My fellow inebriates,
I promised you a sob story revealing why my typists (aka Mum and Dad) have left me to twiddle my thumbless paws for over a year now while my blog wallows in the lowest reader stats it’s ever seen.
But then I had breakfast (aka FEENEY’S IRISH CREAM), which had been lurking in the back of the fridge since Christmas. Obviously my mum was the last tippler, because the top was barely on (she has no idea how to close anything; either it’s barely on or it’s hopelessly misthreaded and you have to bash it against the sink to get it open). Anyway, it was my mum’s incompetence that enabled my miraculous Feeney’s breakfast.
An odd breakfast, you say?
You wouldn’t say that if it was in a morning coffee on New Year’s Day, would you? Then it would be okay. Or if you were camping. If you’re camping anything goes! To further make my case, I had no idea what date it was today. For all I knew, it could have been New Year’s Day. I don’t pay attention to calendars. So I slipped the top off the Feeney’s, inserted a straw, and…OMG, my fellow inebriates, what a yummy breakfast! You have to try this, people. Never mind what day it is. I suggest doing it just because it’s a day.
A 750mL bottle of Feeney’s sells at our local booze store for $20.99. That’s $6 less than the more famous Bailey’s Original Irish Cream. So how does it compare?
If you ask my dad, who immediately noted the price difference, he’ll say Feeney’s has nothing on Bailey’s. Ask my mum, presumably responsible for the half-bottle’s worth missing before I discovered it for breakfast, and she’ll say it’s practically identical. Made with cream and aged Irish whisky, Feeney’s is rich and luxurious, smooth and slightly chocolatey. Perhaps it tastes different (better?) than Bailey’s—but who knows? I’d have to urge my parents to buy both at once, and that’s about as likely as an asteroid hitting the house. Nope, the holiday season is over, and we probably won’t see either beverage until next winter.
Totally aside, but just to give you a small update of what’s been going on at LBHQ, while I consumed my delicious Feeney’s breakfast, I was observed by GERBILS. Yes, for the past 13 months, gerbils have been living with us. They reside in a gigantic glass tank in the dining room. At first I was afraid they would make similar fridge forays to mine and finish off the booze before I could, but then I realized they’re confined to their tank. My dad says they don’t feel confined because the tank is huge, but hey—who knows what they’re thinking? (Except Miss V, who can channel them.)
To be frank, I’m a little jealous of them, because when we first got them my mum said: “Wow, it’s great having animals in the house. They’re so animated, aren’t they, LB?”
And then she said to the kids, “Make sure you never put LB in the gerbil tank. If you do, they’ll chew him up in no time flat.”
My mum yelled at me today because—again—my name showed up in one of her client emails. She said it was embarrassing, even mortifying, to receive a response with “Liquorstore Bear” in the address field. We have no idea how that happened, but she’s been giving me the evil eye.
So, I needed something to cheer me up. Just a little something, my fellow inebriates, because I don’t really like getting yelled at for technical problems. I don’t even have fingers for typing, so how could I have insinuated myself into my mum’s professional life?
I was actually feeling pretty sniffly-sad. And then I saw this awesome pic.
Right? I have never seen anything more rad.
And, lest you think it irrelevant to the ramblings of a liquor-obsessed bear, here’s a drink in honor of this awesome animal.
Combine all ingredients in a blender. Blend well until smooth and pour into a pitcher. Pour into Liquorstore Bear’s mouth.
Thank you, Drinks Mixer. And thank you, Mewbacca.
My Fellow Inebriates,
I became very stressed out when I realized the booze horoscope is late. But then somebody told me that all the astrological signs are off by a month because they were calculated over 2,000 years ago and the earth has an axial wobble, and on and on and on, MFI, it was all very technical. Anyway, if you think you’re a Leo, you’re probably a Cancer, and so on through the zodiac. So feel free to drink whatever the stars recommend for your sign AND the one before it. You’re welcome.
You need extra vacation time, Aries. At least that’s what your psychiatrist thinks. As for your colleagues and relatives, they think you take mental holidays all the time. And the stars? They recommend downtime as long as it’s cheap. That means no Champagne—find some budget bubbly and mix it up with leftover peach schnapps (doesn’t everybody have peach schnapps left over?). What the stars don’t recommend is getting canned from your job. Ahhh, it’s so tempting this time of year, but the stars won’t hear of it. They say you’re unhireable and that you should stick with a good thing.
Taurus, it’s time to figure out your finances. Where the hell is all that money going? For the next two weeks you’ll dutifully spreadsheet every expenditure—and the news will be good. If you can just cut out a few little extras, you’ll be totally solvent. But what are those “little extras”? Well, the stars say to start with Champagne. Nobody needs Champagne when they can buy $11 sparkling wine. You do need Malibu, though.
Gemini, your playtime will change significantly this week thanks to some new people who find their way into your life. You’ll find you need quite a bit of cash to keep up with them, and might even end up seeking a loan. Geminis are pretty good at handling stuff like this, but then again, you’re not really a Gemini, are you? The stars say lay off the crack and buy a nice chocolate mint liqueur that you can savor.
Cancer, your physical fitness gets a boost this week when you declare you’ll no longer take the elevator. You got it, you’re taking the stairs, all eight of them, and before long that ass will be toned and tight. With the accompanying confidence boost you’ll attract new people, one of whom will hit you up for a loan. Don’t do it, Cancer! You need that cash for vodka and Jack Daniel’s.
If you’re feeling out of shape, Leo, perhaps you should eliminate solid food in favor of vodka. Toss some fruit into it for vitamins, shake it all up, and call the neighbors over. Voila! You have a yukkaflux party, and that’s what summer’s all about. Like Cancer, though, you’ll become a magnet for new people, and the one who asked Cancer for a loan will hit you up next. Say no! This person is a total dildo and won’t give you your money back.
You’ll spend much of the week bumping into things, Virgo, which is the usual consequence of drinking vodka, peach schnapps, and Blue Curaco without let-up. Not only will you bang up your elbows and knees; you’ll keel over on top of a delicate appliance, which will work only intermittently thereafter. Give it a good kick, Virgo, but mind your toes. You’re already a mess. You should be wearing shoes in the house anyway, because around about the time you break the appliance, you also smash a six-pack on the floor. Mellow out, friend.
Libra, that missing object you’ve been seeking continues to elude you. Where the hell did you put that thing anyway? It has no sentimental value, but it’s something useful—your toothbrush, perhaps, or some Ben Wa balls. (Don’t mix those up.) Even though tequila won’t help you find your lost item, it will make you feel less frustrated, especially if you mix 6 oz of it with 3 oz each of Blue Curacao and lime juice. Pretty soon you’ll be saying, “What thing?” or, more likely, “Waaasssing?”
If you had your druthers you’d have a stable, normal relationship, Scorpio. Cozy nights and quiet luxuries, good food and drink. But you’re Scorpio, and let’s face it, you don’t do “normal.” You thrive on unpredictability and chaos, which is why you’ll say yes to that peach vodka with 7Up. It won’t taste very good, and you know that, but it signifies a gratifying behavioral spiral that resonates with the Scorpio. Oh, wait a sec, you’re really a Libra. Maybe you can find that missing thing Libra’s looking for.
Sagittarius, communication is tickety-boo this week, and your thoughts are both coherent and compelling. For some reason you’re not getting any work done, though. Are you wanking off to the sound of your own voice? Take a holiday, Sagittarius, and spare your co-workers any more of this. If HR won’t let you book off for a week, take a mental holiday. Stock your desk drawer with bourbon whiskey, Southern Comfort, triple sec, and Blue Curacao. Ahhhh!
A Sagittarius will pester you this week, Capricorn. Just because you smiled once or twice, this person thinks you’re interested romantically. This person also probably has a headful of bourbon and other mixers (see Sagittarius, above) and won’t even remember if you tell him/her to bugger off. Just ignore, ignore, ignore. Save your own lovely drink for after work when you get home: Bailey’s and hot chocolate, because you are so much more refined than a Sagittarius. Oh wait. You kind of are a Sagittarius.
Aquarius, you’ll be the epitome of charm this week. People are drawn to you magnetically because of your nonjudgmental aura. You can even manipulate them with your charisma if you feel like it, but the stars wish you wouldn’t. These things can escalate badly, and next thing you know, you have a drunken Sagittarius hurling chunks of cafeteria lunch and triple sec all over your cubicle. Being nonjudgmental, you won’t mind, but the stars think you can do better, so stick to gin.
You’ll blossom this week, Pisces, becoming a magnet for people whose lives aren’t going so swimmingly. So willing to oblige are you that you’ll drop everything to help, to lend, and to provide emotional support. You’ll start neglecting your own needs and even your own health. Taking on the weight of the world isn’t something any Pisces should ever do. For one thing, Pisces people are never more than a few weeks away from a nervous breakdown. If you don’t look after number one, you’ll find yourself drained by the douchebags of the world, who won’t even lend you a cup of Bacardi later. (Wow! the stars are harsh this week.)