cocktails

Is your Halloween checklist complete? The must-have ingredient you may be missing…

The Halloween shopping happened today.

One black cat with sparkly ears and pink wig…Check.

One jeweled princess with spare doll-size outfit (guess who’s wearing it)…Check.

Two pumpkins sitting outside so they don’t rot before the big day…Check.

Six bags of Halloween candy…Not safe to buy it yet; my mum will devour it.

Pumpkin carving kit…OMG, pumpkin guts make me barf! I hate being near that stuff. What if they try and rope me into it? OMG!!

Vodka to make a Pumpkin Divine…Not yet…

After all that relentless shopping, could they not stop into the liquor store for some Grey Goose and triple sec, then find out where the hell Martha Stewart’s enemies might find pumpkin butter? (What the crap is that anyway??)…Oh hell, just vodka would have done. Somebody make one and tell me how it tastes! Meanwhile, I’ll make one here with…gin…and Malibu. Close enough.

ASTROLIQUOR for October 26 to November 1—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Aries, you’re back to your pissed-off self, and some poor sap is irritating you. He/she isn’t even doing anything! It’s all you, Aries, so get your anger management on. Mellow out with some apple brandy or rum. Call a Capricorn friend to chat (don’t yell). Buy a small present for someone. Whatever you do, stay away from rowdy bars; you don’t need any more stitches.

Taurus, you’ll have a three-way with a married couple on your next holiday, a moral lapse preceded this week by an unfortunate mixture of Jagermeister, Monster, Sunny D, and root beer. This combo makes you lose your mind and throw away all your discretion, paving the way for a holiday orgy so publicly lewd that you’ll never live it down. Nice going.

You’re preoccupied with mating this week, Gemini, and love is optional. Another Gemini grabs your attention, but you don’t have much luck with same-sign hook-ups. This one’s no exception; it will fizzle quickly, leaving your mind abuzz with prickly resentment. Nothing helps this problem more than Wild Turkey with Drambuie.

Cancer, your calendar feels packed, but is your problem a full dance card or just disorganization? If you take a look you’ll realize you’re not planning properly. You’re saying yes to every trivial thing that comes up and letting people waste your time. No wonder you have no time to get loaded. Take time out for a luxury Champagne this week and tell everyone to get stuffed.

Leo, the stars are vaguely predicting an enriching experience for you…say, sometime in the next three weeks. Expect to become more attuned—not just to your five senses but to the paranormal. The portal to enlightenment is, perhaps predictably, Blue Curacao with Malibu. Although you’ll perceive all kinds of crazy shit this week, your mental state is surprisingly healthy.

Melon liqueur, white creme de cacao, and milk. Your mixology continues to reveal a slight mental imbalance, Virgo. Consider hitting the psychiatrist’s couch, taking up yoga, or getting on a plane to Tibet. Or maybe just go and observe the People of Walmart. They won’t harm you and they’ll probably go out for drinks with you. Open your mind.

Libra, the stars like you this week. You have a lot of influence over people, which increases your social sphere. Ties with your partner are strong, with Thursday your best day for communication. Your power week takes you to the heights and then drops you like a rock. You descend into a binge featuring red wine and vodka—combined. Yikes, the stars are mean.

Someone is pressuring you, Scorpio, but you don’t have to give in. Did you give in when they told you not to make a big vat of white rum, tequila, peach schnapps, triple sec, and Bacardi 151? Did you give in when they said you couldn’t have that big vat in the office lunchroom? Did you give in when they said you couldn’t sleep beside the photocopier? Hell, no.

Sagittarius, your work is in the doldrums and you don’t know why. (It’s boring.) Your brain checks out of meetings, pondering cocktail onions and the comparative merits of sweet and dry vermouth. Perhaps you should talk to your colleagues. They might be able to make your days more interesting, or at least recommend a good gin for your flask.

You’ll have a drastic change of opinion about a work project, Capricorn. You’re horrified at how sluggish your pace has been, the slackers who surround you, and the dried vomit in your third drawer down. This is what happens when you do the unthinkable, Capricorn. You’ve dried out, and the world looks ugly. But at least you can be the DD for your friends.

Aquarius, there’s no use freaking out at coworkers, even if one of them is trying to destroy you. Half the time they’re just as messed up as you—riding the highs and lows between gin-and-tonics and Red Bull. Level out your brain chemicals with some solid food. If you hold it together for the work week, Sunday won’t let you down. But keep your eyes trained at work for that backstabber!

Pisces, a not-unexpected meeting occurs this week. It’s one of those dreadful interventions in which your most beloved relatives and friends tell you what a douche you are. They’ve made a big gathering of it; they’ve got hors d’oeuvres and somebody’s carved pineapples and bananas into special shapes. Your head hurts from this outpouring of love and self-righteousness. But it’s better than that time you spent a night in jail after pissing against a wall.

HEITLINGER SMOOTH LEAF PINOT BLANC (2011)—falls short of distracting you from your very worst fears

My Fellow Inebriates,

Last night Fluffy tried to smother me with his fur. This was after my dad tried to smother both of us by falling asleep on the couch with us under him. When he got up, Fluffy stayed lodged on top of me—i.e., he tried to finish me off.

I’d been expecting Fluffy to escalate his sinister behavior so if anything this seemed overdue. Fluffy used to train his mind powers on our townhouse, causing weird creaks and bangs despite the newness of the structure. But the new LBHQ is old, and old houses are supposed to make noises. So when this place started creaking and crashing, I couldn’t be sure it was Fluffy or if the house was just doing its thing.

After all, for all I knew, Fluffy was no longer possessed. The movers could very well have shaken Granny out of him when they put him on the truck, or perhaps she’d remained attached to the townhouse. Maybe her dead spirit had been sleeping when the movers came and she missed the boat/truck.

I wanted to believe these things. But OMG, when this house goes thump, it goes THUMP—how could it be anything other than Fluffy?

I didn’t want to ask my mum again if she thought her dead mother was hanging out in Fluffy; it didn’t seem sensitive. So I asked my dad. I wanted to know if he could detect a paranormal other under his ass while he watched movies on the couch.

“No.”

“Well, how about me under your ass while you watch movies on the couch? How about that, Dad??”

Clearly my dad has no psychic powers. For someone with the dog-hearing he has for stereo systems, his sixth sense is nonexistent. How could anyone watch an entire movie with two bears wedged under his can, one bear of which presumably has the power to leave the shell called Fluffy and travel right up his rectum? Last night my dad was playing with fire. He was lucky Fluffy tried to kill me instead of him (or maybe Fluffy just wasn’t interested in exploring my dad’s bowels).

I realized last night that Fluffy is at least as evil as Martha Stewart—maybe more so, because he’s never made Bing Cherry Mojitos.

I survived Fluffy’s assault only because I can hold my breath really well—some might say seven years and counting. But last night was an eye opener. Not only is my dad oblivious to the evil around him, but his ass sometimes compounds the evil. No question my dad is generally oblivious.

Case in point: Pinot Blanc. This is a pet varietal that Mum and I tend to break out when Dad goes on a business trip. But at Thanksgiving we had it in the house just in case our guests might like it, and my dad got curious about it. Now, we’ve had some kick-ass PBs before, and we were hoping this would be another. HEITLINGER SMOOTH LEAF (2011) retails for $17.99 at our government booze store where it’s been promoted lately as a staff pick and turkey-dinner match. Assuming my mother’s turkey dinner ended up tasting like turkey, it seemed like a good bet.

German PBs can go either sweet or dry, and HEITLINGER lands on the off-dry mark. The nose is orchardy and citrus with hints of a not-very-influential pineapple having been in the room. On the palate the mouthfeel is reasonably weighty with moderate acidity. The wine lingers on the back palate with a slightly confusing play of flavors, summing up simply and rather forgettably.

If you’re partial to food and you like socializing, HEITLINGER won’t distract you from either. This feature shouldn’t be underestimated, as there’s nothing worse than regaling your captive Thanksgiving dinner audience with one of your best stories, only to have someone break into your narrative to exclaim how freaking awesome the wine is. This won’t happen with HEITLINGER. While not reticent with its display of bright yellow fruit, neither is it wearing a Carmen Miranda get-up. It won’t upstage you, your meal, or that story about your prostate exam.

If, on the other hand, you eschew solid foods like yours truly…well, you might want to add some interest to this wine. You could read a book while sipping, or practice doing a sexy dance. You could think about freaky paranormal happenings or compare Martha Stewart’s evilness with that of other household members. And if your house is free of creepy things like Fluffy, she will certainly win.

Oh, Martha, I can’t believe you’re really evil.