it is not miller time, and it is never going to be

beer is ishy. that is what i have to say about that. after waking up, i did not read my isp like i promised myself, instead i started reading the washington post and the washington citypaper. read both practically cover to cover. then my mom ordered some pizza, and me and my sister ate pizza and settled in to watch some real world new orleans. my sister is not nearly as sick as i am, and only watched about an hour of it. i, however, am still watching it as i write this.

danny is so dreamy. if this were any other season, i probably would have gone to bed already, but i have the biggest crush ever on danny. he is soo motherfucking cute. he makes my heart go pit a patter. he is THE cute, adorable gay boy. people think i am exaggerating when i say that i am a real world addict, but oh no, i do not lie about this. i probably have seen every episode of real world at least a few times. when they have marathons, i do not leave the house at all. i sit and watch what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real. in the past thirty-six hours, i have watched at least ten hours of real world. real world is the best, and i've always wanted to go those open auditions that they have just because they seem really fun. i meant to go this year - it was in early december in orlando, but i forgot about it in my rush to get out of florida fury. oh well, there's always next year to show how pathatic i am.

but anyways, beer is ishy - let's get back to that. watching real world, i decide to eat some leftover pizza and -- oh, the dominos in virginia do not give you garlic sauce. when i ordered the pizza, i asked them to remember the garlic sauce, and they acted like i was from mars and said that they don't give garlic sauce. well motherfuck, the dominos in sarasota does. yet another reason that i am missing sarasota.

so i heat up some pizza and i see in the fridge that there is a case of beer, so i decide to have a beer with my pizza. i equate beer with manliness and my inability to drink it with my unmanliness. the scent of it invokes my gag reflex. i have been conditioned to associate that smell with throw-up. conditioned from my king cobra binge last spring semester, wherein i would drink three quarts of king cobra and puke my guts out all over the motherfucking place. only to repeat it the next time i got drunk. well my body eventually started revolting to the malt liquor scent and the beer scent. i can not get drunk off of beer, because i honestly can not drink more than one without wanting to gag. each wannabe gulp is a struggle and winds up only being a puny sip.

and so, this is why i am froo-froo drinks' #1 fan. i can drink hard liquor like no tomorrow, but beer just makes me want to hurl. this is probably why i am an arbor mist and wine fiend. but i always feel the need to try my luck at beer every so often, feeling that i need to be able to handle beer to be an adult american male -- that i am a pussy or something for not being able to drink beer. and yeah, i know i should be above trying to conform to some silly notion of gender roles, but i am so not, and i readily admit this. it is a problem. i am a gay male but i don't want to be a faggy gay male - one that can not even handle beer. it seems so eight year old girlish - tasting an uncle's beer at some family dinner and recoiling at the taste exclaiming ish! that is me, i say ish, and want to fucking gag, it is a concerted effort for me to drink the beer - my brain, my sense of smell, and my gag reflex all work in accordance for me to be able to down this stupid beer without throwing up.

anyways, i finished most of the beer before deciding i was being lame and would just need to learn to accept my froo-frooness. and then made myself comfortable in the couch, returned to my dr. pepper and contented myself to stare at danny, daydreaming about smooching cute boys on the tv.