beer

ASTROLIQUOR for October 5-11—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Aries, your decision to deliver a giant gift basket of Bailey’s and cherry vodka to a gravely ill friend may not be in good taste. Then again, it might net your friend a steady stream of visitors and help with everyone’s bedside manner. Hospitals don’t have to be creepy. And if you sampled from the basket before you arrived, the creepiest thing in the hospital might be you.

Taurus, the stars have chosen you to be Designated Driver this week. This will alter your social pattern considerably. At first it won’t be easy staying sober. It’ll seem weird being alert. Then you’ll look in your wallet and be like, OMG, look at all that money. I was going to spend that on creme de cacao.

Get serious about finances, Gemini, and track this week’s expenses. The stars favor math for you, which means your spreadsheets will add up (at least before Bloody Mary hour). Consider cutting expenditures by 10 percent…ride your bike; put on a sweater instead of the thermostat; go commando so you don’t have to buy underwear. Speaking of this last bit, Friday looks flirty for you.

Cancer, your stars are talking diet and exercise, food logs, and gym memberships. OMG, they’ve got to be joking, with Canadian Thanksgiving coming up. INSTEAD: Pour four parts bourbon, two parts rum, and one part whipping cream over ice. Ahhh! Keep this to yourself (and your money too; lending is star-crossed this week…although if you lend liquor you will get it back—on your carpet).

Leo, let’s get physical this week. Don’t join a gym, though; if it’s like S_e__ N__h F_____s W_r_d all the machines are covered with old gum and the bathroom door has a four-inch hole in it. Try walking instead of driving. You’ll save a ton of gas money, which you can spend on vodka. No lending money while drunk! You’ll never get your cash back.

Vodka, Pernod, Malibu, Tia Maria, and pineapple juice. If you call this “breakfast,” Virgo, it’s no wonder you’re having trouble remembering where you put a particular item. It’s one of those small, useful items that you need occasionally and don’t want to have to buy again—especially since it’ll turn up as soon as you do, and then you’ll have two (or more if these breakfasts are typical). Search everywhere!

Libra, you’ll suffer some minor Long Island Iced Tea–related bruising this week during a sensational party, from which you’ll stagger home and immediately drop a small appliance on your toe. It will break (the appliance, not your toe) because you’ll have read this horoscope and put on steel-toed boots. In some cultures, dropping things is good luck. In your culture, it means you’re pissed.

In happy contrast to last week, Scorpio, strangers feel like friends and friends feel like family. You’ll make valuable contacts, clear up some debt, and enjoy a flirtation. It doesn’t get much better—unless you add equal parts Drambuie, Napoleon, and Parfait Amour to a really killer Scotch over crushed ice with juice to taste (I’m having “none”).

Sagittarius, your thoughts are spacey and futuristic this week. In a hundred years, how many people will populate the earth? Will your descendants colonize Mars? Will doctors be able to grow a new liver for you? On Saturday a friend joins you, and together you invent something that will change the world. OMG, what’s fueling this creativity? Could it be Malibu?

This is a good week to finish projects, Capricorn. Don’t be anxious; there’s no need to compete with colleagues. You can’t, really, with a brainful of Southern Comfort and vermouth; and they like having you that way in the office because it makes them look good. That’s why they don’t rat you out. After a lovely work week you’ll receive good news about a sick friend. (Do I hear a champagne cork?)

Aquarius, not everyone appreciates your directness. You mustn’t transfer your vodka- and rum-infused insecurities onto colleagues, nor should you use words like “asstard” at board meetings. Not only will you hurt people’s feelings; you’ll incite revenge! If you must tank up on Long Islands at work, try to remain very, very quiet.

Pisces, you’re bucking for an unpaid holiday, but it’s not working. No matter how much incompetence you demonstrate at work, you keep getting pats on the back. This would have been awesome a month ago, but now you’re eligible for unemployment, so ratchet up the misbehavior. Is there an annoying coworker you could pick a fight with? If you need fuel, try dumping a case of Bud Light into a vat of pink lemonade. Add 13 gin shots and put your concoction in the lunch room. Voilà! Cardboard-box time for you.

SLEEMAN ORIGINAL DRAUGHT—Helping you achieve normalcy

My Fellow Inebriates,

After all that thought expended yesterday on networking-for-playdates, my mum still couldn’t do any better than this when the mother of V’s classmate N phoned:

N’s mum: Hi, I’m N’s mother. We haven’t met but we got your invitation to V’s birthday party. I’m sorry N can’t come.

Our mum: Oh, that’s okay. Thanks for letting me know.

N’s mum: It’s such a cute invitation. N is so sad she can’t go. It’s just that we’re away that week, otherwise we would.

Our mum: Aw, I’m sorry she’s sad. We’d love to have N there. V’s mentioned her before. I think they sit together.

N’s mum: She says V’s her best friend.

Our mum: Oh, that’s so cute!! Well, we’ll have to get them together another time.

N’s mum: That’d be great. As I say, we’re going away, but we can talk when we get back—

Our mum: What about tomorrow? N can come to our house. I can pick her up.

[Awkward pause as this hangs over the telephone line.]

N’s mum: Um, well, we like to meet the parents before we have a playdate. Just to get to know each other…

…

In playdate terms, Mum had jumped several levels on N’s mum—offering, without ever having met the woman or her husband, to pluck their precious five-year-old out of kindergarten and take her to an unknown house who-knows-where to play with a totally unfamiliar kid and a sibling of unknown age/gender.

It was the equivalent of offering a blowjob on the first date, and my mum realized it as soon as she made the offer.

Despite the gaffe, N’s parents made an effort the next morning to seek V and Mum out at the morning drop-off. Hands were shaken, eye contact made, lame jokes cracked. Whether a future playdate will happen after the customary time elapses…it’s up to the jury.

I thought my mum could use a drink after all that strain—perhaps the SLEEMAN ORIGINAL DRAUGHT languishing in the fridge since summer (i.e., since last week). The last remainder of the Summer Selections mixer pack, its 5% alcohol would surely assuage whatever palpitations early-morning social contact had caused my mother, and maybe I could get a buzz too.

But she said 8:45 a.m. was too early, my fellow inebriates. We had to wait until 5:00.

(Why 5:00? OMG! One day we’ll tackle that.) Five o’clock it must be before we cracked that frosty-cold beer with its light gold hue shining through the clear bottle nestled in the back of the fridge. Five bells, people! Why?

“Because it’s a social norm, LB.”

Okay.

So how much credibility does this carry coming from a woman whose social sensibilities are so deficient that she figured V’s classmate’s mother would be okay with her simply grabbing the girl after school without so much as a prior introduction?

“When you start drinking in the morning, something’s wrong, LB.”

Indeed.

My DTs were pretty bad today and, despite a few good happenings, which I’ll tell you about tomorrow, it was a tough slog till 5:00. I spent a long time looking at the People of Walmart. I pestered some alcohol manufacturers with random questions. I had a staring contest with Fluffy (he won). Finally the kids came home and wrapped me up in a black scarf like a hostage, then dangled me over a box of stuffed cats. By the time 5:00 came, that beer had ascended to mythic stature, glistening from the fridge.

When we finally poured it, SLEEMAN ORIGINAL DRAFT fizzed into the glass, its head foaming ephemerally then vanishing. The smell is nearly absent: pallid malt with some light grain. Carbonation-wise it’s a miniature Canadian fiesta on the tongue, crisp and snappy alongside a bready sweetness and mild hops. This is a summer beer all right—failing that, a hockey beer—with light refreshment and no demands on the tastebuds. There is no je ne sais quoi. There just isn’t. Which makes SLEEMAN ORIGINAL DRAFT awesome for when you’ve been tortured all afternoon by kids. The stuff is awesome for when you want something normal—failing that, for when you want to play at being normal. And goodness knows we need some practice at that around here.

ASTROLIQUOR for September 28 to October 4—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Aries, you’ve managed to clear up that misunderstanding with your boss, but you still need to keep a low profile. Think odorless flask-fillers such as vodka. Get brownie points wherever you can; you need douchebag coworkers on your side next time there’s a “restructuring.” This weekend you’ll meet a Dutch couple interested in swinging with you. Give it some thought.

Taurus, self-pity has you in its grip. You feel lonely and inferior, neurotic and compulsive. The famous Taurus sweet tooth hits with a vengeance, and you find yourself blending seven scoops of ice cream with chocolate syrup, whipping cream, pecans, and a banana. OMG, Taurus, what are you doing? For goodness sake! Where’s the alcohol in this recipe??

Gemini, shake off the Malibu and take a shower. Getting rid of that stale coconut funk will make you feel more self-confident and attractive—get ready to trawl for new romance! But beware: the stars are calling for a bar fight, triggered by something next-to-insignificant. The stars also think you should read books other than bartending guides. Snobby stars. Like they’ve ever read a book.

You experience a creative uptick, Cancer; music, art, and drama all interest you very much this week, and with your improving financial situation you should indulge this new dilettantism. To avoid mediocrity, purchase a 26er of Jack Daniels. This will keep you out of the artistic “mid-range” and either plunge you into a Hemingway-like nadir or amp you toward a Mozart-style zenith. Or both.

Leo, you labor under the delusion that you need very little sleep. Not so, my drifting-toward-the-center-line reader. You need good ZZZZs, and they need to be well timed so you’ll be 100% sober for the morning commute. Try hitting the bottle immediately after work. If you can be gooned by 8:00 or so, you’ll have enough time to throw up, drink some water and get a good eight hours’ sleep. Don’t believe the stars? Here’s your recipe:

  • 2 oz vodka
  • 2 oz white rum
  • 2 oz melon liqueur
  • 2 oz Southern Comfort
  • Some cranberry juice or whatever

Idealistic notions beset you this week, Virgo. You want to change the world, but first you have to get your own house in order. If you have grudges, confront and forgive the offenders. Have a proper conversation without someone who strikes you as shallow—see if you’re wrong. Get rid of outdated belongings that weigh you down. Buy Goldschlager and stare blissfully at its golden flakes. Ahhhh, enlightenment.

Libra, the stars say stock market this week. If you’ve had your eye on some stock but hesitated, now’s the time to leap. But not while ripped out of your head! You need to watch your investment and know when to get out. You mustn’t, for instance, go large and then have a three week beer-and-rum bender, leaving the Nasdaq to its own devices. On another note, you’ll be annoyed by a Sagittarius this week.

Expect a hot liaison this week, Scorpio. With only one thing on your respective minds, the encounter will be intense. Moreover, it will clear your head, leading to a power week at work. Scorpios are good at flipping the paradigm, and this week you abandon cyber-networking in favor of personal contact. Even if it’s just because you spilled rum all over your keyboard…

Sagittarius, seek out some unusual people this week. Why not invite them over on Saturday? Chances are, if you bring the Tanqueray, they’ll bring the Yukon Jack. Put it in your biggest punch bowl (it will taste a little bit like Pine-Sol) and get to know each other. Regale them with your life story, and maybe they’ll tell you what it’s like to get escorted out of Walmart.

Avoid anything that qualifies as long-term this week, Capricorn. Mortgages, loans, wedding dates—all are jinxed until next week. That “frenemy” of yours is still lurking, waiting to sabotage your plans. Holy crap, this person has been a nuisance lately. Is there no amount of Captain Morgan that can effect a reconciliation?

Aquarius, the stars are calling you to work this week. Yes indeed, you are the Designated Driver, so power back that coffee and be ready to assist all your noodle-headed, drunken friends. You will get vomit on your shoes, in your car, on your couch. You’ll have a horny Libra all over you—hands off, Aquarius, if it’s meant to be it’ll happen after your friend has slept it off. Be an extra-good friend and proffer some aspirin.

Pisces, you probably can’t read this because your computer is f*#%ing up again. It says you should stop trying to fix your own computer and hire an expert. It says that computer viruses and worms invariably come from downloading free porn and that a vodka martini is intriguing when you substitute Irish whisky for the vermouth.