Edgy Mama

This weekend was all about beer.

This week will be all about suffering from a patch of PI (poison ivy) in the middle of my back. I have no idea how I got PI. I swear I did not at any time remove my T-shirt while at Brewgrass (the Great Smokies Beer and Bluegrass Festival), nor did I roll in the next-to-nonexistent grass on the hillside overlooking the stage. I did take the liberty of peeing in the woods once (the porta-potty line was ridiculously long–come on, people, it’s a beer fest–you must supply adequate outflow facilities!). But when I did so, I was actually on the edge of the forest, with my back against a car, not a vine-clad tree trunk. So, here I am, itchy and swollen in the one spot on my body that I can’t reach. I’ve had to train my boy to spray my back with Caladryl lotion (which, by the way, is a fluid of the gods. All hail Caladryl! And in spray form to boot!).

Brewgrass was brilliant, and I’m glad it’s only an annual event, because yours truly is both a lightweight and a lover of good beer, which can be a deadly combination on a sunny afternoon.

My only momentary glitches of good taste (I think) came when 1.) I gushed all over the Head of Eastern Sales for Flying Dog Brewery (I was excited to meet him because I used to work with the guy who owns the brewery–who, was, in fact, one of the great mentors of my young career). O, and you can get your mind out of the gutter I know it’s sloshing around in, kay?

My second glitch was the necessary purchase of a baseball cap (it was sunny when it was supposed to be rainy) that reads: “BEER: helping ugly people have sex since 1862.” Which, of course, makes me wonder what happened in 1862? Was Budweiser invented then?

Continuing my adventures in all things Ale, on Sunday morning, instead of going to church, I took Ash’s advice, packed the kids up and took them down to the newish site of Highland Brewery, where I waited in line with a bunch of other hungover people in order to purchase six bottles of Imperial Gaelic Ale, the limited edition, high-gravity, last to be brewed in the original brewery, beer that was only available between noon and 5:00 on Sunday. Each party-flu suffering person was only allowed to buy six one-liter bottles, and at $10 each (cash or check, which meant I had to pay a portion with two Sacajawea dollars that had been prettily weighing down my wallet for several months). The bottles of Ale are particularly beautiful, though I have yet to crack one for a taste of its interior nectar. But I have them! Hurrah! And the kids learned how important it is to support local businesses.

So, basically, the weekend was grand, although I’m still tired and itchy. Off to Caladryl Land!

Damn, just realized the boy’s asleep and E-spouse is on the road. Watch carefully as I perform the yoga pose known as “Spraying Insect Who Landed in Middle of Back” or “Arm Wrench and Finger Plunge while Standing on One Foot.”

Really now, I’ll shut up.