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!

Good Morrow!

One year ago today I was headed for London...to celebrate my brother's birthday and to kidnap my TBNH (Then Boyfriend Now Husband) and bring him back to America.

It almost didn’t happen.  I had been off my bipolar bear meds for 2 years and was falling apart, barely hanging by a thread.  I hadn't been sleeping, couldn't function and therefore hadn't packed.  I called my brother, sobbing hysterically and told him I needed to cancel the trip.  I wasn’t well and NEEDED to stay home and get back on my medication.  Unfortunately, he somehow managed to convince me to get it together, get in the car and get up to Seattle in record time.  A yellow jacket had decided to hitch a ride with me.  I almost crashed the car trying to get it out.

Made it to my parents house, tearfully kissed Yoda goodbye, jumped in my mom’s car and made it to SeaTac with 3 minutes to spare.  I rushed up to the British Airways check-in desk.  The lady looked me up and down, stopped smiling and raised her eyebrows.  "Did I make it on time?"  She looked at her clock and gave an inaudible response.  She genuinely wanted to tell me I hadn't.  I threw my bags on the scale.  Her smile returned as she informed me both were overweight.   I took laptops out of each and said I'd be giving them to my mom who was outside waiting to see if I had made it.  Luggage weighed in perfectly.  She silently put luggage claim tags on my bags, then handed me my boarding pass.  "Which gate do I go to?"  "S15"  "Thank you."  Gate S15 is in the International Terminal, which you have to take a train to.  Nice of her to mention that.

As I went through security the male TSA agent checking passports looked at mine and said, "Wow.  What a beautiful photo!"  "Is that your way of telling me I look like ass right now?"  I tend to travel without hair done or makeup on.  He laughed.  "No! Not at all....Where are you going gorgeous?"  "London."   "Mmmm...have fun."  I couldn't help but laugh.  Those last 5 minutes pretty much sum up my life experience.

I found Starbucks, then went to duty free.  I braved walking through the toxic cosmetics and perfumes (almost gagged) and headed straight for the hard liquor (which is also toxic...but let's pretend we don't know that).

And there it was...my first booze love...


                              


I picked it up, looked at the beautiful blue bottle and the memories came flooding back, not only of strip clubs and silicone, but of the exquisite combination of flavors that make up Bombay Sapphire.  I’ve never tasted its equal.  The list of infused botanicals is displayed on both sides of the bottle...juniper berries, lemon peel, coriander, angelica, orris (wtf is orris?), grains of paradise, cassia bark, almonds and liquorice. This baby was coming with me.

The flight was easy.  Friendly service (male flight attendant), delicious meals and FREE WINE!  Going through customs, however, never easy.  They only had one person working.  I said in a loud voice, "You're kidding me. One person working? Welcome to London y'all."  Someone in a uniform glared at me as four other people slowly crawled out of nowhere and took their... huts? cubicles? people aquariums?  Whatever you call those things they sit in.  Then I saw signs everywhere saying ABUSE WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.  Guess I'm not the first loud, rude, hungover American to come through there.

Somehow I managed to make it through without getting arrested or deported.  My man was waiting by the luggage carousal with dread (I'm female...of course I had a lot).  He looked good.  Hadn't seen him in 4 months (hallelujah Skype sex).  We then embarked on the longest fucking cab ride ever.  LONDON TRAFFIC.  Ugh.  When we finally made it to the hotel (The Radisson Blu in Leicester Square) it was surrounded by construction, so we had to be dropped off 2 blocks away and drag our luggage to the hotel.  My husband is a saint.

The hotel lobby was packed with beautiful people pouring in and out of their restaurant and bar.  Prince Charles was hosting a party (Yes, really).  My little brother had just arrived and was in the room waiting for us.  He was so happy my guy had brought the weed and I had brought the gin...the exact brand he wanted!  The mini bar had tonic water.  The usual yellow label crap.

And now for the point of the blog.  I HATE THE YELLOW LABEL CRAP!  And you should too...oh wait...I'm not supposed to say "you should" anymore.  So I won't say you should never be mixing your expensive beautiful potions (liquor) with cheap high fructose corn syrup laden CRAP.  But I HIGHLY recommend you try...

These 2 amazing wonderful much better for you tonic waters:

www.fever-tree.com

Sweetened with cane sugar, except for the Naturally Light...that's made with pure fructose (from fruit).

OR...

qtonic.com

Sweetened with agave, not sugar (same plant family they make tequila from - blue agave).

I've had both, I love them both.  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE...(I'm sobbing again)...DON'T LET HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP NEAR YOUR COCKTAILS!!!  Sorry.  Cocktails are sacred...unless you're using them as warfare.

So back to London.  I needed a toke of weed, a gin and tonic, a shower and a shag.  In that order.  My little bro was gracious enough to go buy Book of Mormon tickets after we smoked and drank.  My husband had a coke...not some coke...a coke (he doesn't do drugs).  A quick side note...sodas in Europe and everywhere else BUT the US are made with real cane sugar, not high fructose corn syrup, which I believe is the more evil of the 2 evils.  At least the tonic water in the mini bar was made with sugar, as was the coke.  It tastes so much better.  I'm starting to see a lot of cane sugar versions of popular brands on US store shelves.  Yay!

So after he gave me a good rodgering (I'm learning English), we met my bro downstairs and headed to the restaurant row next to the hotel.  I wanted fish and chips and a pint of Guinness (hadn't discovered IPAs yet).  The waitress brought me the pint.  I took a sip and was not happy.  It was warm...and FLAT.  I flagged the server.  "Hey there.  May I send this back please?  It's warm and flat."  She walked away shaking her head.   My brother and husband started laughing.  "It's SUPPOSED to be that way."   "No."  "Yes."  She brought me another one.  It too was warm and flat.  Dammit.  Now I had to drink it.  My bro went off to buy cigarettes and my guy went off to buy a Sherlock Holmes hat.  We were planning to do a photo shoot that could get us arrested.  Sitting by myself al fresco, people watching, suddenly a very slow motorcade went by.  In the last town car I saw a familiar, dweeby silhouette.  PRINCE FUCKING CHARLES.  "Was that Prince Charles?"  I asked the cute uniformed guard walking behind the car.  He nodded.  My husband came back.   "Did you see that car?"  "What car?"  "It was Prince Charles."  "Really?"  "I know!  Cool, right?"  "I've lived here my whole life and have never seen a royal.  You're here an hour and you see Prince Charles."

It was a great weekend.  Saw Book of Mormon, Wicked, the Tower of London.  Had a lot of sex in bathrooms.  Clean ones.  Like the single handicap loo down one flight from the hotel lobby.  I wonder if Prince Charles peed in there earlier that day…Bro had just gone up to the room.  I was feeling very randy (English).  We spread my coat on the floor and went at it.  Missionary.  My foot was in the air enough to grab onto something.  I didn't realize it was the alarm pull for actual handicapped people to use if they're in distress and need assistance.  We got a knock on the door.  "Everything OK in there?"  "Yes," said my husband.  "Yes!" I chimed in.  Dammit.  Now they KNEW two people were in there fucking.  I lost my hard on.  We gathered ourselves and dove for the nearby elevator, which thankfully was on the same floor so we didn't have to do the walk of shame past the lobby desk.

The other bathroom was our hotel room bathroom.  Bro was passed out on his bed snoring loudly.  We were safe...and silent.  Fun fact: men can't cum and laugh at the same time.  I was on my knees, about to take a load in the face for the big finale, so I took a deep breath of air and made squirrel cheeks while closing my eyes.  He started laughing.  He came, but there was no shooting to say the least.  Hey...I'm used to older guys.  They cum samples.  These young guys shoot Costco gallons.  Best to take a deep breath AND KEEP YOUR EYES CLOSED.

After that event, I filled up a clean, empty Starbucks cup...half Bombay Sapphire, half tonic.  Bro was still snoring.  Because of my skin and other reasons that would make you roll your eyes, it's better for me to sight see at night.  I put on sneakers because I wanted to be comfortable.  We were going to be doing some walking.  And once the gin kicked in, we got to do our naughty photo shoots (though we didn't have time for Sherlock).  If you want to see the pics check out my twitter.  Needless to say, I wish I'd brought along heeled boots.

We almost got hit by one of those red double-decker buses, we did get kicked out of Westminster Abbey.  Turns out Big Ben is a boob man.  And so yeah, that was last time I had Bombay Sapphire.

Until right now. Only question is...which tonic water???

And the lime better be organic.

Cheerio!

Hey drinking buddies!

This week I'd like to give a shout out to the Oakshire Brewing Company in Eugene, Oregon.

oakbrew.com

Tours are on the first and third Saturdays of the month.  $10 gets you the tour, a souvenir glass, a pint or flight to start, and a pint or flight to finish.  EAT FIRST.  They don't serve food.

We arrived a few minutes early and took a seat at a table.  A youngish guy came up to me, looked at me intensely, and said slowly,  "Are you Pamela?"

The color drained from my face and my stomach cramped.  Entertainers usually like to be recognized.  Not cam models.  It's bad enough to know they've probably screenshot your lopsided labia or have seen you wildly humping a pillow with a glass toy up your ass.  Now you're worried they're going to ask if they can motorboat you or at the very least ask you to take a selfie with their penis.  I gulped and nodded.

"I'm the tour guide.  Here are your drink tickets.  You can start with a pint or a flight at the bar.  And you'll have another after the tour."

He walked over to the next couple.  My husband started laughing.  "Your face..."

"Yeah."  Big exhale.  "I'll be needing that pint now."

We got our souvenir glasses and headed to the bar.  I asked the sexy bartender who seemed to dislike me before I sat down about the IPA selection.  She said there were four, plus a red one.  "I'll take whichever has the highest IBU (remember...bitter as fuck)."  She asked my husband (with a smile) what he would like (bitch).  He went for their fresh brewed root beer (breweries almost always have fresh brewed ginger or root beer).  It was delicious.

People often don't know what to make of our age difference (11 years).  I've come out of many a ladies room to find some 20 something bartender draped all over him (an English accent in a small American farm town WILL get you laid).  To be fair, men have hit on me right in front of him (wore a Manchester United jersey in an English pub once...never been hit on more in my life).  At Oakshire, there was a guy sitting next to us who was drinking the same IPA I was.  He started to engage me in conversation, ignoring my husband in the middle.  I squeezed my husband's thigh and kissed him on the cheek.  Message received.

Does it bother me that my husband doesn't drink?  Hell no!  I married a designated driver.  Does it bother him that I drink?  Let me put it this way.  He forbids me to do another Dryuary.  Three sips of wine and I'm cooking his dinner and fondling his balls.

The tour guide rounded us up and herded us outside.  There was a yellow short (are we still allowed to say that?) school bus parked outside.  My hubby was very excited (they don't have yellow school buses in England).  I didn't have the heart to tell him about short buses, but there was no need. The minute we got on, the jokes began.  Oh well.  We're all going to hell.

BUT FIRST...we're going on a brewery tour.

They have a big brewery a few blocks from their bar.  After a few of these I'm finally starting to learn how to make beer!  He had us do a tasting of the ??? stage (don't remember...no short term memory).  It was very sweet.  Tasted like cereal milk after Cheerios.  Oakshire and many others are now aging certain beers in used wine barrels.  Not my preference.  I want my beer to taste like beer, my wine to taste like wine and nary the twain shall meet.  But they taste good.  Certainly worth trying.

After the tour they brought us back to the bar.  I was drinking for 2 so I tasted 10 beers.  No I didn't drink them all.  Only the IPAs.  But I did taste everything.  Enough to know they make fantastic beer.

I fell in love with their Drop Bear IPA.  7.3% ABV / 91 IBU  It's made with Australian hops (it is SO amazing how much hops looks like weed).  Tried to pick up a 4 pack from there today, but of course, it's seasonal.  Winter only.  Poo.

Their year round beers are Watershed IPA, Oakshire Amber Ale and Overcast Espresso Stout.  They have too many seasonals to count/taste.  Whatever your preference, I'm guessing they brew it.

There was a group of Hank Schrader clones outside on the patio, learning how to improve their home brewing skills, kind of like a yoga intensive, but for brewers.

I’ll be keeping my fridge stocked with my favorite beers from now on.  Fun fact: red wine and sports don’t mix…except in Seattle.  Went to a U.W. Huskies football game.  The parking lot was full of tail gate parties serving smoked salmon and Chateau St. Michelle wine.  Niles and Frasier would've been pleased.  I tried having a cabernet while watching a Man Utd game this week.  Never again.

It’s hard for my brain to slow down sometimes. (Really?)  Having a beer allows me to slow down, sit down, truly enjoy a game, and drunk tweet.

I’ll be getting back into the Mariners this season.  Loved them in high school.  Back then we had Alex Rodriguez, Ken Griffey Jr. and Randy Johnson!!!  I followed the Mets when I lived in NYC.  Bobby Valentine was manager, the starting lineup was Ricky Henderson, John Olerud, Mike Piazza and the dreamy Robin Ventura.

I love baseball.  It’s like math and ballet rolled into one giant metaphor for life.  I think the most beautiful sound in the world is the crack of the ball against the bat for a home run.

Except for maybe Ryan Giggs putting his balls in the back of my net…

Bottoms up!

OK so I gotta blow off some steam.

I'm into an organic lifestyle, green and all that.  Very popular here in Oregon.

My dad was ON BOARD with us going organic (the vineyard).  He bought up all the metal poles left in Oregon at the time (organic can't use wood because the wood is treated).  My husband and I were going to do all the legwork (mostly my husband), rototilling, weed whacking and pulling the weeds around the base of all 3160 pinot noir plants by hand.

Let me take you back to April 2015.

I'd like to submit an entry for worst dinner party ever.  I walked into the kitchen, back in Oregon after 5 miserable weeks in Europe (later).  I felt my aunt staring at me with so much negative energy I couldn't even look at her, I just focused on talking to my mom.  The aunt promptly told me my dog was fat.  It was true.  He was.  My dad had fed him double his daily food portion, with no walks, plus giving him popcorn.  I said in a comedic tone..."I'd like to refer your complaint to the person who's been taking care of him for the past month...double the food, none of the walks."  Everyone laughed.  She kept up her scowl/glare/smile (to hide the first two...ah women).

Later at dinner my uncle asked my husband what he thought of illegal aliens.  My aunt immediately went on a tirade about Mexicans, border control and how we should deport them all.  My husband's and my eyes widened as we pressed our legs together under the table.  Then my uncle made some comment about having curry once (my husband is half Pakistani).   It was so horrendous and so funny in hindsight I wish we'd secretly filmed it and put in on YouTube.  Someone should start a site like YouPorn, but for relatives behaving badly.

After dinner we moved outside to the fire pit.  Somehow they got onto the subject of spraying the vineyard with herbicides for weed control.  I looked at my dad.  "Ok...so organic is out?"  My uncle said in a loud, angry, drunk voice "90% of people don't care about organic."  "Where did you get that number from?"  "I made it up."  "Uh huh."  My aunt chimed in, "Yeah, well I won't do it."  As if it's HER FUCKING VINEYARD!!!  I started to loudly, angrily and drunkenly reply, but my wonderful husband stood up to go (the English are way too proper for this kind of American bullshit).  As I made a mental note to fuck his brains out later that night, I gratefully stood up with him, glared at my aunt and uncle, and in the most sarcastic, bitchy tone I could muster said, "Thank you all for a LOVELY evening."  I wish I'd said to my aunt, "You sure know how to make a last impression" (she's dying...oh please...she's been "dying" since I moved here 2 years ago...with no diagnosis...can't eat but is huge ???).

My husband and I grabbed Yoda, jumped in the car and left for the park, where he fucked my brains out on a picnic table under the stars, which is the only way to be arrested for nudity in Oregon, which explains a lot of my outdoor photo shoots where I seem to have an aversion to clothes.

I haven't spoken to my aunt and uncle since.  Until they apologize I'm going to make things REALLY uncomfortable for them every time they think about coming over.  When my aunt finally does cross my path I will speak my truth (let her have it).

Fade out fade in...last month my folks were coming down to show my husband how to rototill, because organic was back on the table (I always was the family lobbyist).  I was camming the night they arrived so they stayed with the aunt and uncle.  Yes they know what I do for a living.  I've been a professional entertainer since 15.  This is just my current "theater".  They don't need to hear about the sets, the costumes, the choreography or the props.  Though I think they'd like my music choices.  And my cooking show.  But they are sexual Kryptonite.  Big time boner killer.  I couldn't work knowing they were nearby.  Ew.

So after spending the night with those 2 assholes, suddenly we're back to spraying chemicals.  When my mom and dad broke the news I could only say, "Okay" (in more of an icy cold tone, not as bitchy) because it's their vineyard.

They left and my husband started spraying.  My mother had instructed him to saturate the ground, my dad said just barely, but the Queen is the most powerful piece on this chess board, so he drowned those fuckers.  He didn't wear gloves at first and the chemicals got into his hands.  We had to keep Yoda inside for his safety, as the chemicals could make him very sick OR KILL HIM.  I started to feel that yuckiness/edginess that comes with using toxic cosmetics or cleaning products.

We had to go to the farm store to get more.  You don't realize what "conventional" means until you walk down the aisle of chemical herbicides, pesticides and fertilizers.  These huge multi-gallon vats are filled with such poisonous stuff they have skulls and crossbones on them.  I'd love to shake some over ice and serve it in martini glasses to my aunt and uncle (garnished with a toxic grape).  I wouldn't pour a shot into their food, because cooking is sacred to me.  But I have no problem using cocktails as warfare.  Then I hear Dr. Phil's voice in my head saying 'Take the high road.  There's a lot less traffic out there.'  And then I remember Buddhism saying something about Do No Harm.  Grrrr.

The only ray of sunshine here is our vegetable garden is ours to experiment with.  And we are going organic all the way.  Found a nice spot on the property my folks would let us tear up with a rototiller.  When we started searching for YouTube videos on organic gardening, this was the first one to pop up:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OiGof48XVCQ

At first I was so turned off I turned it off.  I'm not a fan of Evangelicals.  My dad is one.  But as I started another video I kept thinking if I could get past the Bible quoting, that looked like a real cool video, and that guy seemed like a really cool guy.  A high vibrational being for sure.  I just loved his energy.  And HOLY CORGI not only did he change my life forever, he made me realize we believe a lot of the same things, we just speak different languages.  I love what Marianne Williamson says..."God doesn't care if you get the words right."

Paul's (we're on a first name basis) techniques and practices make so much sense and save us SO MUCH WORK.  Instead of brutally tearing up the ground with a rototiller, I gently place down 4 sheets of newspaper onto beautiful grass as my husband shovels and dumps a pile of mulch onto it.  It's much more spiritual than it sounds.  I want to convert the vineyard.

One of the best lessons I ever learned from my dad was, "It's better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission."

So we're just going to fucking do it.  Mulch and wood chips, one plant, one row at a time.  We'll still follow my parents' instructions regarding spraying chemicals, but maybe in a year or two they'll see they don't need to.

Like my great great grandparents, great grandparents and grandparents (who lived here), this land was here long before them and it'll be here long after I'm fertilizing a marijuana plant...OH!  I'm growing my own this season!  My first plant Fergus just sprouted!...where was I?  Oh yes...I'm a steward of the land.  No one owns land.  You take care of it for the short time you're here on this earth.  And this land needs some healing.

I drink a lot.  (Really?)  When I have wine I drink the whole bottle.  If I drink an organic or old world wine, I get no hangover, no headache, no Advil is needed.  A little black coffee and weed the next morning and I'm good to go.  If I drink a conventional bottle, the insomnia is for hours, the headache is excruciating and all the Advil, coffee, and weed in the world won't help me.  Walking through the chemical herbicide/pesticide/fertilizer aisle in the farm store I GET IT NOW.  If you drink a shot of that stuff you'd be in the emergency room.  If Yoda goes outside it could kill him.  DO YOU REALLY THINK IT ISN'T GOING TO END UP IN THE GRAPES?
  
And though my folks only want to sell their grapes, I have this strange vision.  I've never taken a chemistry class in my life.  But my husband who doesn't drink has, and is good at it.  How funny would it be if he turns out to be this AMAZING wine maker but never actually tastes his product?  (I call taster!)...like Walter White.  Guess that'd make me Pinkman...or was it Badger?  Mmmm...he would be the best stoner sex ever.  I should come up with a Breaking Bad themed wine line...Walter White Wine (sauvignon blanc), Skylar White Wine (riesling), Pinkman Rose (pinot noir), Gus Framboise, Hank Chardonnay...Mike ???...I got nothing...

But if we don't end up making wine I hope we can at least sell the grapes to Badger Mountain (remember my favorite pinot noir?).  Guess I have a thing for badgers.

But REALLY I want to sell them to this week's feature, King Estate Winery in Eugene, OR.

King Radio was a manufacturer of aviation avionics (the electrical systems used in planes).  They're still found in planes today.  I thought this was a sign.  My dad is a test pilot.  He knew of King Radio quite well.  Has their equipment in his personal planes.

They make all their wine at the impressive estate.  In addition to using estate grown grapes, they have 35 contracts with growers in Oregon and Washington.  The estate is 100% organic.  We're talking solar panels and a raptor program...TO EAT THE BIRDS WHO ATTEMPT TO EAT THE GRAPES.  Another one of those hardcore things that blow my stoner mind.  BUT...their wine is not organic because they add sulphites.  ???  I know.  I'm confused too.  Taking a toke.

They do free tours at 1pm, 2pm, 3pm and 4pm.  My hubby and I just got back from one.  It was just us so we had the tour guide all to ourselves.  It was like having our own personal organic viticulture coach.  We learned that Paul's technique of mulching and wood chips is the way to go (I want a compost pile!).  Also his pruning.  And we can use sheep!  For fertilizing whilst mowing the cover crop.  They won't destroy the grapes like goats.  Adding a flock of sheep to my pet wish list.  Hey...I knit.

The tasting was $10 for 5 wines (waived with a $60 purchase).  They have wines at every price point, with three lines: Acrobat, NxNW and King Estate.  The King Estate pinot noirs consistently make the top lists in Wine Spectator, Forbes, Cigar UpYourBeaver...this one pinot noir, called Old School, is grown by a farmer who uses Clydesdales and a plow!  I wonder if they watch the Super Bowl with him for the Budweiser commercials.

We learned more stuff, like cover crops (oats, radishes, peas), what we can spray with (elemental sulfur).  They have a fancy pants restaurant.  Next time my folks make it down to Oregon (they live in Seattle) I'm going to be dragging them there.  I'm still the family lobbyist, and I will not accept defeat.  The trees need me.  However, our tour guide did tell us if we choose to make our own wine, we'd get about 600 cases from our 3 acres.

I'm going to start calling my husband Walt.

Thank you for letting me rant.

Story Problem:

If Pam drinks 4 days per week and is dry 3 days per week, how is her drinking window 72 hours and her dry window 96 hours?

Answer:

'Cuz she starts drinking Friday evening but is done by the same time Monday evening leaving her dry from Monday evening through Friday evening.

I know.  It blows my stoner mind.  Like the time my yoga teacher said, "Yoga is the journey of the self, through the self, to the self."  Still smoking that one.

So my last post led to some great chats in my room this past weekend.

Isn't fish meat?  Yes.  I consider all animal protein meat.  Eggs too, which are not dairy.  The grade school pyramid was wrong.  Dairy comes from the milk of an animal.  Some would call me a vegetarian, but I disagree.  Pescetarian.

I don't think vegan or vegetarian or pescetarian or paleo is morally or nutritionally better than the other.  Different animals and sexes have different nutritional needs.  I can't exactly go up to Yoda and say, "Here.  Have some grains and vegetables.  Mommy's a vegan now," without getting a peg legged slap across the face.  My husband is a male human (because a sheep turned me down).  He does much better on paleo, having beef, lamb, poultry, fish and eggs, with fruits, vegetables, seeds and nuts.

Here's how I see it.  In an end times scenario, let's pretend the dollar has tanked, the grocery stores have been looted, it's every Pam for herself.  I wouldn't be able to take down an elk or deer or bunny rabbit (they're delicious), kill, gut and clean it (but I can suck the cock of someone who can...pretty sure that's how blow jobs came about).  There are some women who are that in touch with their inner amazon, but they're probably deployed somewhere in the Middle East.  Actually many of them live here in Oregon.  The hottest 19 year old barista EVER saw a deer on the side of the road that had been hit by a car but was still alive and suffering, so she pulled over, took out her machete (we all have at least 2) and slit its throat.  That's some hardcore shit.  I could dig you some clams, but that's about it, though in a survival situation I could probably start a fire without matches or a lighter.  Most stoners can, as well as turn any piece of fruit into a pipe.

I really am going to take up fly fishing for food.  Ned Stark said it best...the Pam who passes the sentence should swing the sword.  If I can't catch, kill, gut, clean and cook it myself, then I shouldn't eat it.

But I am going to add a small amount of dairy back into my diet...specifically FETA.  Not from cow milk, but from goat (I've read that goat milk is easier for humans to digest than cow, and I believe it. Thank you cystic acne).  The time I missed drinking the most during Dryuary was when I was preparing dinner, having bread (I bake my own now!), kalamata olives, wine and feta.  But if I'm going to do that, I need to know where it's coming from, the farming practices, how the goats are treated, everything.  Thankfully, my favorite goat dairy is just a stoner road trip away, not too far from Napa Valley.  I'll be visiting them during their next open house, and swing by a few organic wineries for tastings.  I LOVE the hippie dippy west coast!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYpfK-GXJ9c

My mom won't let me have a pet goat.  Says it'll eat the vineyard.  Which really sucks because I would love to make my own feta and Greek yogurt.  I would name her Tzatziki...get her a husband named Melvin.  I used to have pet goats...Lesbian Nubians...Sally and Gertrude...we got 'em to clear acres of blackberries.  Those cute little tractors can swallow anything [insert goat porn joke here], which means my mom is right (grrrrr).  No pet goats.  But they're SO CUTE!!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLTwTsh9FfI

I'm looking forward to my Mediterranean picnic...homemade bread, fruit, olives, feta and so much wine that Alex Trebeck starts to look hot...

This week's feature will go nicely.  I discovered it last weekend.  It's getting a callback.

Chateau Routas Rosé, a dry rosé from the Provence region of France, made from the varietals cinsault, grenache and syrah.  I have so much fun looking at where a winery is on Google Maps.  I'm manifesting a French wine tasting vacation for "research purposes".  This winery would definitely be on my visit list.  That makes 2 so far...Gerard Betrand in Languedoc and now Chateau Routas in Provence.

http://www.chateauroutas.com/files/7314/5035/0807/RouviereRose2015.pdf

I wish I had descriptors for you, but I was enjoying it so much I forgot to write them down, and my short term memory is shot to shit (will have them for you next week).  It was definitely a standout.  I've had 2 other rosés in the past 2 weeks, but they did not make my list.  Both tasted like church wine, which reminded me of Sunday Mass.  I suddenly had the urge to be kneeling, which happens even with good rosé, but for other reasons...the kind that'll get you a side of elk...

Au Revoir!

Back in the saddle again.  I had a glass of rosé at a wine bar on Friday with my husband after yoga, a bottle of rosé Friday night during my show and another during Saturday's.  THEY WERE AMAZING.  Like the first time you have sex after a 2 year dry spell.  Had a 22oz. beer (Ninkasi Total Domination IPA) on Sunday during the Super Bowl, followed by a bottle of tempranillo during my evening show (not my best idea...won't  be doing that again...got to pick one or the other).  And on Monday I had a 22 oz. beer (Ninkasi Tricerahops Double IPA) for my day off.  Didn't drink Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday.  I love my dry days.  And I love my drinking days.  Thank you Dryuary!  Suck it AA.

This week I'd like to give a shout out to Ninkasi Brewing Company.  If you ever find yourself in Duckburg (Eugene), Oregon and you love beer, YOU MUST try their FREE tour with a complimentary  5+ beer tasting (Thursdays @ 1pm).  Book online.  Wear close toed shoes.  We spent the first five minutes of the tour waiting for some wedge sandeled idiot to strut back to her car and change her shoes.  While everyone else sat basking in the sunlight at a picnic table hearing the backstory of the brewery founders, I clung to a wall like a gecko for the only 6 inches of shade anywhere, trying not to let my skin sizzle like one of the Dark Seekers in I Am Legend.  But other than that, it was a glorious experience.

Their facility is quite large.  Biggest game in town.  The tour guide was so friendly and informative (Ninkasi is the Sumerian goddess of beer).  He turned me on to this Discovery Channel documentary, "How Beer Saved the World."  If you have 43 minutes (no commercials!) and love beer, I think you'll enjoy this.

https://vimeo.com/23278902

Ninkasi's flagship is Total Domination IPA  6.7% ABV 65 IBU  $10 per 6 pack

I remember the first time I tasted it this past summer.  I was taking my English husband to his first county fair...

I hadn't been to one in a long while, but grew up going to them.  As a kid my favorite part was looking at all the livestock, seeing who had won the blue ribbons.  I loved petting the sheep after they'd been shorn, the cows, the pigs, the rabbits, the chickens.  I loved eating corn dogs and whipping fudge, going on the rides Octopus and Zipper.  My dance studio had us performing every night.  It was awesome.  Then.

Since then I've been exploring Buddhism.  Suddenly I'm very aware of and sensitive to suffering.  I feel the life force of EVERYTHING (I have a spider relocation program).  This time at the fair, in all the livestock pens and cages, I saw how much all the animals were suffering.  Except for the goats.  They were happy.  Probably because we don't eat them in our culture, we just keep them around for lawn mowing and cheese.  But everything else was miserable.  Being in those cages for DAYS.  Auctioned off for food.  The blue ribbon thing suddenly looked like the most sick and twisted beauty pageant ever.

As I was petting a baby dairy cow who looked exactly like Norman from City Slickers, a few big bulls came out of the judging ring.  The blue ribboned bull was beautiful.  Huge.  Muscular.  Intimidating.  After he was chained up in his stall, he sat down and looked away from everyone.  The crowd dispersed and I walked up next to him.  He turned his head to me as much as he could (he had a large, painful looking ring through his nose chained to his stall).  I looked into his eye and could not believe the suffering I saw.  He was going to spend the rest of his days in a field fucking and making little baby cows, going off to live the American human male dream, but it wasn't worth this agony.  He looked back at me and actually stood up.  I wanted to cry.

"Look what they've done to you!  This is barbaric.  I am SO sorry."  My chest started to hurt.  "I promise, from this day forth, I will never harm another animal again."  He said nothing back to me, but it was a conversation I will never forget.  His pain was excruciating.

OK so the point of this whole story was after my life changing moment with Mr. Bull, we went outside.  My husband was a little taken aback by what he had just seen.  I was overwhelmed and desperately needed a chair in the shade and a beer in my hand.  My baby faced 28 year old husband forgot his ID so I braved the sun and headed for the beer tent.  I asked the nice tattooed dread locked white lady straight out of Portlandia if she had any IPAs.  "This one."  She pointed to Ninkasi.  "It's local.  It's their flagship."

Local?  IPA?  FLAGSHIP? (I love that word) I'll take it!!  She poured me a recycled plastic cup full.  I took several large gulps.  It was SO REFRESHING.  Absolutely delicious.  Strong floral aroma and bold fruity taste...specifically nectarine.  The much welcome buzz helped dull my very raw senses.  I sat down next to my hubby.  "I never really believed in your witchy powers until just now.  You actually communicated with that bull."  "I never realized how cruel our farming practices are.  I promised him I would stop eating beef and that I would never harm another animal again."

I couldn't keep my promise right away...or completely.  After I finished my beer I promptly went to the corn dog stand and devoured one (never again).  Over the next month I had 2 beef burgers, 1 pork burrito bowl at Chipotle, some Costco rotisserie chickens, but then completely switched to a Mediterranean Pescaterian (Vegetarian with Fish) diet.  I wish I could live on a vegan diet (tried 3 times), but that's not a good idea for bipolar bears.  We need animal protein for our brains that can sometimes be like Audrey 2 in Little Shop of Horrors.  The only creatures I eat now are wild caught seafood (I'm actually going to learn how to fly fish!).  No farm raised anything.  I fully accept that I will be reincarnated as an Alaskan salmon.  I was a bear in a former life, so I deserve it.  It must really suck to be a salmon.

So that's the story of how I discovered Ninkasi Total Domination IPA...and why I stopped eating creatures with feet forever.  Flippers only.

Stay away from the whipping fudge.