Beer in Buena

This weekend was tons of fun, despite long drives and a mild case of strep. (Well, I'm not sure it's strep. But The Funasaurus' mom has strep, so I'm using it as an excuse.)

We arrived in Buena Vista last Friday night, and proceeded to consume a disgusting amount of M&Ms and pretzel rods, and an even more disgusting amount of cheap beer. I suck at drinking games. So I got fairly drunk. (And it doesn't take very much. Two beers and a shot of Jamo and I was done for.) Saturday we got up Not So Early At All, and lounged around muttering at each other, while nursing hangovers over lukewarm cups of coffee.

We eventually made it into town, where the group split into two contingents: the "hikers" and the "we don't really 'do' the outdoors. At all. Ever.-ers" The Funasaurus made a beeline for the nearest T.V. in a coffee shop, since the cabin lacked that particular Funasaurus lifeblood. I bravely donned FIVE different shades of blue (pants, sweatshirt, hiking boots, fleece, and waterproof shell- all blue. All different.) and joined the hiking group.

We went on a beautiful hike, although in the span of an hour, we went from sunny skies and sweating to falling snow and windburn.

Going up I did o.k., going down I was in Last Place the whole way, minus one chick who stopped to pee waaay off in the woods and fell behind, but quickly caught up with Princess Slowpoke and lapped her immediately. I don't really have great balance. So running down steep terrain that is so Not Paved and really more Covered In All Sorts of Twisty, Pokey Rocks is not an easy feat, for me. Stop and smell the (frozen) roses already, folks!

Hiking that incredibly steep and treacherous mountain (read: gently inclining slope [I think we were gone TWO WHOLE HOURS]) merited some meat. Of the RED variety. The Funasaurus got us steaks, and we lit up the BBQ once we were back at the cabin. After consuming the greater part of a mid-sized cow, we turned to our aforementioned beer tasting.

It was pretty good. But I am not really a "beer" girl. No, I much prefer a pinot noir, or cabernet on such an evening. But Oktoberfest is not really about burgundies of any kind. So I tasted the malted barley. And then quickly opened a Mike's Hard Lemonade, as soon as the official "tasting" was over and "collegiate-esque binge drinking" began. I was punished for my "pansy" drink by being picked upon in the game Kings, (for the record, our rules were MUCH more clever than the ones on that link) but I stood resolute. I'd rather drink a case of Mike's than another sip of banana/grass/rotting-pile-of-trash-flavored beer.

Saturday night we discovered how Very Old, Indeed we were, when the drinking festivities ended at the late, late hour of 11:00 and I fought a headache and sore throat and The Funasaurus suffered some major heartburn all night.

Weak.

Sunday involved more muttering and hangover nursing, as well as vacuuming and hefting a metric shit-ton of empty beer bottles out to the cars. And then the long drive home, to surly cats and a pile of dirty laundry.

How is it Monday, again, already?