There's a squirrel who lives in the orange tree outside my bedroom window that's a total dickbag.
Gay Card: Second Wind
Reasons I Should Turn in My Gay Card...
Can't Host: Gates of Meknes Punch
Somewhere between the picture taking and recipes, and the narrative turning into a letter about gay rights in Morocco I was left with two threads that couldn't really intertwine. Still, I made an effort...
Cats and Violets: Scattered Clouds
Sitting with the vet we went through the normal routine questions. Is he eating? Yes. Any pain? No. Odd behavior? Depends how you define odd. Did he eat anything strange?
"Well..."
Shots Shots Shots et al: Green Molly
I don't recall the first shot that I ever did, only that I did a lot of them. And, technically, I don't necessarily even recollect the actual act of doing them.
In fact, the only thing I do remember was waking up in a bedroom I didn't recognize. After peeking out the window and seeing the physics building I was able to gather that I was in the dorms on the southeast side of the campus.
Lazy: Sparkling Rosé Lemonade
So, let me tell you that in all my years working professional pastry and cooking that I get super into making over the top dishes. At work it's a matter of pride. "Look at me and my work," it says, "It's better than yours."
Attempting Chartreuse: Part Trois, Diamondback
So, I just realized that in all of this talk about the man who has been trying to seduce me into Chartreuse I have yet to properly introduce the bartender in question.
Fatherly Support: Shiso Strong
Madame Velociraptor: Hey pop, is there anything in particular you'd like for Father's Day?
Pop: Nah. Just get me whatever.
Madame Velociraptor: Okay. And just so you know you may be bailing me out of jail next weekend.
Mistaken Identity: Boulevardier
So, ever have a moment so embarrassing that you pray for oncoming traffic to hop the sidewalk and end it all?
THIS.
Attempting Chartreuse, Part Deux: Eva Perón
Hot Bartender Kevin let slip during our conversation that bitter spirits are sort of the secret password to the world of professional bartendering. This goes far beyond pounding a shift shot of ouzo or Jäger before work.
Functioning: Sunglasses Inside
"Oh my God," I moan out to M as I plod through her front door. My arms are carting bags of produce and liquor and they drop resoundingly on her dining table.
Chivalry is in Critical Condition: Chipotle Micheladas
Perhaps it's his own fault for forgetting to log out before bed last night? Either way, if chivalry wasn't dead this certainly bashed it in the the skull with a shovel.
It Loves Attention: Loganberry and Flowering Thyme Spanish Gin & Tonic
Misery, as we will call her, is that kind of person we all know. The one who complains all the time and never stops. Nothing is ever good enough. All interactions with other human beings are terrible or had the potential to be terrible. There is no forgiving and certainly no forgetting.
Attempting Chartreuse, Part Un: The Last Word
Okay, hi. Hello there. How are you? You good? Good, good, good.
Sit down. This might upset you. I say this because the following sentence does seem to upset certain people...
Alcohol-Related Incidents: Orange You Glad It's Carrot?
"...Well, the next thing he told me was that he had seven previous alcohol-related incidents with the law. Two of them were for drunk driving."
I'm at a party listening to one of the most fabulous social matriarchs in Sacramento regale me and others with her top worst Dating Site Hits. It makes me glad not to be single.
Regulars: Cuffs & Buttons
"Your phone is going insane," I say looking over the menu and listening to T's phone vibrate for an umpteenth time in less than a minute...
Comeback: Cherry Balsamic Shrub
"There's a man outside selling coke," says C as she saddles up to me and pulls a long sip from my drink. She doesn't need to ask and she knows that and I know that but, dear lord, I do find pink lipstick on a glass irritating. Mainly because it's not a shade I care for. (Not that I wear lipstick, but, people, aesthetics!)
Bobby Fisher'd: Humble Winner
"How the fuck did that happen?"
"I'm really good at chess," my husband says so matter-of-factly. There's no teasing or bragging in his voice, which somehow makes it more irritating.