Mocking the mocktails

If there's one thing SJ and I are both big fans of, it's alcohol (OK, fine, we're fans of a lot of things, but if you've read this blog for longer than-- say-- since we got pregnant, you know we are fans of booze). And, because we are future mothers who don't want our kids to have more than one head each, we are abstaining from the nectar of the gods for the duration of our pregnancies.

And it's hard. So we've taken to drinking "mocktails" when we get together. We've tried the pineapple, orange, ginger ale, grenadine combo I concocted and I drink most beverages out of a martini glass or champagne flute these days to make myself feel like I'm partying like a rock star.

The other night, SJ came over with the ingredients for virgin pina coladas and proceeded to throw bananas, coconut extract, milk and pineapple into a blender with ice. We tried the concoction, threw a little more coconut extract into it and blended it again. Then we added some real coconut and blended it again. When we tried it, we knew something was missing and began to debate over what should be added. More milk? No. And definitely no more banana. It could use more pineapple, but we're out. What's not quite right? What's missing?

And then it hit us. It needed rum.

(Perhaps I should add a disclaimer that of course we didn't add rum to our drinks. We just sat sipping what was essentially a banana smoothie and tried to remember what rum tastes like. And we may have made a pact that each of us would bring the other a fancy drink in the hospital after we each give birth, but I'm not confirming anything.)

Ah, Memories.

Hey, KAT.  Remember this night?

Yeah, me neither. Which means, I'm pretty certain it was AWESOME.

Okay. In all fairness, I do remember. This was the night you made me do the field sobriety test in the parking lot. Even though I wasn't driving.

But I just wanted to let you know that even though you're all knocked up, growing a special little life, and can't drink alcohol or eat cold cuts....

You can totally still eat these.

I didn't become an alcoholic until after I got pregnant

(I wrote this last week and left it laying around in the drafts folder. Right after I wrote it, kk asked about how hard it's been for me to give up alcohol. This, kk, is how hard it's been.)

A couple of weeks ago, we went out to dinner with kat's lil bro and his girlfriend, Miss B. The waiter came to take our order and described the drink special of the night, which was something like a "white chocolate raspberry martini with cocoa on the rim" but I was too busy wiping the drool off my chin to pay attention. I don't even like raspberry flavor, but it sounded so heavenly, I made Miss B promise that, if she ordered it, she would let me smell it. And she was nice enough to do just that. And nice enough to pretend not to notice when I grabbed it halfway through the meal and smelled it again.

When we went out to dinner last week, I pointed out a woman at a nearby table who had a huge margarita that looked like it was absolutely delicious. I asked the Pretend Husband if he thought she would let me smell it and he yelled at me. Apparently, people will think it's "weird" if I ask to smell their drinks and he wouldn't let me do it. Still, when his martini arrived, he slid it across the table for me to take a sniff. Now that's love.

A true friend...

...doesn't mind when you invite her over for drinks and, although they may be lovely, they contain no alcohol.

(Although I suspect she did a shot with the Pretend Husband when he got home and I went to the bathroom.)

For all the preggos reading the blog these days (Kellie, I'm looking at you!), here's the awesome drink I threw together:

Equal parts orange juice and pineapple juice

A splash of ginger ale to make it fizzy

Grenadine, which, if you pour it over the back of a spoon, sinks to the bottom

A cherry

Drinking it out of a martini glass or champagne flute is a must.

Lesson learned: Any "experience" is made better by booze

The Pretend Husband had the opportunity to go to the New England Patriots game on Sunday with a friend. For some reason, the husbands decided that their wives had to go along for the "Patriots experience" (since when did my husband start talking like that?)

So, despite a day that included freezing temperatures, snow, sleet, rain, more sleet and more snow, the other wife and I agreed to go. We made the drive with the men and then lost them shortly after we got there as they headed into the game and we walked around the outdoor mall at the stadium.

Then, just as the guys were starting to really feel how cold and wet their feet (and hands and legs and faces) were, we found an awesome bar that featured soft couches and big screen televisions to watch the game on. And that's where the guys found us three quarters, four glasses of wine and two bowls of clam chowder later. I kind of like football now.

This is why I will not be moving until at least next year...

Dear SJ,

Selling a house S-U-C-K-S. I mean, I'm not going to blow smoke up your butt. It's terrible. I think the only reason I survived it was because a lot of our stuff was still packed in boxes from when we had moved in a year before.

Showings are a pain in the butt because it means having to get your dog out of the house, erase all indications a dog lives there, clean up anything that has accumulated since the last showing, turn on all the lights (that's a little hint from an old pro at this...) and find somewhere to go-- harder than it sounds because even if you have a million stops to make on your way home from work, inevitably, you will not have anything that needs to get done or any way to fill your time for the hour you need to stay away from home. Oh, and don't get me started on the phone call you will receive at work from someone in the realtor's office saying, "I know you indicated you need 24-hour notice, but these buyers are right around the corner and want to stop in at your house. Is that OK?"

But, you know what? It's worth it in the end. I guess it's like childbirth where you forget how painful it was just as soon as you lay eyes on the baby (or so I've heard...). Because the cleaning? The having to vacate your house for an hour at a time? The open houses? The last minute showings? Won't matter at all the day your offer on a new house is accepted.

So, I wish you an offer $30,000 over your asking price from the first people to walk through your house, an appropriate closing date and the current owners of the house of your dreams accepting your offer for $100,000 less than what the house is worth. And, short of that, I have a cabinet full of (your) liquor I'm willing to crack open at any hour, including the one you need to stay out of your house for while a buyer walks through.

Yours 'til the martinis run dry,

FunnyGal KAT

A true friend...

The Pretend Husband and I took a little detour after his softball game yesterday and ended up at the SJ manse. The one SJ and J have been furiously cleaning and touching up in preparation for putting it on the market. And while we did little more than admire their work and instill fear into them about how much it sucks to have your house on the market (you're welcome, SJ!), you know what they gave us? Alcohol.

There was some explanation about putting a piece of furniture into storage and having nowhere to keep the bottles, but my brain pretty much switched into alcohol beverage recipe mode and I missed the reasoning. Because when someone gives you free booze in a variety of flavors, you don't ask questions.

And when someone not only hands over a bunch of alcohol but then throws in some furniture for kat's lil bro's new house? You keep that friend for life.

(Hey SJ, martinis at my house anytime you need to vacate your house for a showing!)

My overdue recap of quotes after hanging out with KAT last weekend

So last weekend we got together for some awesomely not really planned until the last minute fun.

Which is always a good time.

And all we have for you, really, is this list of quotes. We think it defines what it's like to hang out with KAT, me, the PH and J just perfectly.

"Dude, your ten year old self would kick your own ass right now." -- J to the PH after the PH demanded KAT use the firepit to light off fireworks. (Note: Said fireworks pictured below.)

"You had to come down here and save me?" -- KAT.
"I'm coming down here to save the neighborhood." -- the PH to KAT, while standing immediately next to her with a hose in case that Roman Candle set the entire water-soaked lawn on fire.

"Stop pointing fireworks at my lawn and at the pine trees." -- PH to KAT (see above.)

"Are you offended I don't want to continue talking about your penis?" -- SJ to the PH.
"Whatever, just play." -- The PH responded sullenly. Note: To clarify, we were playing setback. Of course. Lots and lots of setback.

"Give the girl 3 martinis and she's 13." -- PH to KAT. which resulted in an:
"uhhhhhh...." from the rest of us and also for KAT to tell me:
"SJ, transcribe this entire conversation."

"That's fine. I'll take the PH home." J to me and KAT - I don't remember what prompted this, but I'm pretty sure it implied a romantic relationship between our spouses.

"When my wife doesn't work, she's going in the garbage." -- J (That's right, ladies. He's mine! Back off!)

"This is probably going on the blog." -- the PH

"If that's where I have to go to find love and support and people that don't pee on themselves..." -- KAT.

I had nothing recorded after that, as I had fallen into fits of laughter too hard to hold the pen.

Good news though. We're getting together again tomorrow night. Let the shenanigans rule!

You'll know me by the drink in my hand...

I've mentioned my friend, Mrs. Cheech, before. She was in my wedding party and is my oldest friend. After I graduated from college and returned to my home state, I not only kept up my friendship with Mrs. Cheech, but became friends with her two older brothers.

One of Mrs. Cheech's older brothers used to tease me by introducing me to people as, "This is my sister's friend, KAT" even though he and I were friends in our own right. I saw him as a party this weekend and he said the same thing, just to bust my chops. So I feigned annoyance, then explained to the Pretend Husband how the older bro used to do that to me all.the.time.

Then the older bro said, "Yeah, the other thing we used to say was, 'Oh, KAT's coming to the party? Better get some more alcohol!'"

And if that wasn't bad enough, another friend told the story about how, shortly after a group of us went out for drinks and dinner about 10 years ago, he ran into my dad and said, "Hi, KAT's dad. I just saw KAT the other night." My dad's response: "Was it in a bar?"

Apparently, I had quite the reputation in my younger days (and didn't even know it!)

I know! I know! I missed a day. I'm so sorry.

So much funny and so many censors in the next room reading what I write every day. (Hi, Mom!)

First, yesterday, it was rainy, so J and I went on an escapade over the border (not Canada, but New York). The lake looked more like the ocean with incredible white caps, etc. But the diehard fisherman were out in their raingear - or, as my mom likes to refer to them as their "costumes."

It was a relatively quiet day, with just a little bit of fishing, some exploring, some reading, and some movie watching. And lots of hilarity -- mostly due to my four year old nephew. He's cute and precocious, and incredibly good at casting. And only hit me with the pole/lure/rubber fish minimally.

I wish I had more energy to blog today, and to tell you all about the "smarshmellows" we had by the bonfire this evening, and to tell you how good black cherry vodka goes with pepsi. But that last thing is preventing me from sharing more today.

I promise more tomorrow.

Hugs and kisses, Interweb.

Love,
sj

On splinters, Rick Springfield, lack of sleep and yardwork

Hi bloggy buddies!

How's it going? If you've guess SJ has had a crapload of caffeine today, you are exactly right! Every thought of mine right now is magnified and running about 10 times faster than usual!

Freaking awesome!

So right now, I've had very little sleep because of my crazed addiction to work, which is second only to my crazed addiction to the office coffee maker. I can guarantee you this blog post isn't going to make much sense in paragraph form, so I've decided to bullet point my thoughts.

• I have a splinter in my finger because of seriously overly ambitious pruning in my yard on Sunday. The splinter is mostly gone, but I think there's still a piece left. A friend told me to put a piece of ham on it. I think she's just trying to make me look silly.
  
• Yes, I did yard work. About four hours of it, after getting 3.5 hours of sleep the night before.
• Because the night before I went to see Rick Springfield.
• Stop laughing. I'm totally serious.
• Yes, he sang Jessie's Girl. Yes, it was awesome. There was an encore.
• Again I ended up at a karaoke bar, and actually sang by myself. Thank god there were no video cameras.
  
• It gets worse. I sang a Jewel song. But at the time, I had a super awesome time. Sunday may have been a little tough, however.

Sorry, Interweb. That's all I have for you.

Just in case you thought I was perfect...

My boneheaded move o' the weekend came at a vineyard the Pretend Husband and I visited yesterday. As he was sampling different wines and the woman serving us was describing the "notes of butternut and apricot," I asked, "How do they get those flavors into the wine?"

She started to explain that different varieties of grapes produce different flavors, which I hope means she didn't catch on to the fact that, for a minute, I thought they perhaps crushed up butternut squash and put it in the wine.

In this post, I try to coherently tie together two completely different subjects... how'd I do?

Wouldn't you know, on a day when I actually have something to blog about, we get tagged! WildARS has signed us up for a photo thing where you have to pick the sixth photo of the sixth folder in your computer and post the photo (thanks Andy, I'll remember this...) I've been tagged for this before, but never remember to do it after I get home, plus our personal computer is not currently hooked up to the Internet. So, I decided to do it with my work computer. And this is what I got:

I think that's pretty self-explanatory. Oh, it's not? Well, I work for a newspaper and this photo was taken for an advertisement. Or, more likely, I so love martinis and everything that goes into them that I was creating a photo essay of how to make them. Either way...

And, back to what I was originally going to post...

This is what we get for moving to the country. A few weeks ago, I took the dogs out into the yard and wasn't paying much attention until I noticed they had been sniffing at a pine tree branch laying on the ground for a long time. I called th

em away from it to no avail, so I walked over to it... only to discover that it wasn't a branch-- it was a tail. A tail. Like a raccoon's tail (but, luckily, without any sort of body or blood or anything else too gross).

We have a fox that comes through our yard almost daily and the theory is that it brought it home as a souvenir from its last good meal. Gross, but whatever.

Then, today, again noticing the dogs sniffing at something in the front yard, I went over to discover what I think are intestines. Yeah, intestines! (Or a heart but it was big so I don't want to imagine what kind of animal that came from if it was actually a heart). A few more days and I'm going to be able to piece together an entire animal.

Grossed out yet? Me too. Let's go back to thinking about this:

There. Isn't that better?

Remember when... a look back at 2008

You know those end of the year wrap-ups that look back on the best of the year or the worst of the year or who died this year or the biggest news stories of the year? It’s cheesy, right? Actually, I’m totally addicted to them, dudes. I looooove those things. Even the obituary listings of those who died in the past year. There’s just something about having everything neatly organized and the chance to look back on an entire year all at once.

So, here’s [drum roll, please] FunnyGals Look Back at The Year That Was 2008. [trumpets sound here, please] I mean, you could just read back through our archives and see what happened to us. Or you could let me do it for you (dudes, I even took notes while doing it!)

2008 saw a bajillion new babies in our group of friends and family. SJ and I each got shiny, new nephews this year (SJ added to her set while mine is a stand-alone for now). And every single one of our friends gave birth (OK, perhaps not every single one, but sometimes it feels like it!)

12 new hairstyles for SJ and at least three different colors for her luxurious locks. Thank goodness she keeps her stylish glasses the same type or I would be in danger of not recognizing her.

One… that’s the number of times I convinced SJ to hug me this year. She has this weird thing where she hugs all the rest of her friends, her family members, the mailman, most of her coworkers and the first person who walks into the room after a Hallmark commercial is on TV… and she still gets weird about hugging me. We’re going to work on that in 2009.

SJ joined Facebook, MySpace, eHarmony, Linkedin, Wikipedia and any other networking site that would have her. Everyone in the world is her friend on one site or another. Oh, except me. Because I belong to exactly zero of those sites. I leave the technical stuff to her.

While SJ’s collections were limited to hairstyles and shoes, KAT collected jobs and houses in 2008. Right now, the collections stand at two houses and five jobs for 2008, but there are still a couple hours left in the year so that could change at any minute.

Injuries were at a minimum this year and it’s possible SJ had the least number of trips to the emergency room since she was 3 (although I suspect she may be keeping ER trip stories from me for fear I will wrap her in bubble wrap and never let her out of my sight). But 2008 kept its hands to itself for the most part with some soccer bruises for KAT, a twisted ankle for SJ and an attack from an angry underwire in SJ’s bra. But, still, a pretty good year.

And we should remember 2008 as the year SJ rocked the Pilates while KAT rocked the… uh… Casbah.

This number isn’t exact, but it is suspected SJ baked 92 dozen cupcakes this year. That is A LOT of cupcakes—no surprise my favorites were the ice cream cone cupcakes for my birthday (although the amount of icing on those Christmas tree ones may have edged out the ice cream cones if I had the chance to try one—my thighs are glad I didn’t)

I won't try to put a number on it, but we made a lot of new blog friends this year and-- even more importantly-- racked up the numbers on our site counter (just kidding). My bookmarks no longer fit on one page and I have stopped doing any work in an effort to keep up with everyone's blogs.

And the last part of our countdown has to be the martinis consumed (although I’m still unsure whether I should count the ones from the night before Thanksgiving that got, uh, “sent back”?) Among the highlights are the Snickers, the Chocolate Mint, the White Chocolate, that purple one, that fruity blue one SJ got, the Little Red Corvette, that other chocolate one and finally, those chocolate ones I made for the PH.

It was good, it was bad, it was sometimes ugly, but I think it’s safe to say SJ and I lived the crap out of 2008. Here’s hoping you can say the same. Happy New Year, everyone!

That sound you heard was karma kicking me in the ass...

On Tuesday, I gave you the cute little factoid that I have only thrown up from drinking three times in my life. Only three. And-- ha, ha-- it just so happens they all have cute little stories attached.

On Wednesday, I puked after drinking... and for the first time, there is no funny story. Bleah.

Before I go any further, I need to say to SJ (my martini partner in crime) that "I was buzzed, not drunk." We got into an argument after dragging our husbands to a restaurant (so we'd have designated drivers) and downing three martinis each about who was more drunk. I still contend that I was only buzzed while SJ was surely drunk (as evidenced by her trying to perform the field sobriety test in the parking lot-- and I couldn't have been drunk because I was the one giving it to her!)

So, if I wasn't drunk, how did I end up vomiting? Well, the Pretend Husband got us home safely and decided to have a drink with me (his first, my fourth for those of you playing along at home). Then, the phone rang and two of my high school friends told us they would come pick us up if we wanted to go to the one bar in town. Where I kept drinking (add two Citron & 7Ups to the tally board, please).

I honestly didn't feel at all ill... until I threw up (in the toilet) (and on the insides of my elbows-- I'm still not sure how I managed that). And, unfortunately, no funny story this time (unless you count the laughing SJ is doing right now because she thinks she was right about me being drunk).

A riddle wrapped up in a puzzle, wrapped in an enigma...

I’m doing an assignment by Andy at WildARS Chase to share something nobody knows about me. But I’m going to modify it to fit my needs (what? I get points taken off for that, Andy? Oh, c’mon! I will be talking to the dean about how unfair you are about grading!) Since I don’t have a “I was born a man but now live as a woman married to a man who has no idea” kind of secret, I’ll tell you a bunch of little random facts about me. You know, in case you feel like, up to now, I’ve just been oh-so-secretive about myself…

* I used to be a huge dork of the type where I actually have stories that start with “This one time, at band camp…” Yeah, I was in the band. In high school. And in college (but only three of my four years there in case that makes me slightly less nerdy).

* I’ve never been arrested.

* I have been locked into the back seat of a police cruiser, but only for a ride-along I did as a reporter.

* A farmer who owned goats and chickens, a Mormon, a cop, a guy who turned out to be cheating on his girlfriend and a guy 15 years old than me: it sounds like the start of a joke, but sadly, that’s just my dating history (uh, I’m sure this goes without saying, but my entire dating history took place prior to marrying the PH… just so we’re all clear on that).

* I bit my fingernails until I was in college. And then just stopped. I had never been able to break myself of the habit and I have no idea what made me stop suddenly, but I’m glad I did.

* I’ve puked only three times in my life from drinking, but they all come with funny stories (one involved a piece of bread falling out of my shirt, another was the SJ in bed with me with no pants on story that gets told quite often and the third included me ordering “cabernon sauvigner” with a French accent). I plan on stopping this train right here at the third station and (hopefully) not making any more stops because puking your guts out sucks… even when it includes a funny story.

Zicam is *Not* flavorless

i have my first cold of the season. dammit. i HATE having a cold. and i haven't been sick since april, so i'm a huge baby about it.

but i'm powering through it because i want to go see this singer tonight in New Haven because i just love her and i'm trying to set up two friends. so i'm loading up on various kinds of drugs. most recently, i took some motrin to treat the body aches and sore throat. this morning, i took tylenol cold and sinus.

and last night? i took the most disgusting medicine i've ever had: zicam. it's like the equivalent of rancid sprite syrup in your juice and then sucking it down.

nasty. and they market it as "virtually flavorless." whatever. if that's the case, then i'm virtually a supermodel millionaire.

bah! i'm going to go curl up with my vicks-scented tissues now. wake me when it's time for me to drag my carcass out to a bar in new haven.

my dog likes martinis.

The following exchange took place around 1 this morning between me and Bailey. As a reminder (because I haven't blogged about Bales in a while), he's my 4 year old springer spaniel. He's not an actual person, although I forget this sometime.

"Woof."

"Bailey. what do you want?"

"Woooooooof." I open my eyes to see him staring down at me. He's sitting on my pillow, staring at me, and woofing quietly and deeply.

"What. do. you. want. Bailey, it's one in the morning and mommy is tired! Remember that martini you tried to help me drink? Yeah. Well. Now I'm tired. I'm NOT making you a martini. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to drink anyway."

"woof."

"I don't care that you are 28 in dog years. I'm not buying it. Forget it. Ask daddy. Mommy is TIRED."

"WOOF!" There's scratching until my covers are completely off of me.

"FINE! But you're only getting water. Dogs are *not* supposed to drink."

I very groggily went downstairs and found a bottle of water and very groggily went back upstairs to find my dog completely passed out, and spooning with my husband on my side of the bed, with his head on my pillow.

Sure, he might look innocent and cute. But whatever. That little bastard is sneaky.

martinis are to molly what cupcakes are to sj....

i realized that today as i dropped um.... some money.... more than 50 and less than 100.... at Williams-Sonoma on a new cupcake tin and a new decorator. and a scoop to make them uniform in size for easier baking time.

but anywhoodle..... my entry for molly's contest is to name her new martini:

"Goose a Pear"

Check out the fantastic martini recipes at Molly and Bunny's blog - the fabulous Rockapoodle Martini Co. And then check out the lovely Swank Martini Company.

First you need the recipe, then you need the glasses. So be sure to visit both!

and in the meantime, this is what i made tonight. i think it'd go nicely with a martini...

because molly asked for it...

although the contest has long since closed (congratulations to the lovely winners!), I felt it was my duty to Molly to still describe my ideal martini party. after all, she did call me lazy. and really, i just didn't think it fair that KAT and i have *two* entries.

while i do love the city and the excitement and energy it has, my martini party will actually be at my beach-side mansion. i mean, really, if we're going to fantasize, we may as well go all out, right?

so let's say we're in newport, island. and let's say it's next weekend, so we happen to coincide with the jazz festival and perhaps take our mansion's sailboat over to fort adams state park and partake in some chris botti, etc. loveliness. and since we happen to be with george clooney, colin firth, pierce brosnan -- and -- call me crazy but I LOVE HIM - kevin smith, we have no troubles getting first class viewing. and we will invite all of the lovely musicians back to our mansion for a late night jam session.

there will be classic martinis for Pierce, flirtinis for George and Molly (because that so describes their horrible behavior), and a nice smooth pomegranate martini for me and colin. and i know that SRG is fuming right now that i stole her man, so fine. i'm willing to share colin with you, but me and Pierce may disappear for a while while we dance on the rolling green lawn to some lovely jazz -- but i would have made sure his martini has olives and not onions for practical snogging reasons (also for molly - a little cross the pond slang) or we'll all stay right there, sipping our martinis while kevin smith entertains the bejeesus out of everyone with his hilarious antics but filthy language.

and of course because this is my fantasy martini party, it happens to be that we all wake up the next morning and miraculously not one of us has a hang over.

the end.