liquor

Move over, Oprah! LB’s “Favorite Things” are here!

My Fellow Inebriates,

It’s no secret that Oprah Winfrey likes bears, so I know she won’t mind if I hijack her annual much-anticipated “Favorite Things” for my own purposes.

Without further ado, an LB selection of favorite things for this gift-giving season:

PacMan wine charms. That little dude gobbles like there’s no tomorrow, so he’d probably make a good drunk too.

Brut Gold Champagne, Armand de Brignac. To quote Miss O herself: “Jay-Z has a head for business, a soul for poetry, and a taste for luxury. He sent me this glorious Champagne, and I’ve since sent 25 cases to friends.” OMG! How do I get to be friends with Oprah??

Lava Lamp Shot Glass Collection. Wow, the glasses light up when you pour liquid in them. The lights go out once the glasses are drained. Good reason to keep filling ‘em.

Houdini Automatic Wine Opener. Yes, yes, YES!!! For my ever-defeated, pathetically thumbless paws, this is a long-sought-after boon. For obvious reasons my parents will ban it from the house, but…ahh. You just press the button and it pulls the cork out for you. When it’s not doing waiter duty, it recharges.

Whiskey Stones. The perfect way to keep your scotch cold without diluting it or imparting additional flavor. Chill these Vermont-milled stones in the freezer, put them in your rock glass and pour. Remember not to crunch them.

Hakutsuru Premium Sake Selection Gift Pack. There’s more to sake than heating it up and slamming it before the taste comes through. These premium sippers are lovely enough to savor cold.

Jezebel wine bottles. Take these to the U-Vin next time you whip up a batch of cheap plonk. Six weeks later, when you’re stuck with 80 bottles of barely drinkable vino, you’ll at least be able to enjoy the different colors.

Liquor Bottle Christmas Ornaments. OMG, why don’t we have these on our tree?? My parents tell me it’s because the kids would be running around with them. Sigh.

Liquor Bottle Nightlights. I get scared at night just like anybody, especially when I start thinking about zombies coming to get our chardonnay. If I had a booze nightlight I wouldn’t have to grind up against other, unwilling bears when I get frightened at night.

Dan Lacey's Susan Boyle and Cat Duet

And lastly, a wish for art. Sadly, this painting has been auctioned off on ebay, but I can dream.

Of course I’m not hedging my bets. Not really.

My Fellow Inebriates,

I was still recovering from my parents’ insensitive revelation that Santa’s been pretend all along, when my friend Scarybear went all apeshit at me on FB.

Scary thinks there’s no way anybody’s parents could ever deliver the swag Santa does.

I had thought that too, especially about my parents, who are always chasing clients for payment, saying the sky is falling and that we’ll be on bread and water soon.

I really want to believe that Santa’s real.

But it’s hard not to compile evidence now that the belief bubble’s been popped:

We have no chimney. How does he get into our house without doing a B&E?

"Magic."

Santa’s everywhere. Lots of them are fake. Maybe all of them are fake.

"Those ones are fake. The real one's real."

Why do my parents get sneaky and secretive just before Christmas?

"I don't know. Because tax season's coming?"

This is a honking big planet. How does Santa do it all in one night?

"IT'S MAGIC! MAGIC! IT'S MAGIC, YOU RETARD!"

I think Scary would be a good fit for the Tea Party. He’d probably be a good Flat Earth guy, too, if Star Trek hadn’t won him over already. His suspension of disbelief transcends any and all inconvenient information, leaving him free to believe whatever the hell he wants, and, just like all good believers, he knows it’s unquestioning faith that anchors the whole thing.

But what if he’s right? What if Santa’s for real and I’m going to miss the boat with my cynical questioning? OMG.

Okay, well, if I’ve messed everything up with Santa, there’s still another guy…and he comes tomorrow. YEAH!! Hanukkah Harry!…

Dear Hanukkah Harry,

I have a bad feeling I’ve been blacklisted by Santa, so I’m wondering if it’s too late to become Jewish. I’ve heard there are a few hoops to jump through, but maybe I can do them after New Year when I have more reading time.

I hear you visit for eight days rather than one, Harry, which makes me wish I’d known about you sooner. I’m really sorry I’m not Jewish yet, but if you don’t mind my waiting until next year to contact a rabbi, here are some little requests:

  • Day One: Smirnoff vodka
  • Day Two: Macadamia nut liqueur
  • Day Three: California Cult Classics Chardonnay
  • Day Four: Case of Cariboo
  • Day Five: Chairman’s Reserve Spiced Rum
  • Day Six: Blue Curacao
  • Day Seven: Bacardi 151
  • Day Eight: Jagermeister

I’m not really sure how you operate, Harry, or whether it’s cool to ask for Hanukkah booze. (I know it’s okay to ask Santa because he often looks inebriated.)

Lastly, if you know Santa, please don’t tell him I asked for all this stuff because I don’t want him to think I’m hedging my bets. Which I’m totally not—I asked for different booze from you—so it’s all good, right?

Cheers, Harry, and thanks for reading my last-minute letter. I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you before. Sometimes my parents keep valuable information from me.

Yours truly,

LB

On being purchased

No time for blogging all day, peeps. Sure, I had time; I spent most of the day staring at the wall, but no one had time to do my typing for me.

It was kind of understandable because the big kid was turning 6 and the putative adults were running around like maniacs making a cake and assembling loot bags that they would ultimately forget to distribute at the end of a screaming-loud party at a kids’ play area redolent of sweat socks and parental desperation.

I have no idea what my parents were like before they had their two monkeys. They bought me at the liquor store a few days before the first one was born. There they were, doing their Christmas alcohol shopping, Dad anticipating some good holiday drinking, Mum pregnant and settling for vicarious liquor selection…and I winked at them. I was hanging out on one of the shelves with the other bears (buy two—you keep one, the other goes to charity), and I noticed they were really loading up their cart with a lot of hooch. They had nine or ten wine bottles of wine, some Bailey’s and a really fine scotch; and poor old dead Granny had just hoisted a big magnum of sparkling wine into the cart.

I was excited because they seemed like proper alcoholics and fully my type of people. I didn’t realize they were stocking up for holiday visitors, because their full house would be celebrating not only Yuletide but the arrival of their first baby.

Blinded by the alcohol, I winked at them. I don’t know if they perceived it—they’re pretty oblivious at the best of times, my parents—but they stopped and looked at me. They reach out to me, gave me a pat. Next thing I knew, I was scanned, bought, bagged, and riding home with them.

I don’t know if they would have bought a bear if they hadn’t been expecting a baby. They probably would have gone for the two-bear charity deal, donated both, and gone home with just their booze.

So, in a way, their 6-year-old is the reason I live where I live, the reason I have adoptive parents, and the reason my fur is so matted it looks like aliens tried to make crop circles on it. I’ve worn countless dresses, been mummified all day in a tensor bandage, been slathered with rash cream and diapered, barely escaped barf and failed to escape snot, and dragged, thrown and trodden on.

And seriously, that shit is not okay. Fine, yes, they love me, and yes, it’s mutual, but I swear, if this continues, they’re going to literally tear me a new one, and when my mum sews me up with the purple thread the kids inevitably select, I will need a lot of alcohol.

Just saying.