known by it's signature green bottle and red star, is a local Amsterdam lager sold in over 170 countries and is considered to be the world's most international beer brand (23 IBU / 5.4% ABV).

www.heineken.com

We had the best time at The Heineken Experience, a tour of their big brewery a few blocks from the center of the city.  For 16 Euros you get the tour and a tasting of seemingly endless beer.  I got shit faced AND learned some stuff...

There are 2 types of beer: ales and lagers.  Ales are fermented warm (like red wine), are made with a top fermenting yeast and tend to be darker in color with a fruity taste.  Lagers are fermented cold (like white wine), are made with a bottom fermenting yeast and tend to be lighter in color with a crisp taste.

Lager is the most popular style of beer in the world, accounting for over 90% of all beer consumed.

Heineken is a lager made in the pilsner style.  Pilsner isn't a type of beer, it's a type of lager.  The name pilsner comes from the town Pilsen in the Czech Republic, where it was first produced in 1842.  Heineken calls their beer a pilsner, but acknowledges the only true pilsner is a beer from that region.

I'm so glad I went to Amsterdam when I did.  Marijuana was legalized here in Oregon on October 1st.  To go to Amsterdam now would almost be pointless...

I say almost because I'd still really like to get a blow job lesson from a hooker.  Tried to.  I'd talked my man into it, saying it was adventuresome and think of all the things she must know...

He'd joined my brother and I on our last night there.  After a full day, my bro needed to lay down for a nap (pass out), so my guy and I went on a thorough stroll through the Red Light District looking for the perfect teacher.  Not an easy task.  Maybe it's because I was baked to the gills, but all their little "offices" with their dark red velvet curtains reminded me of coffins, and most of the women with their heavy makeup looked like vampires.  It was freaky.

Eventually we found a happy looking blonde in a florescent pink bikini that didn't seem miserable, coerced or dead inside.  But my man immediately chickened out on the bj (with a condom of course) and said he'd rather just feel up her boobs.  Fine.  Can I at least suck your cock during or after and get a few pointers from her?  Um...yes.

Unfortunately, I love amusement park rides...particularly the one with lots of swings that go round and round in a circle as it raises you up for a few minutes, then comes back down.  Feels like you're flying.

Well, we found a mini carnival, they had the ride, it was night time and I thought it would be fun to go on it before my fellatio tutorial.

I should mention I'd chosen to try magic mushrooms (legal in Amsterdam) for the first time earlier that day.  My bro and I wanted to trip whilst walking through the fields of flowers at Keukenhof Gardens (which was freaking AWESOME).

The shrooms hadn't completely worn off yet.  As the swings rose up they kept going higher and higher and higher...at least twice what I was used to.  I cannot describe the terror that swept over me.  My hands turned to water faucets and kept slipping off the safety bar.  So much adrenaline surged through my body I almost threw up.  My husband sitting next to me was having a blast watching me completely freak the fuck out.  We snapped before and after pictures.  I didn't tweet them.

As I staggered away from the ride trying not to hurl, we headed back to the Red Light District in search of Blondie.  When we got there the noise, lights and smells made me feel even more nauseous.  Honey...we gotta get out of here.  I'm gonna be sick.

Luckily, we made it back to the room without me demoting myself to the rank of amateur, but of course NOW my husband was bummed.  Tell a man he CAN'T have something...

So I WILL be going back to Amsterdam.

Besides, I have another date with the tulip fields.

Now I totally understand why bitches choose to be trippin'.

Tot de volgende keer...

So I can't blog about Redhook Brewery without mentioning the behemoth next door, Chateau St. Michelle.

http://www.ste-michelle.com

I LOVE THIS WINERY.  Grew up going to concerts there.  I have such fond memories of walking around the estate and feeding giant fish in ponds stale pieces of Wonder Bread (my apologies to those fish).  My folks still go.  Every summer us kids can count on a drunk dial from Mom with jazz blaring in the background.

The impressive gift shop is laden with the ultimate (expensive) wine and cheese picnic baskets, and every kind of wine accoutrement imaginable.  As you make your way to the back, they have a beautiful tasting bar, with tastings starting at $5.  I went with one of those as my husband dove into the nearby plate of oyster crackers.  "Honey...those are palate cleansers, not hors d'oeuvres."

THE TOUR IS FREE!  As our wine educator started with the winery backstory, a guy behind us was being very rude, having a full volume conversation with his female companion while the tour guide was talking.   I actually turned around and shushed him.  I was wearing a boob top, so he shut the fuck up.  The power of tits.

Their fermenting and aging rooms are equally impressive, as is their gigantic bottling room.  They make and bottle all of their wine on sight, but most of their vineyards are on the other side of the Cascade mountains in the Columbia Valley.

At the end, they taste you through 3 wines!  Wish I'd known about that last part before paying for a tasting, since I was going to be drinking my husband's three.  Pretty sure one of the commandments on that stone tablet Mel Brooks dropped in History of the World was THOU SHALT NOT WASTE ALCOHOL.  And you know...once a Catholic...

Every time I visit my family, I have to go to a tasting there.  My folks belong to the fancy pants wine club, so we go to a super special monkey lounge to taste all of the reserve wines.  After this blessed communion, they pick up their wine club release, take it home, and hide it from me.

First time I had a Chateau St. Michelle wine was at the very enjoyable restaurant Cutters in Pike Place Market.  I was with a group of actors from the musical I was in.  I was 16, but didn't look it (I'd stopped getting carded at that point and I was NEVER carded in NYC).  I ordered a Johannesburg Riesling.  It paired perfectly with the meal I was having...clams steamed in white wine with shallots and a toasty, buttery baguette.  Mmmmmmmmm...

In all my years of traveling, whether it was NYC, LA or Estonia, in every grocery or liquor store, I was always able to find a bottle of Chateau St. Michelle, see the familiar label, and feel less homesick (a chronic condition for military brats).

 I like ALL of their dry whites and reds, but my feature this week is their merlot.  They have several at different price points depending on which of their different vineyards the grapes came from (this one is around $15).

Fun fact: Sales of merlot dropped significantly after Paul Giamatti's famous line in the movie Sideways.

Certain regions are known to be THE place for different varietals.  For Washington, it's merlot, the most widely planted grape in the state.  Notice what it says at the bottom of the label...100% Vinifera Rootstock.

A little wine geeky grape farmer stuff...

It is believed wine production and consumption began in the Middle East (Persia) 5000 to 6000 years ago.  Vitus Vinifera, the original species of grape that is most often used for wine production, is native to a region just northwest of Iran.

But there are only 3 places in the world where they still exist.

A long time ago, in a vineyard far, far away, before customs and fruit declaration, disaster struck the wine world in the form of a root louse, phylloxera, native to the Eastern United States.  Similar to an aphid, a phylloxera is a small, sap-sucking insect that feeds on roots and leaves.  It was brought to France on a merchant ship carrying grapevines native to North America.  Within 20 years, it had spread throughout the country, destroying nearly all of France's vineyards.  It continued to spread throughout Europe, threatening to wipe out their entire wine industry.

Luckily, someone learned how to graft.

And our rootstocks, being native to the region phylloxera is from, had evolved to be resistant to the pest.  We sold them to Europe and saved the day!

Actually, it's more like we gave the wine world crabs, but only WE had the medicated shampoo, and sold it to them.  I would make a Bush/Cheney/Halliburton/Iraq joke right about here, but I wouldn't want to insult pubic lice.

Where was I?  Oh yes.  Pylloxera don't like sandy soil and icy winters, both found in Eastern Washington in the Columbia Valley (which happens to share the same latitude as Bordeaux).  So their wine is made from original vitus vinifera rootstock (the other 2 places are Chile and Tasmania...I know.  Who the fuck goes to Tasmania?).

It is debated by wine experts and enthusiasts if this makes a difference at all in taste or quality.  I've been drinking Washington wines for years.  Honestly, I can't tell the difference.  I just know I love Washington wine.

On the beer front, my quest for the perfect amber ale continues.  I have yet to find one that knocks Redhook ESB out of the #1 spot.  I accidentally bought 2 red IPAs, thinking they were amber ales.  Would've helped if I'd read the label, but I saw the word red and assumed.  They'd have been fantastic if they were what I was craving.

I tried an organic amber ale from California.  Tasted like weak tea.

But I will not be discouraged.  Got my next contestant all lined up for this week's baseball games.  SO much fun getting back into baseball.

Thanks to Robinson Canó I've been hearing a lot of my favorite sound.

Now if only Manchester United weren't touring China this summer...

GO MARINERS!!!

So a funny thing has happened since Dryuary.  My alcohol tastes have COMPLETELY changed.  In both beer and wine.  Suddenly I can't stand my beloved sauvignon blanc, chardonnay or [gasp] rosé.  My face puckers so much my husband has suggested using a blow job test to determine tartness by suction.  Nice try, honey.  Now I crave reds only.  This may have something to do with the weather, as it is still pretty chilly here in Oregon, but I think 30 dry days killed the white wine beer loving yeast monster inside me (changed my gut flora and therefore cravings) and I have a new yeast monster that only likes reds.  I'll keep you posted.

In keeping with that I'm delighted to report a departure from IPAs!  Too bitter.  I'm much happier and hopeful these days.  I want a beer that is lighter and reflective of my new outlook on life, but still has a strong personality.  An afternoon/late morning (Manchester United) beer you can drink without guilt, something that'll make me sit still when there's a Mariners game on.  And what I've been craving is AMBER ALE (which so should've been my stage name).

On my quest to find the perfect amber ale I think we need to start with a beer very close to my heart...and childhood house...Redhook ESB (5.8% ABV / 28 IBU)

redhook.com

I grew up in the shadow of this brewery.  Twice.  I'm an Air Force B.R.A.T. (Born Raised And Transferred...no, not really).  The most difficult question I face is, 'Where are you from?'  'Um...???'  Cricket.  Cricket.  'Everywhere?  Nowhere?  Got another question for me?'  We did 2 stints in Seattle, Washington, the second being when my family retired and settled there.

Changing schools halfway through high school SUCKED (but it wasn't as bad as having to change dance studios, though that certainly prepared me for what I was about to face in the strip club and chorus girl dressing rooms of NYC.  Bring it bitches).  I remember the first day of school eating my lunch in a bathroom stall...like Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls.

Whenever I drive past my old high school my stomach hurts.  My chest hurts.  When I'm out and about I hope to Goddessoursallah (God/Goddess/Source/Allah...run 'em together and it sounds like a dinosaur, right?) I never run into anyone from high school.  I didn't go to any of my reunions.  I lost track of the few friends I did have.

Elementary school was awesome, though.  Kids are so much kinder before puberty.  Girls are the friendlies.  Boys are the enemy.  And tetherball is the great leveler.

A while ago, I was parked outside of my old elementary school.  It was August so school hadn't started yet.  I was baked to the gills and mourning my childhood, having had a colossal fight with my mom the night before.  Yoda was wandering around sans leash.  There was a new fence around the playground, so I couldn't get to the old tree I used to play on.  A nice looking guy in his mid 40s came out of the building.  "Is that a corgi?"  Yoda will always believe he's a rock star.  "Yes," I said wiping my tears.  "Sorry.  A little emotional today.  I used to be a student here."  I mentioned my first grade teacher.  "She just retired."  "No!"  "Yes.  Would you like to come inside for a tour?  Usually no dogs are allowed, but this is a corgi.  I love corgis."  Enchanting little dwarves.  Oh I can say dwarf.

It was surreal, seeing the high tech renovations that had been made, remembering what it used to be, watching Yoda run up and down the hallways...hey...he's the closest thing to a kid I'll ever have.  "It's always nice to get a visit from our alums, find out what they're doing now..."  I wanted to say, "I'm an adult entertainer," but I went with something less shocking.  After our tour I thanked him, put an exhausted corgi in the car, and continued revisiting the ghosts of my childhood.

What a wonderful place it was to live and go to school.  The child part of my childhood was actually really happy.  Fun fact: Kevin Spacey's parents rented our house between Seattle stints 1 and 2.  His mom would always send updates of his theater career in NYC, before The Usual Suspects.  At 16, I wrote him a letter asking if it was better to go to a regular university drama program or a performing arts school in NYC.  He didn't respond.  To be fair, I never respond to anything.  Stoner.

Redhook is 5 minutes away.  I'd been there countless times, but had never taken the tour until that visit.  So glad I finally did.  They have a massive brewery (all their beer is brewed and bottled on site) and restaurant in Woodinville, WA (which I nominate for alcohol capital of the Pacific Northwest).  Tours are $5, you get a souvenir glass, a 5+ beer tasting (wish I'd known that before I'd downed a pint at the bar), and a tour guide who won't stop practicing his mediocre stand-up comedy on you.  Afterwards, I highly recommend you stay and enjoy their delicious pub grub and spacious outdoor patio, though I prefer to sit indoors at the bar.  A good bartender can make any date feel like a threesome.

Every time I visit my folks I'll make it a point to go to Redhook.  As I crack one open right now I'm transported to Safeco Field, or Ivar's Fish and Chips, or water skiing on Lake Washington.

I don't say go home.  It isn't my home.  It's where I spent 5 years of my childhood.  After 17 years in NYC and 3 in LA, I still didn't no where to call home...until I ended up here.  Oregon has grabbed a hold of me like the tentacles of the Sarlacc.  I've never felt more at home in my life.  The weather.  The trees.  The air.  The people.  The water.  The wine.  The weed...I feel like a salmon coming home to spawn and die...except for the spawning part.  These are crazy eggs.  The world does not need more crazy people.

Speaking of, it's so nice to be able to say I have an aunt, uncle or cousin in EVERY city in Oregon...Eugene, yes.  Bend, yes.  Corvallis, yes.  Salem, yes.  Portland, yes.  Roseburg, yes.  Coos Bay, yes.  North Bend, yes.  Medford, yes.  Grant's Pass...um...wait a minute...no one I can think of.   Almost every city in Oregon.  Both of my parents were Ducks (University of Oregon...not actual ducks...I haven't completely lost my mind).  My family roots run deep here.  The land I'm on goes back to my great great grandparents.

Today when people ask me where I'm from, I cannot tell you how healing it is to finally have an answer.

I'm from Oregon.

Now hand me that awesome beer from Washington.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Another drinking holiday, like New Year's Eve, that is often referred to as Amateur Night by us hardened drinkers.  I wish I could say I was making a corned beef and cabbage and drinking a Guinness, but I quit eating beef and I'm not a fan of stouts.  Plus, cabbage makes me fart.  Sorry.

I'd be having a Jameson on the rocks, but I prefer single malt Scotch whiskeys to Irish ones.  Fun fact: the porn star Jenna Jameson took her stage name from the whiskey.  I actually really enjoyed her autobiography, "How To Make Love Like A Porn Star."  They sure don't make them like her anymore...

Originally observed as a religious holiday, held on the anniversary of the death of Saint Patrick, the foremost patron Saint of Ireland, it is now mostly associated with drunkenness and bigoted parades.

My husband is half Irish.  I'm nervous to meet my in-laws.  My husband still stands by his thinking I'm NOT an alcoholic because of these people.  They live on Baileys, Murphy's, Boddingtons and Bulmers, though one uncle only drinks Jack Daniels.  Go figure.

I have Irish roots on my mom's side.  Never done that ancestry.com DNA test, but with (formerly) natural red hair and family names like Campbell and Highly (which I should've taken as a stage name...how do I do anything?  Highly.  Sometimes drunkenly.  But always highly), I'm gonna bet on green.

It's funny, the last time I attempted AA, the women's group meetings I attended were like redhead, redhead, redhead...seriously what the fuck is with the Irish?

My mom's family is hardcore Catholic.  When the priest sex abuse scandal broke, her response was, 'Well, what I want to know is...who's going to hold these children accountable for their sinning?'  Yes.  Really.

I SO would've loved to make her watch Spotlight, but knowing her, she'd have me rooting for the pedophile priests by movie's end (and feeling REALLY guilty about masturbation.  Oh irony).

But hey...how great is it to have Michael Keaton back???  How many of us have said in the past year...'WOW.  I forgot what an amazing fucking actor Michael Keaton is." ???  BEST.  BATMAN.  EVER.

One St. Patrick's Day I will never forget was my final call back for my first Broadway show.   I was on tour with some disastrous musical and we were playing New Haven, Connecticut.  I woke up at the crack of ass to take the 2 hour Amtrak train ride to Grand Central Station.  When I got there the cab stand was packed with nary a cab in sight, so I had no choice but to walk 3 cross town blocks while dragging a large suitcase.  As I turned to walk north on Madison Avenue a 20something guy stumbled out of a pub door and threw up all over the sidewalk in front on me.  It was 9am.  Amateur.

Disgusting as it was, it must've been lucky.  Like when a bird shits on you.

Because I got the job.

Coincidentally, I was wearing all green.

Enjoy your hangovers amateurs!