St. Patty's Day took place this last Saturday, and being the German-English-Navajo Indian-American I am, I partied most hard.  Said partying took place at the house of my friend’s Austin and Stacy.  Austin was throwing Stacy a birthday party, and his party just so happened to coincide with some unseasonably awesome weather.  Thus, we celebrated by having a bbq and Cornhole fiesta.  Cornhole is a game where the objective is to throw a beanie bag into a hole in a board placed 20 feet away.  A scientific formula for Cornhole would be:

 x (beanie bag) + y (throwing things into holes) * z (beer) = a (awesomeness)

We started the drinking and revelry around 1pm, and the good times continued on throughout the rest of the day and night.  I could go into further detail about the specifics of the party, but that would take too long and distract from my main point. 

That point is this: I can't get drunk off of Coors Light anymore.

In college, and the years immediately following it, Coors Light was a sort of life's blood to me and my friends, and an 11 hour period of drinking La Bala De Plata was certain to lead to three things:

1.) Sufficient drunkenness;

2.) An inflated sense of sexiness and charisma; and

3.) An awful hangover the following morning.

 
This St. Patty's Day I made the awful discovery that an 11 hour session of drinking Coors Light now leads to the following 3 things:

1.) Feeling awfully sleepy;

2.) An inflated sense of being bloated; and

3.) An awful hangover the following morning.

I blame Portland for my newfound resistance to Coors Light.  I blame Portland's microbreweries for creating beers that have an alcohol content of 22%, yet somehow still taste like sweet nectar.  I blame the friends that I have made here in Portland for getting me hooked on Makey Make, and thus increasing my alcohol tolerance to levels typically only reached by Marissa Cooper and these guys (http://dhs1971.darien.org/photos/drunks.jpg).  I blame Portland because everyone here seems to have a kegerator, and instead of getting offered water whenever I am someone’s guest, I am instead always asked by the host “Beer?”

I love all of the above things.  I love beers strong enough to make my eyes water.  I love the rich oak taste of Makey Make, and I love brewery fresh beer being offered up to me at nearly every home I visit.  But I miss my love affair with Coors Light.  I miss the sweet Rocky Mountain spring water making me feel all funny inside. I miss waking up the morning after a long night of drinking the bullet, seeing a sink full of empty silver cans in my sink, and thinking to myself “Wow, I really wish I remembered what the hell we did last night!”

I’ll always miss you Coors Light.  But apparently I’ve moved on.