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Minus One Plus One
Sep. 15th, 2008 04:17 amSo the new drink (of my own concocting!) didn't go over well. And by "didn't go over well," I mean, "might as well have been boiling lead." Our monday night dinner guests hated them. They demanded an apology, and an explanation. Then they hazed me with cut-off lengths of garden hose.
It appears that I like my drinks a little on the strong, sweet, and maybe even medicinal side. It appears that I like sipping drinks, like amaretto sours, and The Last Word, the only drink I know that has actual Chartreuse in it. It appears that I forgot to take into account that Scott and Richard and everyone else I know are complete and barely functional alcoholics who like their booze impedance-free and chuggable, because their waking priority every morning is to hurl themselves at shit-facedness as expediently as possible, and time spent sipping is time simply wasted. We have blackouts to vomit during, God damn it.
So add water to that recipe. Or a splash of soda. Or just make Long Island Iced Teas, you freakin' lushes. Sheesh.
In other news, our hot neighbor— have I mentioned our hot neighbor? He's hot. He's reddish-brown bearded and furry, bellied, and works on his yard shirtless. I actually squealed the brakes in front of his house the first time I saw him, and John just kind of whimpered. Now he's totally onto us, what with our craning necks, clandestine photography, and picnicking on the sidewalk across the street, and now won't work on his yard shirtless anymore. His picket fence went unpainted for over a month, until one morning the sun rose and shone on it, all white and shiny and new. I swear, he must have painted it at three in the morning. So boo for that.
Anyway, our hot neighbor? Had the Scottish Highland Games work truck parked in front of his house the other day. It had cabers strapped to the top. So it appears that he will be performing the caber toss at the upcoming local Highland Games, which we suddenly feel compelled to attend. So now we have that. Which is nice.
It appears that I like my drinks a little on the strong, sweet, and maybe even medicinal side. It appears that I like sipping drinks, like amaretto sours, and The Last Word, the only drink I know that has actual Chartreuse in it. It appears that I forgot to take into account that Scott and Richard and everyone else I know are complete and barely functional alcoholics who like their booze impedance-free and chuggable, because their waking priority every morning is to hurl themselves at shit-facedness as expediently as possible, and time spent sipping is time simply wasted. We have blackouts to vomit during, God damn it.
So add water to that recipe. Or a splash of soda. Or just make Long Island Iced Teas, you freakin' lushes. Sheesh.
In other news, our hot neighbor— have I mentioned our hot neighbor? He's hot. He's reddish-brown bearded and furry, bellied, and works on his yard shirtless. I actually squealed the brakes in front of his house the first time I saw him, and John just kind of whimpered. Now he's totally onto us, what with our craning necks, clandestine photography, and picnicking on the sidewalk across the street, and now won't work on his yard shirtless anymore. His picket fence went unpainted for over a month, until one morning the sun rose and shone on it, all white and shiny and new. I swear, he must have painted it at three in the morning. So boo for that.
Anyway, our hot neighbor? Had the Scottish Highland Games work truck parked in front of his house the other day. It had cabers strapped to the top. So it appears that he will be performing the caber toss at the upcoming local Highland Games, which we suddenly feel compelled to attend. So now we have that. Which is nice.
