Not one for hanging out all girly-style, I often find myself amongst men when it comes to social situations.  My few close girlfriends, whom I call "close girlfriends," are labeled as such because they enjoy the same things in a friendship:  no drama, no dumb bitches, and no judgments held.  Another thing we all enjoy is BEER.  I was ready for one last hoo-rah for the season at DeRosa Manor, so we fired up the grill and headed to 99 Bottles in Federal Way for professional beer selection advice.  I didn't tell 99 Bottles owners Craig and Tiffany Adamowski what I was having for dinner; I simply told them the "Three Drink Minimum" rules.  Of course, Craig insisted on pointing out the column was called "Three Drink MINIMUM."  Shit. He was too smart for me. 

Long story short (they only budget me for 400 words here): I left with six bottles.  Six 22-ounce bottles, each containing 11 percent alcohol.  It was going to be a rough night, to say the least.

Drink One: Southern Tier Cuvee #2 (bartender's choice) - Tiffany tells me, "Brewed once, aged in American oak. This baby's 11 percent and tastes like vanilla crème, classic crème brûlée and nougat."  Yes! For once I could have dessert first!  Screw you, mom.  I don't brush after every meal and I don't always mind my manners, either.  But I'm a big girl and I do what I want!

Drink Two: One of the Scuttlebutt beers (most popular drink within last hour) - I'll be completely, soberly honest here - I have no recollection of which beer Craig gave me second.  All I know is I drank this one, and at least another one with the name "Horny Devil" in it.  Does it really matter?  You don't really care, I know you don't.  Stop patronizing me.  I know all you want to see is my ass passed out on the ground.  Well, I tell you what, here at Three Drink Minimum wishes really do come true.

Drink Three: Southern Tier Mokah (my choice) - Seriously, I was fucked up that night.  I have NO idea how this beer tasted, what I said during this time, how my clothes ended up in the fireplace, or how my tennis racket made it home with Bandito Betty.  I do, however, remember befriending spiders that spoke with English accents.  Whatever that means.
[99 Bottles, 35002 Pacific Hwy S, Federal Way, 253.838.2558]