I used to love life.

For a time, I hated life. I became cynical, dwelling only on what was wrong. Reveling in negativity. Perpetuating my own bleak outlook and poor attitude.

Then I came the closest I’ve ever come again to dying.

I now love life again. Perhaps more than I ever had previously. Today is Friday – as such, I’m going to celebrate my brief time on the ride with a beer.

Please join me.

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I like going on a limb. I don’t do it often enough, but I really enjoy those moments when I dive in headfirst, not really thinking about what I’m about to get into. Sometimes, this goes terribly wrong and I fall on my face. But other times, it’s simply magic.

Tonight, it’s pure magic.

When I went to the beer store, I was instantly attracted to a certain naughty four-pack. He gave me a cat call and I couldn’t resist. Bourbon County seemed too good to be true — a commemorative stout aged in bourbon barrels. Oh, and not for nothing, but it’s produced by Goose Island, a brewery that has its shit together. Seriously.

I brought the four beers up to the counter. Handed them to the friendly booze dealer. And he, in turn, told me that I would be paying $21.37 for the small collection. Over twenty dollars for four beers?! Where the fuck are we, back in the USSR?!?! I muttered under my breath. This is an astronomical sum of money to pay for less than fifty ounces of beverage. But I wasn’t going to back down. Call it a sixth sense or just plain stupidity, but the newly revealed expense was appealing in a way. As though the maxim you get what you pay for might be true.

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Today is the last day of February vacation. I know, I know — I shouldn’t complain, seeing as most jobs don’t include an occasional week-long break. Hell, these days, people are willing to take all sorts of jobs without benefits. With that being said, I’ve certainly enjoyed the time off and have wanted to make the most of these final vacation hours.

So what have I done to maximize my Friday-no-work time? Well, a major portion of this afternoon has been spent watching Raging Bull on YouTube and drinking beer.

But before we get to the beer, I feel the need to interject a bit of movie-rambling. After all, I’ve got a buzz on and OL is my zone to do so. To anyone out there that thinks The Departed is an amazing movie — you’re wrong. It’s pretty good. For a remake. But it’s not that spectacular. Yeah, I know, the use of the Boston accent is just wonderful (oh wait, no it isn’t…it’s fucking infuriating). But the bottom line is that it’s nothing more than a solid flick.

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Tonight, despite my blood oath, I went back to Beacon Hill Wine & Gourmet to pick up my weekly syrup. No, not sizzurp! You know, beer! The sweet ambrosia with which the gods wined socialized and made merry! The GOOD STUFF!!!

Anyways, I hung my head and marched into the very store that I had sworn off a mere two months ago. I wasn’t happy about this decision, but I was in a time crunch and thus forfeited my foolish pride. Which, quite frankly, was really hard for me. Some days, foolish pride is the only ace I have up my sleeve.

To my delight, this second trip to Beacon Hill Wine & Gourmet was actually enjoyable. Whereas the cashier during the first excursion was a pretentious dongle hell bent on insulting me and then taking my cash, this second adventure saw a helpful young lady rocking the register. Truthfully, she talked and smiled as though she had been pounding Jolt Cola all damn day. But maybe that made her all the more eager to help me. I don’t know. All I do know is that thanks to a caffeine-riddled bloodstream of one female clerk, Beacon Hill Wine & Gourmet have officially been taken off of my shit list. Kudos.

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