American stout. Hoppsy. I can't even taste the chocolate.. malty smooth. |
Allagash Black. Belgian strong dark ale. Aged in Bourbon barrels. Very sweet given the high sugar content also high in alcohol 9%. |
They ran out of Blind Pig but they had Pliny the Elder. |
Row 2 Hill 56. American pale. Light subtle aromatic fruity. Followed by Evil Twin / Stillwater / Stone "The Perfect Crime" Black Smoked Saison. (not pictured) |
For my second beer I ask for an Allagash Black from Brenda. I wait awhile, she comes back and says, "You're having the Sculpin, right?" "No. The Allagash." "My bad, this ones on me." Brenda actually bought me a beer. My mind optimistically wonders if she has a thing for me. No bartenders ever bought me a beer since that time with Mark when we went to our first gay bar, Faultline. I should bring up the subject next time as part of my flirtation, something along the line..."since you bought me a beer. I owe you dinner. How about that French Bistro on Colorado Blvd?" type of thing.
I noticed a loud extrovert, heavy set woman talking loudly and she mentioned Frogtown. Automatically, this rings my bell because I notice she is a local, someone who was raised in the neighborhood. She mentions she's in her early 40's but she looks about mid-30's, the beer is really strong at the Verdugo for this illusion to work on me. I finally get a chance to chat her up by saying, "I haven't heard this place called Frogtown since junior high." She goes into the history of the place that it was named Frogtown because the civil corp. of engineers called it that because of a pond in the area. It was actually toads not frogs. To me the name has strong gang affiliations, FTR, and is used to denote their territory. We introduce ourselves, her name is Lissette. She starts unwinding her stories, I just try to keep up to her with stories of my own. Lisette tells of her story how when she was a kid, in Reno, Nevada, her school would allow them to bring home the school pet hamster for everyone to enjoy. When it was her turn to take home the hamster, she tortured the little creature until it died. She was fascinated every time she squeezed the dead hamster its eyes would bug out. She had to bury the dead thing, but the ground was frozen solid, so she got her hair dryer and hooked it up to an extension cord and defrosted the grown and buried the dead hamster. Now that the hamster was dead how was she going explain what happened to it. Of course, she couldn't say she tortured it to death, so she brought the empty hamster cage to school and pretended the hamster had somehow escaped and a full on search and recovery ensued, but the hamster was never found. Later she said she would defrost the ground where the hamster was buried just to exhume the remains and look fascinatingly at the decaying body of the hamster. She said what I would have said about her too. Serial killer totally. I followed it with my story about some junior high boys who said they got a cat..a firecracker..Lissette started talking about how she had to euthanize her pet dog. Her pet dog had gotten some type of cancer or other and she had to put it down. The vet said she could administer the coup de grace shot. So they scheduled a day for her to do it and she thought to herself I can do this, no big deal. The day of the euthanizing some nurses came balling their eyes out over having to put down a dog earlier. After seeing this, she said, "Fuck this shit. I'm not doing this. You guys can do this. I'm not going to be in the same room." The other time she had to "take care" of animal was when a sick opossum had crawled into her planter and she couldn't bring herself to pound the thing to death with a shovel. I shared my story about an opossum...and the jacuzzi...Lissette talked about the time her dog brought her a dead opossum in her backyard. The dog brought it to her like, "look ma, look what I caught." She was totally grossed out. She went to get a shovel to pickup the thing up and put it in the trash. By the time she got back the possum was gone. I guess it was playing possum. My story was about my father-in-law's dog, Cookie, killed a cat...the dead cat the the funniest expression I have ever seen on a dead cat...
Toward the end of the evening, I bummed a cigarette off her and our discussions became more intimate. She had been previously in a 20 year relationship and when the relationship ended she got a long breakup e-mail (the longest e-mail she has ever gotten). Basically, the boyfriend ended the relationship because "he needed somebody who believed in God." I thought to myself this is lamest excuse or the boyfriend had no commitment whatsoever." Then she followed it with how she had pursued someone else... and I asked if how hard she hard pursued this person..did you throw yourself at him? "Yes, very hard in that type of way." Just to get over all the crap relationship stuff she went to Jamaica with her friends. I asked her my usual travel question about taking on a lover in order to immerse oneself in the language, food and culture. She said it didn't interest her. Although, she met a pimp who had a stable of Rastapros who could be had for $60.00 a night. Dexter St. Jacque and you passed up on it. Incredible, I thought for having missed on an opportunity. We became emotionally vulnerable to the point, I thought about sleeping with her. The beers at the Verdugo are a powerful aphrodisiac.
They were playing a bunch of Elvis tunes and this one by the Buzzcocks.