This Sunday Sesh is brought to you by Cascade Blonde. I’ve had it in the cupboard for awhile from when I bought a Cascade sample pack before Christmas, and since I didn’t want to review all of the Cascades at once, I left this one til now. Plus, a friend of mine said I should give it a go, so this review’s for you, Alicia.
Firstly, apologies for no Sunday Sesh last weekend. My real job, house stuff, business stuff and a prior engagement all conspired to whittle away most of my time over the last couple of weeks so that I ran out of it, and didn’t get a chance to post a blog.
However, I’m back to the beer-reviewing this week.
So, Cascade Blonde.
This one’s very fruity and crisp, slightly cloudy in the glass with a frothy head that slides down the glass as you sip. It’s another one that could almost be mistaken for a shandy because of it’s slight bitterness and very little after taste. It’s something you could drink easily in a session and not realise how many you’ve had. Good one for a hot day.
This post was inspired by a young’un I know who came out to all and sundry a little while ago, via facebook, no less. I’ve known her since she was a shy thirteen year-old, and to see her (and the rest of my former soccer team-mates from long times past) grow into the confident and crazy woman she is now is wonderful.
I was in my early twenties when I discovered I was a lesbian (still am, but that’s another story…)
It was at that moment I decided I would be a cat-lady – living by myself with a house full of feral cats in a derelict but eccentric house, terrorising children with my wild hair and icy stare.
Why? Because I would rather be single than run the gauntlet of lesbian dating. When you’re a lesbian, the field of potential partners is vastly smaller than if you’re straight. Plus, there’s always the danger of falling for a straight girl or getting mixed signals from the object of your desire who isn’t entirely sure if she plays for your team, or if she even wants to. (Again, another story for another time).
Granted, being a lesbian on the dating scene is probably easier than being a gay man on the dating scene. You’re far more likely, as a lesbian, to get a positive response from the object of your desire should they be straight, than if you’re a gay guy. Though the response of the object of your affection is in direct proportion with the size of the boyfriend, if she has one.
The other thing I realised early on was that it’s pretty hard to come out when you’re single. Quite simply, people tend not to believe you. They think it’s a phase (though this can happen even if you are with partner), or that you just haven’t met the right bloke yet. I realised pretty early on then, that it’s far easier to just not say anything, unless asked.
Funny thing about these types of decisions when you’re that age – something always happens to turn them upside down.
For me, that was meeting my wife. As she tells it, it was definitely not love at first sight. Me though? Well, she hid my beer (flirty little thing) and then after I cracked open a fresh one, the old one mysteriously reappeared. Kind of like when you’re in primary school and the boy who likes you pulls your hair, not because he hates you, but because he wants you to be his girlfriend.
I figured she wanted me to be her girlfriend, so I pursued her relentlessly. Meaning: I rang her for a ride home at various times in the wee hours when I was blind drunk, and skirted around the issue of my feelings for her. Apparently, as often happens, all our friends knew we liked each other, but we were both too, well, immature I suppose, to admit it. One night, at the pub, we just kind of started holding hands, and it spiralled from there.
Since then it’s been a whirlwind of big moves and overseas trips, a couple of false-start marriage proposals, a wedding, acquiring two gorgeous puppies and making a home together.
Turns out, my lesbian life is a lot different from the one I imagined when I was just coming to terms with my sexuality. Turns out, my relationship isn’t really anything different from my sisters’ relationships with their other halves, or my brother’s with his girlfriend. All that angst early on about not being “normal” was wasted energy.
Now I have bills to pay, a bank to keep happy with regular house payments, and a wife to keep happy with my baking. Not to mention two dogs who act out like spoiled children when we don’t spend time with them. How much more normal can you get?
I guess the lesson here is that if life throws you lemons, you can still have the white picket fence (if that’s what you want).