You can count on the bourbon and a good lay to help you relax. Always. At least, that’s my go-to therapy. When I’m in a pinch, I just settle for the bourbon. It’s a lot less hassle, and I don’t have to wash the sheets.
These are things I can count on, like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.
Choose your own poison; wine, men, caffeine, women, your personal brand of kink, a smoke. As long as you’re not abusing them, these things are black and white things in life. The sure things. The things you can count on no matter what. The things that help our wee little homosapien brains cope with the deluge of the unknown.
Floundering in the grey area requires finesse, grace, and a that je ne sais quoi equivalent of giving the world the finger as you step blindly into the abyss.
Most days I function quite well. I dress the part, look the part, I even walk and talk the part. I high-step through the grey as if I’m the Duchess of Grey, the Matron of Mystery and the High Priestess of the Unknown.
Other days call for ibuprofen, curse words, and a non-stick ego. Having enough of those days consecutively calls for the summoning of one of your go-to-evils. Mine happen to be bourbon and boys. Adult boys.
Now, having said that, I want neither my booze or my boys to control me. I do not want them to bring me to my knees, make me cry, or question my self-worth. My booze and boys shall not cause any drama in my life. They shall not bring ugly company into the relationship like cigarettes or crazy ex’s.
You know what I mean; if I’ve had too much bourbon, I might, maybe, I could possibly give in to a craving for a cigarette. At that moment it becomes clear the bourbon is not good for me. At that point I must walk away, even if there’s a smidge of liquid gold in my tumbler. In the same way, if a boy brings complications to my life, like say crazy ex’s or passive-aggressive badgering, I must also walk away.
Within every situation is a tipping point. Unfortunately we must often be pushed over the edge in order to recognize the edge of that tipping point. Unfortunately when the path over the edge becomes habitual, taking another route is uncomfortable until you get used to it. Since (I’m assuming), you’re all adults reading this, you will agree that as adults, new routines, relationships and lifestyles are always uncomfortable. We’re damn good at avoiding being uncomfortable, even if it means sacrificing a lifetime of joy.
So, after a week or two of topsy-turvy man-issues, a grueling professional schedule, and all the joys of single parenthood, I turn to a candle-lit bathtub filled with hot water, and a tumbler of bourbon.
After a bottle and a half of wine, and various and sundry acts of debauchery, a kazillion clichés came home to roost tonight;
Sex is a powerful drug. Be careful what you wish for. Thank ‘god’ for unanswered prayers. Only the good die young. Never mix business with pleasure. A young stud is better than an old cow. Ok, that might not be a cliché. I just made it up, but I think it has a ring to it.
Like the finest of wine, I have mellowed with age. Don’t get me wrong darlings, I still like my men young, virile, with a twist of kink and bad-assery. I still enjoy sensual pleasures that don’t involve linen table service or early-bird rates, if you know what I mean.
But I have, indeed mellowed.
Having had a terrible relationship experience a few years back with a man who makes women dry-heave at the thought of being near a man, I left it well jaded, and feeling rather depleted. Depleted as in; I could care less if another man ever touched me again.
Much to my delight and yours, I’m sure, I have made a hearty recovery and am back in the saddle of all things delightfully-of-the-man-flesh. Miracles do happen darlings. Do not despair. To despair is to turn your back on the goddess who slumbers deep inside your warm, wiggly bits.
But I digress. Back to the clichés. Back to tonight. Back to what I started to tell you in the first place.
Even though I’ve got Ms. Mojo back, it is with a much more mellow demeanor. Instead of being reactive, I’m able to observe my thoughts, and well, what goes on in my head is entertaining as hell.
All of the things that I wanted in the past have flown out the window. What I thought I knew for sure about myself and relationships has died a rather unremarkable death.
Most of us, including my wonderful self, love to live in a black and white world. It’s easy; Right and wrong. Bad and good. Should and shouldn’t.
But it’s never really that easy is it? Life is lived most fully in the grey areas that we struggle so hard to escape.
Tonight, as the candles flickered their last pale light, and the wine glasses stood empty and at attention, I lolled in the soft sheets listening to my favourite songs, much to the chagrin of my lover.
Him: “Aren’t you going to get up and lock the door?”
Him: “I’m not comfortable with that. What if there’s some weirdo out there?”
Moi: “If he looks interesting, send him in.”….and that was the end of the evening’s adult events.
Nothing is for certain. All of the clichés anyone has ever told me about life and relationships flitted through my head, one contradicting the next. I observed them rise and sputter like falling stars.
Tonight I was just thankful to enjoy the moments of delight that came my way; a good meal, a thorough and proper lover, one of my favourite bottles of wine and a deep feeling of being completely sated.
When that feeling fades darlings, as I know it will, there’s always a bourbon night with Mr. C. Rush to make it all better.
This post was inspired by chocolate chip cookies, samosas and margaritas.
Ok, mostly just margaritas. But let’s not get stuck on that little piece of trivia my darling.
Immediately before driving home and mixing up a batch of ‘Coconut Margaritas’, I attended a philosophical talk by the Vedanta Society of Canada. At the end of the lecture, they sent everyone on their way with a packet which included a samosa and some Indian sweet I’d never eaten before.
When it was handed to me, I smiled and said thank you. After all, someone had gone through the trouble of making sure everyone left sharing some food.
Earlier this week, I offered a young child a cookie, not, of course, before going through the requisite permission asking of the mother. Well, I didn’t get past the mother. No, it was not due to a nut allergy, dairy intolerance, soy aversion or gluten issue. It was religious and cultural.
The mother looked at me as if I were breasted-satan, and physically pushed the cookie away as she said (emphatically and rudely), “No, we don’t eat that. We only eat Halal.”
So, first lesson here; we live in a highly culturally diverse area. Second lesson; across cultures, and without exception, being offered food is akin to being friended. Third lesson; you take the f-ing cookie and say thank you. Yes, inter-faith and inter-cultural living is that simple.
Margaritas are made with ice, tequila, lime juice and salt if you’re nasty. They are not made with coconut, strawberries or any other pooh-ha that rides the current culinary trend of we’re-so-wealthy-we-don’t-have-anything-better-to-do-than-make-up-recipes.
The same goes for any martini other than a straight up, shaken-not-stirred. Cosmopolitans? They are Cosmopolitans, not martinis. Appletinis – apple cocktails. Chocolatinis – chocolate cocktails. Sidecars – not just bourbon, bourbon mixed with other crap.
Single women are not scaled, withered up virgins. We are highly sexed, independent women who enjoy a good man, and a good sleep. No need for the sleepover or the snoring gents. Please pack up your tired testicles and take them home when we’re finished. We love you, and we need our space to do important things. You’ll get a call-back when we’re ready for another performance.
Gal-pals. The most important element in a woman’s life. We love one another no matter what, and we disclose everything. We give one another hope to carry on. We also give one another our stories so we don’t feel so silly. Thank you gal-pals for all that you do for me!
Loud children. I love children. They are vibrant and bring a fresh perspective. If, however, I wanted to hear your children howl and scream at all hours, I’d invite your entire family over and pinch the kids at random. Hard. Please soothe your children and love them.
Glassware. It’s important to have an assortment. A great glass can change the mood of any drink, no matter what the immediate atmosphere. Second-hand stores have a terrific assortment. Note to whomever broke my French, antique pedestal serving dish; I will find you.
Belly laughs. They are the best when they are had unexpectedly while wrapped in the sheets with a best friend and lover. Thank you for the belly laughs my friend – you know who you are.
People who pass the buck. Yah, they are still out there my friends, despite the plethora of inspirational memes and social-media jargon. They make you appreciate real professionals. Amen.
Candlelight. A professional single’s best friend. Housework is for the elite. Us working girls don’t have time to waste on tasks that need to be re-done immediately and go unappreciated. Strategically placed and lit, candles hide a multitude of domestic, and anatomical sins. Get some.
One margarita to go, and then a hot soak before the man of the hour arrives…I hope you were entertained my friends. XO
…or, the less conservative; “How to Have your Hooch and Look Like a Lady Doing It”.
There’s nothing like a little burn-out to make a girl appreciate her liquor cabinet.
I hate to generalize, so let’s define burn-out shall we ladies?
The Bing on-line dictionary’s definition of burn out goes something like this;
[ búrn òwt ]
exhaustion: psychological exhaustion and diminished efficiency resulting from overwork or prolonged exposure to stress
extremely exhausted person: somebody affected by psychological exhaustion
machine failure through heat: failure of a machine or part of a machine to work because of overuse or excessive heat or friction
Just to be thorough in our mutual understanding, I think that we can concur that burn out can also result from lack of shenanigans, lack of sexual ecstasy, and an overload of having to deal with those of diminished capacity for common sense and basic human emotions such as empathy or twisted senses of humour.
White Wine Spritzer. If your burn-out stems from the workplace, it is socially acceptable to come home and make dinner whilst dancing in the kitchen, to a little Solomon Burke and enjoying a white wine spritzer (or two) with a dash of lemon.
Red Wine. If your ever-attentive man is making your dinner, switch your spritzer to a juicy gulpable red, and enjoy while soaking in the bath…because we know what will happen after your second or third glass with dinner. God bless the men who know how to take care of us and stroke stoke our fire.
White Wine Sangria. If you are entertaining, and it’s hot, like southern belle hot as hell, mix up some vino verde, gingerale, sliced berries, limes and lemons with loads of ice. Easy and de-lish.
Campari and Soda. Perhaps you’re waiting for your bestie to arrive to dish the lastest on her man’s prowess (or lack thereof), a Campari and soda – rocks please- will satisfy your craving, and make you feel as feminine as a pretty pink pair of panties.
Amaretto Sour. If evening shenanigans are on the menu and the dinner hour has passed while you primp and prime yourself, go straight for these. They’re fun, sweet and have a little twist. They’re just like you plan on being while flirting and playing well into the wee hours of the morning.
Bourbon (one of my personal favourites) is best served straight and warm, or with a single cube of ice if you need it to be refreshing. Bourbon is for discussing serious issues with people whom have garnered your respect; professional or otherwise. Let it fortify you from the inside out. Take a cab home.
Beer. Hmmm, best for a quick catch-up at the bar while watching the World Series.
Port. Blue cheese please. Fireplace and handsome, informed company is mandatory.
Martinis. The chipped nail-polish of the cocktail world. Trashy like one-night-stands, unless they’re straight-up, dirty, with olives on the side. Every one-night stand has it’s place, so don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Good for shaking off excess energy and getting your groove back. Don’t hate yourself in the morning. Simply switch to mimosas.
Mimosa. Every Sunday morning. Preferably after a solid shag, and before you read the paper.
Mojito. Only in Cuba. Only with fresh mint. Only while sitting in an open air café with ceiling fans spinning lazily.
Tequila – when your attitude is ‘what the hell’ and ‘who gives a crap’. Should only be consumed while wearing denim and something bought at K-Mart designed by Jessica Simpson.
Mint Juleps – May. Only May, while watching the Kentucky Derby. Can also be excused while watching the Preakness.
Rum. Are you on a tropical island or wish that you were? Mix rum with pineapple juice, or whatever makes you think happy thoughts. Some sort of slushy concoction can take your blues away for a few hours.
Champagne (Cava may be substituted). While soaking up to your neck in a hot bath while listening to Leonard Cohen. While prepping for an erotic, perhaps even kinky evening in with your partner of choice. Can also be consumed in copious quantities while having girl-talk about the one that got away, your body issues, or your hopes and dreams. The bubbles in champagne make you feel like the world must be ok if you’re drinking such a delightful drink.
Vodka – seriously? It’s like drinking a K-car. Move on.
Irish cream – over ice with milk. Good for an evening wrapped in your snuggie while reading a Harlequin.
Gin and tonic. Must be over twenty-seven degrees Celsius. Must be ice cold. Must have lime. Must drink at least three.
Whiskey. Are you wearing cowboy boots? Is your carriage for the event a pick-up truck? Does someone have on a ball-cap, or alternately have hat-head? Then it’s ok.
I do hope that this simple guide to making your hooch seem feminine has been of assistance to you. Please enjoy responsibly, and do give in to temptation of the flesh every once in a while my sweet, juicy little peaches. It’s what keeps us young.
There’s nothing like the spirit of the deep south, and a long, slow southern drawl to get a girl into the Christmas spirit.
The second holiday recipe that I offer up may take a couple of test runs to perfect, but the testing will be delightful! If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, the first detour is his sweet tooth.
As with all of my recipes, I provide you with a little mood music following the instructions.
Pucker Up Bourbon Pecan Pie
Your favourite pie pastry recipe, made to fill one 9″ pie plate