First off, if you’re in the Dallas area and haven’t been to The Fraternal Order of Eagles 3108 (FOE for us common folk), you’re just doing life wrong. It’s the best pool in Dallas with the chillest atmosphere and the cheapest drinks. I know you’re in love already, but I’ll keep going…
This Saturday, FOE is hosting its 4th annual Barbecue Cookoff, where more than 15 amateur pit masters are just waiting to fill your belly with the best grub known to man, and Deep Ellum Brewing Co. will be featuring beer specials on tons of dank-ass beers. Admission is only $10, and there’s absolutely no reason why your body shouldn’t be there, drunk off craft beer and full of brisket.
So, run to East Dallas, stuff your face and dunk that bod in a cold pool. America.
Sometimes (most times), we just need a drink, or twelve. I’ve noticed that these times of need have gotten more and more frequent as I grow older and my give-a-shit-ometer starts crapping out. Basically, I could always go for some jiggle juice. Here are just a few key moments in our lives that we need to drink about in depth.
Work: This one is a no-brainer. Everyone in your office is a lame douchecake and they all suck bags of dicks on the daily. Oh, you work in a client-facing role? Pour an extra one out for your former happiness and self-esteem.
Twerk: If you’re going to shake your shit, you also need to shake some booze down that throat.
Dating: Again, another obvious one. Dating is the absolute worst. How am I supposed to hide my obnoxious, pirate-hooker self long enough for someone to develop genuine interest in me? And why am I expected to be charming AF around the opposite sex when I can’t even converse with my barista without getting painfully awkward? Pour up. Drink.
Traffic: If you’re lucky enough to realize your own personal hell by commuting to work every day, you deserve your very own keg for breakfast. I only have a 10 minute drive to work, and every time I get there I’m shocked that I’m not given a mimosa and a happy ending as a thank-you for not murdering any dick bags on the road.
Texting: Fuck you, three little dots of anxiety.
Family: This one’s tricky – but in order to survive family gatherings, one simply MUST get sauced. What am I supposed to do? Stay sober while getting pummeled with questions about what’s wrong with me and why I can’t seem to find a man? Silently chug water as my mother cries and asks when I’m coming out of the closet? Nope.
Getting Ready: Decisions are hard. And so is grain alcohol.
The luggage under my eyes is particularly heavy this Monday because I slept about 2.5 hours last night. I wasn’t partying; and I wasn’t doing anything the title of this article may call to mind. In fact, I was all alone in my bed, staring at the ceiling and trying my best to catalog the thoughts racing through my mind. You see, I’m a big movie fan. So much a fan that I can’t visit Target without making a stop at the DVD section. Still, it’s not very often that a movie makes me lie awake at night. This was, without a doubt, my worst recorded case of the Sunday Scaries; and alcohol was not even to blame. Continue reading
As much as we try to deny that Valentine’s Day is even a real thing anymore, any single person will tell you that this most horrible of days is rough. No matter how hard you try to put on your good face and pretend like seeing all these happy bitches all around you isn’t seriously making you consider committing a felony, we know that on the inside you’re plotting their deaths and white-knuckling it until you can be home and pantsless, dominating a box of bargain chocolates.
The stages of Single Awareness Day are fairly easy to spot within each of us, and with the right booze to pair with them, you’ll be able to make it right on through this unholy day with ease and a serious buzz. Continue reading
You guys, I know it’s only Thursday – and you CANNOT FUCKING WAIT until this week is over, but trust me – you can do it. Friday is so close! And you have already kicked so much ass this week – what’s one more day of complete kick-assery? Right?
This guy thinks you can do it. And that you deserve a beer for your hard work. Also, a promotion.
While out at a bar recently, I came across a new beer I had never seen before: Rebel IPA. It looked interesting and I love IPAs, so I tried it out thinking that it was something new and local.
It was delicious – smooth, full of flavor and still not super filling – all the good characteristics of an IPA. I was stoked about it. So much so that I got a total beer boner for it and started to look it up on my Untappd app. (PS if you don’t have this app, you’re doing life – and beer drinking – very wrong.)
It turns out that this new IPA is actually made by Samuel Adams. I know – IPAs are supposed to be reserved for pretentious little hipster breweries, and made only by wafe-thin dudes with skinny jeans, long beards and tattoos. This Rebel IPA is not only made by a giant booze powerhouse, but it was fucking great and I’m really looking forward to having it again. Seriously, go try it – you will not be disappointed.
Long story short, nice job Sam Adams – you successfully gave this IPA-loving ginger a total beer boner (beerner?).