"Lovely ponytail. Whatcha drinkin'?"

I don't mean to go all Buddha on you, but obviously Colorado Springs is happening for a reason. Once in a while, I stop complaining about my new home long enough to recognize that these new experiences must be embraced as life lessons.

The sooner I learn what it is I'm supposed to learn, the sooner I can get back to civilization (read: Tampa or Boston).

So check it - I've often said that if I ate meat, I'd try anything. Visiting Cambodia? I'd be all about the chocolate cockroaches. Downtown New Port Richey? French-fried frog's legs.

Cause why not?

The only thing saving me from an adventurous appetite is: I don't do dead animals.

But I do likey the drinkey.

Yesterday, while enjoying a blues festival in Trinidad, Colorado, I look up and notice several biker types enjoying a beverage I've yet to try. Could this be it? The special something I'm supposed to experience?

I approach hesitantly.

Red beer.

I look closer.

Comes in a can.

Closer still.

Bud Light can.

Okay. Red flag. What does American beer and screwing in a boat have in common? They're both f*cking close to water.

And what the hell is Clamato?

I find a waitress cause I figure I'll give it a go. I'm in. Besides, how bad could it be? Once, during senior year, my friends and I snuck aboard a ship docked at Harbor Island. Filled with young English sailors. Yummy. They made us a drink mixing beer and lemonade. Double yummy.

Then we got busted by some major or general or whateverthehell and had to leave.

I thought maybe I'd try this Clamato concoction. Boris the Biker, sporting a ponytail down to his tushie and several missing teeth, says it's better than a cosmopolitan. His lovely lady friend with a tattoo of her daughter's face on her back concurs. Perhaps drinking this beverage would lead to my eversoimportant transcendent experience. And then I could haul ass back home with a clean conscience.

Asked the waitress about it and she said, with a nauseated look, "Clamato is clam and tomato juice."

Long pause.

Now that's disgustin'.

I don't dig on shellfish. Even if alcohol is included. Even if Boris *is* buyin'.

Seriously, clam juice?

At that point, Youngest said, "Mommy, I want to go back to normal people."

Me too, kid. Me too.