Victoria's Secret is touching my cocktail where it's bathing suit covers...

I found this in my drafts folder. Apparently I made this in February...and then had enough drinks that I forgot to post it...

There are some drinks I am proud of. This is not one of them...



This is pink lemonade vodka and diet lemon-lime soda. It was fucking delicious, I can't lie...But it left me feeling ashamed and dirty. The walk to throw the little bottle away could definitely be classified as a "walk of shame." I tried to capture the color, but that feat was beyond my phone and the poor kitchen lighting. Suffice it to say, it made me think of the line "Pink" from VS. And I think that fits well with the drink.

The "Pink" line is essentially trying to repackage skanky lingerie so that it can be marketed to underage girls in a manner that they will still be able to convince their mothers to let them wear it (or even buy it for them). And that feels a lot like this drink. An adult idea that has been inappropriately modified to suit the tastes of underage girls, while not totally offending the sensibilities of those adults who may happen to see them.

Take home message: Don't tell frat boys about the pink lemonade vodka. Or underage girls, for that matter.

P.S. Don't think I am hating on the skanky lingerie. I'm not. I am not a big fan of VS, but I have drawers and drawers full of corsets and stockings and the like. I just find it creepy when lingerie is marketed towards girls in their mid-teens. They already have WAY too much of a skank-urge. You do not need to be leveling lingerie marketing campaigns at them.

Arson was a missed opportunity

I thought I might go ahead and make a lame-ass post explaining to my many imaginary friends, and the three real people, who read my blog why I have not been here. And why I am likely to be gone a bit longer. You see, I did a very stupid thing. I decided to move. I also decided to sell my house. (Of course buying the house was the first, and most, stupid thing--but that's another story. For that one I would have to explain that I have an ex-husband, and I bought the house to try and make him happy [shut-up, I know how stupid that sounds NOW], and he said he wanted out 2 months later, and honestly--the whole thing is just too fucking ridiculous. At least for today.)

Tirades about moving are ubiquitous, and no one runs around talking about the joys of cramming your belongings into boxes or finding mummified mini-marshmallows under furniture. (Of course they are under the furniture, mini-marshmallows are for throwing NOT eating.) I am nearing the end of my slog of misery, though. Everything is packed. Everything is painted. The heavy lifting is done. All I have left is some minor contract work to get some cleaning and painting done, and then it should be over. And this is bittersweet.

It is good because I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but it is bad because I am so close I am beyond the point of no return. Arson is no longer an option. The time when it really might have been worth the hassle to set everything I own on fire and watch it burn while I toasted marshmallows has passed. (Again, toasted marshmallows are for setting on fire and launching like gooey, napalm blobs of sugary doom--NOT eating.) And while, ultimately, I am glad I took the non-felonious route--I still feel a little remorse. For one thing, I don't think immolating my possessions would have left me nearly as exhausted as I am now. (I literally had to call in sick to work the other morning because I could stay awake well enough to drive to work.) I also don't think it would have been as stressful. Sure, evading detection would be worrisome--but that is mostly passive stress. You can't do anything about it, you just have to wait and see what happens. As it stands now, I have this really annoying ache in my chest that I am 90% sure is just from stress. (Either that, or I am dying of heart attack brain cancer Ebola. One of the two.)

Besides, I think it could be fun to be a fugitive. AND! I have lots of insider knowledge that would help me out. For example, did you know that many jurisdictions will let you keep your own underwear in jail if it is plain white cotton? It's true. So if you ever think you are going to be arrested and booked, be sure you are wearing plain white cotton panties. That way you don't have to wear jail panties. And, really, are there any more terrifying panties than communal jail panties? No.

So there you have it. Your reward for listening to me whine is learning how to succeed in jail and what the scariest panties are. Edu-motherfucking-cational, bishes. I await your tuition check.

Bubble Gum Whippit Bitch, bitch

So, we bought some whipped cream vodka. Can't say why. I think maybe we were drunk. The liquor store is very close by (an easy walk), so more than once we have found ourselves tipsily wandering the aisles of the ABC. I think it was just before the winter holiday, and I get very "treat" oriented around that time. I want special foods and drinks. I wanted some sort of flavored vodka, and a new flavor, but couldn't find anything that suited. I think we started discussing the whipped cream vodka as a joke, but somehow it ended up in the basket.

It is hard to describe the cloying sweetness that is whipped cream vodka. It is like syrup is strangling your tongue while sugar spanks you and honey records the whole thing. You are left feeling dirty, and wrong, and you can't get the taste out of your mouth...And yet, there is something kind of fun about it.

Nonetheless, however wrong it is, something needs to be done with it.

• 1 part whipped cream vodka
• 1 part amaretto
• 2 parts vodka
• 1 part half and half

Shake well with ice and strain into a martini glass. Garnish with cinnamon (fresh ground is best, as always, but pre-ground will readily work) and wham, bam, thank you Spam, you get this:



 Here's where things get fucked up. Way more fucked up than this trainwreck. When you sip this spirituous abomination, making sure to get just a bit of cinnamon, there is a flavor of bubble gum on the back of the palate. It is absolute craziness. Not Crazy Town, but definitely craziness.

I am trying a new thing where I attempt to explain myself: So, the above clearly explains the bubble gum; the whippit is a reference to the whipped cream, and...well...it is clearly a bitch drink. I made the one above for Jsun, and it made me giggle furiously to think that I was playing a drink bitch...making a bitch drink.

Fun hint: The trick of the tongue that produces the bubble gum flavor seems to relate to having cinnamon, but just a little. If you use pre-ground cinnamon, you can sprinkle it on top and then gently blow on it at an angle. This will spread the cinnamon finely and evenly across the surface. Plus, it is fun.


P.S. I was in a restaurant in Spain, once. It was late (CRAP night of long travel), and the only thing open in the area I was in was a tourist-themed restaurant catering to English speakers. (What is super crazy is that Spaniards--at least in the city--have dinner at 10 at night, so you know it was fucking late.) Anycow, I was in a pisser of a mood, when suddenly the menu saved me with an involuntary guffaw: They had cramberry juice, cramberry cocktails, and even cramberry sauce on a turkey sandwich. Sometimes I try to imagine what a cramberry is like. I suspect you cram it in your cram-hole. But I don't know where my cramhole is.

So, that was totally pointless. Not sure why I thought of that, and even less sure why I posted it. Maybe I was just trying to provide tangible evidence that my current goal is to post something, anything, on a regular basis. And then to work on improving the quality of the content. That's it. This was intentional. And illustrative.