liqueur

How (not?) to mollify an angry Irish bear

My dad has finally accepted the reality of the Fluffy Problem.

He’s been laughing it off for quite a while, telling me I’m delusional. (Yeah, and who’s talking to a bear?) But a couple of mornings ago the stove woke him up. Beeping. All on its own, people!

No one had set the oven timer. There hadn’t been any clock-resetting electrical outage; the clock time displayed correctly—but the stupid thing was beeping at 6:00 a.m. It would have to have been set the evening before. What the hell? Seriously, no one at LBHQ is so super-curious about household appliances that they’d bother to figure out how to set a 12-hour timer…holy crap, for what reason?

Finally we figured it out. The night before, the family had watched a movie. We bears sat on the couch getting kicked and shoved and tangled up in V’s favorite comforter. Somehow Fluffy got kicked off the couch and rolled under it, where he stayed all night after the family had gone upstairs and we other bears had been tucked into bed (i.e., the laundry basket).

No one noticed that Fluffy had been abandoned. He was alone all night. And even when the oven timer started bleating at 6:00 a.m., no one put it together that it was powered by Fluffy’s mind. Not until later when he was discovered under the couch.

OMG, my fellow inebriates. If Fluffy can make the oven do something it’s not even supposed to, that means he can do anything electrical. He could set the house on fire, my fellow inebriates. He could fry us all.

So our first order of business is to make nice with Fluffy.

The most obvious way to do this, I decided today, was to offer him a taste of the liqueur we made on the weekend. Sure, the recipe says to let it mellow three weeks or more, but we have an emergency here. We have an Irish bear in the house with angry magical powers who might (logically) be mollified by some Irish Canadian Cream.

But getting into the fridge turned out to be a bitch. That appliance has some mean suction on it, and I was stuck for quite a while. When my dad did finally discover me, he paused to take a picture.

And then another.

“Bearly had a chance,” said my dad.

And so the countdown to our tasting continues…ploddingly. No Irish Canadian Cream tonight, which leaves us at the mercy of whatever Fluffy does next.

Just as well, perhaps. Is it creeping determinism to say it might be for the best that Fluffy doesn’t critique our homemade liqueur? Who knows what he might do if he realizes the base spirit isn’t Jameson Irish whisky but…Wisers?

ASTROLIQUOR for August 24-30—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Aries, you have so much confidence in your own mojo that you often wait for others to email or phone you. Take the initiative this week and call someone from so long ago that they’ve forgotten your typical bar behavior. Shut off your rational side and let your emotions guide you. Okay, so that’s hard when your emotions are usually angry…but you can loosen up with some Captain Morgan and Mountain Dew.

Taurus, you’ll hear from an old friend, but listen carefully and be skeptical. OMG, what do they want? Do they want money? Free drinks? Will they take you away from friends, family and work? Will the two of you go on a bender involving peach schnapps, white sambuca, and Midori melon? (In which case it’s okay, and the best day for it is Sunday.)

You didn’t intend to redecorate your house, Gemini, but that’s what you get when you mix up a tub of vodka and triple sec. Finish the job this week; your half-done alterations are unseemly, especially if you’ve accidentally taken out a wall. Whatever you’ve done, it’s enabled your neighbors to see you in a thong, and they don’t like it.

Now is the time to act, Cancer. Wavering hasn’t done you a lick of good, and the stars are willing to help you make good decisions this week. The key is to have a plan. You can’t just get pissed on tequila and then bring home a truckload of random electronics. Get pissed on Patron and Cointreau and lock yourself in the house.

Leo, whatever your ride is—bike, car, scooter—it’s going to need repairs this week. Be preemptive so the fix is small and inexpensive. Use the downtime to get drunk, staying out of traffic of course. Maybe you could invite a friend over and make some vodka martinis in your bathtub. Sunday’s best for me; just email me your address.

Get out of town for a few days, Virgo. You have some friends who are pissed off at you and, even though you don’t have any money, anyone who’d think of combining Bacardi 151, vanilla liqueur, and Crown Royal with Pepsi is creative enough to get by. Have fun knowing your absence will make your friends’ hearts fonder, or at least keep them from kicking your ass.

Libra, the stars are giving you a hall pass this week. Take it easy; break your more stressful engagements and plan some mellow activities instead. If you can raft along Friday through Monday on a vodka-drambuie river, you’ll get your groove back, and you might even meet a horny new friend.

Everything seems uphill this week, Scorpio. But compare now with five years ago. Chances are you didn’t have enough martinis then, but I bet you’re drinking more of them now. The great thing about aging is that we tend to drink more, and we have fewer friends to share the drinks with, which saves us money. The stars say the martinis should be vodka, but they are not always right.

Sagittarius, you’re surrounded by crud and odor, up to your neck in foul sweatsocks and filthy underwear. Rediscover that particular appliance that spins around (shudder). Put some clothes in it—especially the ones encrusted with Sheep-Dip-and-marsala vomit. Swish a cloth around; feed the toilet some Vim. You’ll feel better about your house and about yourself. Then you can begin afresh with another binge (the best day’s Sunday). Oh yeah, and no lottery tickets for you; spend the cash on booze.

The lottery’s a no-go for you, Capricorn. In fact, the week is generally unlucky, and you just don’t have the money to go nuts like you used to. Stay away from ostentatious types who rub their wealth in your face. Don’t let people pressure you to compete—at least not until October when your finances pick up slightly. For now you’re on a beer budget. Dig into your liquor cabinet and see if you can find some languishing rum. Toss it into the beer along with some gummy bears. That should put things in budgetary perspective.

Aquarius, take a fresh look at your world. Try to imagine everything is new—your job, your home, your relationships—see how much you really have. Life is good, but it’s not always easy to perceive. A simple mood adjustment might help. Good catalysts include Bailey’s Irish Cream and Southern Comfort.

Pisces, go through that cardboard box from the office. It sucks that you got fired again, but think about all the free time ahead. Especially if you’re in the northern hemisphere, this is an awesome time to get cut loose, and you can probably still afford a tequila bottle or two. Have a kick-ass party to celebrate your freedom. The stars say Sunday’s the best day, and it’s all the better because you don’t need to get up on Monday any more.

ASTROLIQUOR for August 17-23—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

As an Aries you sometimes have difficulty maintaining civilized relationships, and this week it gets worse. Your psyche splits in half, freaking out friends and family. One minute you’re barring the door and ignoring your phone. Next minute you’re streaking around the block in a thong. This latter behavior is just a cover-up for the tender, squishy interior you’ve been hiding. Loosen it up with some vodka.

Taurus, one of your friends is into you—and very suddenly. You, however, have your eye on someone else. You could keep your options open just in case the latter fails to notice you. Then again, your admirer could well be a stalker who drinks all your Hennessy while you’re in the shower. It’s potentially a shit scenario, but you can’t very well hide from the world. The stars say go with your gut.

You’ll meet a flirt this week, Gemini, which could make for rocky times if you already have a steady squeeze. But you’re generally lucky, so you can get away with a fair bit. Whether you take the plunge has a lot to do with how much Captain Morgan’s in your bloodstream. Your best risk-taking days are Monday through Wednesday, but don’t look at me for answers on Thursday. 😦

An old photograph or video reminds you of an old friend, Cancer. Being naturally sentimental, you sail down memory lane, lamenting your lost relationship and wishing you’d had as much sense as you do now. Don’t start freaking out about your age, though. If you get even the slightest urge to go for Botox, break out the vodka and Southern Comfort. Even if booze doesn’t shake the impulse, no doctor will inject you when you’re hammered, although you might find a tattoo artist who’s willing.

Leo, your general health is improving. You feel stronger and more competitive. You’re sleeping better and managing stress in healthy ways. You’re waking up early and going for nature walks. OMG, how did this happen? Has your bartender started watering down your Jagermeister? Better find out—it’s not normal to feel this good.

Whatever people advise, you tend to do the opposite, Virgo. You lose patience for rules and order as the stars urge you toward peach schnapps, vodka, and Hypnotiq. Depending on your baseline level of introversion, this is either good or bad. (Ain’t it great how horoscopes are correct no matter what?)

Libra, you frequently feel insecure or even embarrassed about your physique. Pasty and sallow, you get your carbohydrates from Sprite and your other macronutrients from gin, hoping like hell juniper contains some vitamins. Wallowing in shame won’t help you, Libra. Not as much as much as wallowing in a nice bath with candles and more gin.

Your third eye is very acute this week, Scorpio. You’re seeing and hearing things that aren’t actually there. Lots of people—astrologers, for example—would consider this a gift, but you are a little weirded out. So intuitive are you that you make a sordid discovery about your own private life. Any Scorpio worth his/her salt loves going down this type of bizarre rabbit hole, so pop the champagne cork and celebrate! But do it after Sunday, because the stars say you’ll end up being designated driver all weekend.

Sagittarius, you’re mowing through your finances again, with no thought for the morrow. Your bar friends love you for this, but look out—everything comes to a screeching halt in October, and the money situation won’t look up until at least December. Not only that—you’re juggling multiple projects and not finishing anything. Try ratcheting back the Kahlua in your breakfast flask.

Relationships test your mettle this week, Capricorn. You may even be forced to choose between two people—a painful decision that calls for a rational mind. This you don’t have—not with your neurons swimming in rum and triple sec—and you could end up regretting your choice in December. Try not to jettison friendships, even if you have to tell some lies. This might mean capping that rum consumption so you can keep track of what you’ve said…can you do it?

Aquarius, cool your jets, there’s nothing that can’t wait a while. Where did this crazy sense of urgency come from? The world won’t stop if you slow down. Relax; try being late occasionally; ditch an AA meeting. Bet your workplace has enough type-A personalities, at least for this week. The recipe? Two ounces amaretto, two ounces coffee liqueur, in your morning Starbucks.

Pisces, lose the keyboard and go outside. Real people are more interesting in real life, and some of them have been trying to catch your eye for a while. Even if you think nature walks are for douchebags, you can make them work for you. What about a lovely picnic in a pastoral setting with a two-liter Fresca bottle and some Crown Royal?