I am completely losing my tolerance.
It's like whenever I go out I need to adjust my whole game plan, because right now? It takes four beers.
Not only that, but bars are full of unreliable liars (me), because I was trying to figure out how I got so fucking wasted on Friday night, and I decided based upon how much money I had in my pocket/wallet that I had "LIKE FIVE FUCKING BEERS," and I was one off.
And Gyna told me that according to the beer list at the bar, Dragon's Milk was like 8% alcohol, or at least "less than 9," and Kevin said it was "like 10" and I just made up numbers for fun.
Of course, I am obsessing over this. I mean, I need to know, otherwise I'm worthless. Because four beers (I had four, not five) at 8%? That's like eight Coors Lites or six PBRs. What am I, some sort of fucking weenus?
And so, with my shriveled, dehydrated pride, I am figuring this crap out. That's how it works. There is naught quite so demeaning as gratuitous weenusness. More importantly, I am proving that I am not a weenus by researching the shit out of this. Because a true weenus would just take it, they would just be all, "Oh well, I guess I'm a weenus," internal monologue over, but not I! Someone of my caliber must dissect and immerse and obsess, because that is behavior worthy of a nonweenus, albeit a neurotic, high-strung non-weenus, and I refused to be labed otherwise (meaning I want to be labeled a nonweenus. You people need to pay attention, and by "you people" I mean "you weenuses").
See, that's how you do it. You feel like a weenus, so you just make everyone else feel more weenusy to negate your own personal weenussery. My logic is flawless.
On with the investigation.
Brewery website: 10% ABV
Beeradvocate: 8.5% ABV (weenus)
Old School Bottle (pictured above): 10% ABV
New School Bottle (not pictured): none listed. Does this imply that it's non-alcoholic? (WEENUS)
Beer List at the Map Room: ("something less than 9%")
Me: "LIKE 9.5% BITCHES"
I don't know who to believe. This is causing me serious mental trauma.
Now I have another dilemma: no matter what, my tolerance is going down. Time to slow myself, paced-like. As much as I love being drunk, I seriously loathe being wasted.
*I would like to add, as a little aside, that I debated exactly how I wanted to spell "weenus" for a good half hour. This was the funnest.