I dropped into the Parkway Tavern’s IPA Festival at 3 p.m. yesterday based on the recommendation from insider Jessica C-B.
I planned on downing a couple of IPAs, then heading out for other jungle love adventures around the city. 
It’s funny how life rarely turns out the way you intended, but most of the time it’s for the best.
I started with Fish Tales Organic IPA because I want to marry it.  Parkway Manager Jon asked if I wanted the 6-ounce version, and I said, “Why would I want that?”  He said, “Well, aren’t you going to try all of them?,” and pointed out the IPA score sheet.
My pupils enlarged, I quickly agreed to the 6-ouncer, and silently accepted the task at hand, mostly because I’m up for most any challenge, and I like keeping score.
I decided to treat the event as a personal science experiment.  I wanted to see what would happen first â€" falling of my barstool or blacking out.  All bets were on the barstool.
There were 18 IPAs to choose from, and by midnight, I drank 17.  The only one that I skipped was the Deschutes Inversion.  I crossed that one out because I think it tastes like crap.
The place was packed with people commonly chirping about their ratings of the various IPA selections.  There was one clear victor amongst the rest: The Walking Man Homo Erectus Imperial from Stevenson, WA.  That is one of the best beers I’ve ever had in my life, EVER.  Naturally, I had to start shouting to people across the bar, “Hey, do you like the Homo?” and all of them responded with “I LOVE the Homo.”
My score sheet dubbed Homo as “THE BEST.”  I rated Skagit River’s Scullers Cask as second, with its initial hoppy bite that transitions to glitter by the time it reaches your palate.  Woah. The third was the Anderson Valley Hop Ottin’ from Boonville, Calif.
One of the beers threw a wrench in my ratings by the time I got to it, though: The Boundary Bay Double Dry-Hopped from my Bellingham.  Rather than rescoring, I just labeled it as, “SHITE, that’s good!”  A comment next to Centralia’s Dicks Bottleworks reads, “Bite, arrrrr.”
I proposed one of life’s enduring questions to bartender Mike, “Do the beers taste better because I’m getting drunk, or because they’re actually good.”  Mike quickly responded and said, “No, they’re just GOOD.”
Fun.
While everyone was ordering these deliciously snobby beers, they were all donning Rainier pins (myself included) because that’s what the distributor brought.  I thought that was funny.
The big excitement came every couple of hours as the Parkway raffled off cool stuff.  Since I pulled such a long shift, I scored a T-shirt, beer mugs and a lawn chair. But unfortunately, or fittingly, I got so trashed that I left without all of em. 
Our score sheets included a space to suggest a name for next year’s IPA Fest.  My suggestion was a big hit, but I doubt they’ll use it.  I think it should be called the C*ck Blocker IPA Fest, because of the performance issues after all of that IPA lovin'. 
I don’t care what they wind up calling it, there’s no way in hell that I’ll miss next year’s smathering, especially since I didn’t black out OR fall off my barstool.
We are the champions. â€" Natasha