Oh that sounds like fun, doesn’t it?
Because, I suppose, I am a glutton for punishment, I recently signed up for regular updates from the Martha Stewart death star. These come in the form of emails flogging this or that new
moneymaking scheme product or the latest edition of her magazine. Obviously I don’t subscribe, but I have been known to pick up an issue of MS Living occasionally, say in the dentist’s office while cooling my heels until the Novocaine and gas take effect. I would flip through it in the checkout line at the grocery store, but Fairway doesn’t sell magazines — reason number 217 to love hate them.
The latest missive touts an app for making cocktails especially for girls’ night. Wow, I’ll bet Martha frequently invites a bunch of her besties over on a Friday night and really lets her freak flag fly. Can you imagine? Bong hits, Aretha records, Courtney Love impersonations, midnight tattooing excursions and of course, crazy new cocktails like the Roget Colada (a pina colada with a generous bump of cheap champagne — thanks, Karen!) or the Dublin Goes South version of Fat Ass in a Glass (Kahlua, Bailey’s Irish Cream and tequila — the loser of the chugging contest eats the worm!).
Oh right, sorry, that was MY girls’ night.
At Martha’s they probably get all crazy and crochet with gloves on (to make it extra challenging) or add racy captions to their scrapbooking projects (“Is that Bill the beach bum or Bill’s beach bum?!?!? Haha!”) or sit around in their flannel nighties without their Spanx, all the while sipping perfectly blended Cosmopolitans (two if that crazy moon is full) from tasteful vintage stemware while nibbling chocolate covered wasabi soya nuts (Golly that’s spicy!). Pure Martha madness I am sure.
I see that the app also includes a special bonus, recipes for “perfectly paired bar snacks,” for the hostess with the mostess. Wow, how much fun would it be to slave away in the kitchen creating beautiful trays of savory snacks so that your drunken gal pals could snarf them up while boozing it up WITHOUT YOU because you’re busy dipping strawberries, baking goat cheese and carmelized onion mini tarts, and filling deviled eggs from a fucking pastry bag? I’ll tell you how much fun it would be: NONE, less than none. It would be a fun black hole, that’s what. In fact, it would suck all the fun out of you and every member of your family for the rest of your natural lives.
Now, it’s not that I don’t love collapsing in an exhausted, sobbing heap on my kitchen floor, stone cold sober, while my buddies dance the night away, fueled by the constant stream of snacks that made it possible to rave until the wee hours, but I do on occasion tire of enjoying myself so very much.
So, listen up, Martha! The whole point of girls’ night is to get a load on and eat greasy takeout food followed by a whole cake, which you then attempt to dance off while playing “Baby Got Back” on an endless loop. There SHOULD be vomiting, and if there isn’t, you’re not trying hard enough.
And finally people, if you need an app to make a cocktail, you should seriously re-assess your life. So anyways…
Now, I’m not entirely sure what getting tagged is, but then again I don’t really know what Twittering is either, and that doesn’t stop me from doing it. So here, to the best of my Sazerac-compromised ability, is my attempt at answering the tag.
Here are the rules:
1. Post the rules.
2. Answer the questions the tagger set for you.
3. Create eleven new questions to ask the people you’ve tagged.
4. Tag eleven people and link to them on your post.
5. Let them know you’ve tagged them!
Susan’s eleven questions:
1. What’s a topic you’d never touch in your blog?
Cannibalism. I’d have absolutely no idea how to roast a human loin. Hell, I struggle with a pork chop and there are directions for that.
2. Which word do you hate and why?
Slice. The sound of it makes my toes curl and my back arch. And not in a good way.
3. If you had to give up blogging, because of time constraints – or some other kind of pressure – what would you do as a substitute?
Duh. Begin happy hour before lunch.
4. What’s a frivolous holiday, in your opinion?
Let’s see, a day with no work, feasting and special drinks? They’re all busman’s holidays to me when you get right down to it.
5. Write a caption for the above picture.
I said no more FUCKING formula.
Will it really make any difference if you put off that health kick for just one more day?
I’m writing today to clarify certain events leading up to the recent unfortunate situation in your Red Hook store involving myself, the assistant manager, six grocery carts, some allegedly stolen beer and my car. First, I’d like to assure you that my personal liability umbrella policy is up-to-date and all damage to your property and medical expenses incurred by your staff will be covered. This is, however, in no way an admission of guilt. I maintain I was provoked, even driven to despair, in the hours leading up to the “incident” in the parking lot, and in the interest of avoiding further such problems would like to explain. I know I am not alone in my feelings about your store.
Let me begin by saying that the converted warehouse by the water is a lovely location, and at first glance a beautiful, inviting store. Your merchandising scheme, however, appears to have been hatched by a bunch of fun house planners in collaboration with inmates of a state mental hospital who have been off their meds for some little time. For example, there are spices in at least four locations, and I can only assume there may be more. By the time I get to display number three on any given trip I’ve forgotten whether I need cumin or coriander, not to mention where I am and the correct spelling of my own name.