Two nights ago I mixed my first martini, ever. It was cool. It was hot. It was dirty.
Okay. Did I ever say I mixed martinis like a seasoned bartender? Trust me. It was good enough to get the job done. And isn’t that the recipe for a Dirty Martini more or less?
As for that particular indulgence, I was celebrating the return of functional air conditioning for this Hot Mama, and sitting back to enjoy Work of Art. Of course, life being what it is around here, it may be helpful that I found the vodka in the back of the pantry. Though I typically enjoy the occasional glass of Merlot or Pinot Noir (yes, French wine – naturellement), I sense a growing need for something stronger.
Might I add that yesterday tipped me over the edge? Shall I mix a vodka with orange juice, now that I’ve finished the pot of morning coffee?
10 Great Reasons to Take Up Drinking
I have discerned that there are many excellent reasons for taking to drink, and heading into another hot weekend, here are ten, just to get started.
- I am sufficiently hyper that a new friend suggested I take up drinking. Just yesterday. Isn’t that scary? Scary enough to do so in the hope it might relax me?
- My computer’s quirky cursor has gone (permanently?) postal. Everything I type is requiring double the time. My daily posts. Research. Job search. Routine emails.
- My nifty repaired air conditioning? Yesterday it went on the fritz. Again. Less than 24 hours after being fixed. And it was a long, steamy evening and a longer, hotter night, even as I placed calls requesting service. (Must I wax poetic on the ignominious impacts of automated menu hell?)
- My car (also theoretically fixed) is having the exact same problem again. In other words, it wasn’t fixed, despite being in the shop for several days, and apparently I’m going to have to go through this all over again. (How do I escape to cooler spots without wheels???)
- I feel guilt guilt guilt over being so slow to respond to Linda at Bar Mitzvahzilla, who is hoping for me to spill my embarrassing crush moments. This, the result of passing to me oy-the-joy of a plastic toy. Wasn’t flirting with Hunky Repair Guy sufficiently foolish fodder? Or must I admit to being madly in love with Captain James T. Kirk, four decades before his Priceline fame?
- Incidentally, isn’t the sight of Barbie and Ken doing it on the bathroom floor enough to drive anyone to drink? While I give points for Barbie on top, hasn’t she learned to mix a little French lingerie with her lust? Still, her butt looks pretty tight. I’m guessing that mid-century minx had some work done…
- I owe Lisa at Peripheral Perceptions a hit list of factoids – a matter of cyber-tag. Does my first home-brewed Dirty Martini count? Might these items suffice, along with knowing I’m cranky as hell when overheating without AC?
- Another judicious justification to take up drink: I could spend my days at the computer in my nightie, my cami, or any other little bit of silky nothing and not feel guilty. (And if the heat continues, I’ll need to do exactly that.)
- I could also wile away the hours speaking with painters and printmakers, poets and polyglots – researching art, chatting about literature, reading and writing – without worrying about the almighty dollar and real life!
- Hell. I could dispense with guilt altogether, pour another vodka and OJ, dream up a Free Hug business, make a million bucks, and move on to a new life where service with a smile would include joys with or without toys, and a fix that sticks.
Any suggestions? Funding for the Free Hug Biz? Sultry summer stories? Your reasons to take to drink?