OMG, my fellow inebriates, can you believe it? My parents have really let me down this season. I’m supposed to be commandeering Oprah’s Favorite Things, showing you how to make nasty liqueurs out of cheap Canadian whisky, and being the usual nuisance. But my parents SUCK, they really do. Supposedly there is just no time for poor little LB and his capsizing blog.
I’m practicing typing with my paws, but you know, it kind of looks like this:
So….until the alcohol starts flowing again at LBHQ, here are some lovely ideas for making your holidays festive. Martha Stewart would envy this stuff, my fellow inebriates!
My Fellow Inebriates,
Five-year-old Miss V was so delighted to receive a heart-shaped Kinder Egg box this morning that she threw a fit about not being allowed to eat the chocolate before school. Mum figured V’s class had a sugar frenzy planned in lieu of lunch and was therefore disinclined to deposit V at kindergarten prematurely overloaded with sugar. The kid was already up until 9:30 last night (“I can’t sleep, I tried for a whole minute”) and was already exhibiting hair-trigger temper.
This is exactly the type of unreasonably controlling parental crap Mum pulls on me. When I asked whether we could make raspberry martinis this morning, she didn’t even answer.
It had taken me considerable courage to visit Martha Stewart’s website for this recipe, she being the second most terrifying entity I know.
Fluffy still wins.
Stealing onto her webpage is equivalent to nudging open the door of a haunted house. What a freaky ice queen Martha is, and my mum should realize it—if Martha ever saw Mum attempting to cook lemon bars she’d probably put a pickaxe in her head.
What is society’s problem with booze for breakfast? Is it related to Mum’s problem with Kinder Eggs before 9 a.m.? Why has Mum never, for example, popped the cork on some Chardonnay before walking the kids down the hill to school? What would happen?
“Dude,” she says. “Get some brain cells.”
Just for that, V and I are dedicating a special Valentine to our mother. (This photo has cracked V up since she was four; she requests it often.)
We don’t really mean it. At least I don’t.
OMG, my fellow inebriates! As you know, my parents don’t always come through for me. But today….Today was another story.
When Mum came home with cream, chocolate, and other Martha Stewart–style ingredients in a shopping bag, I didn’t get too excited.
Then Dad came home with a big honking bottle of cheap-ass Canadian whisky.
Guess what we’re making??
I wanted to make it last year but it never happened.
Did you guess? Did you???
OMG, MFI, we’re making our own IRISH CREAM LIQUEUR. Yes!!! Except it’ll be CANADIAN CREAM LIQUEUR because we’re using Canadian booze. As soon as everybody gets home, we’ll start (in Breaking Bad parlance) the cook. This day is going to crawl by….
Here’s my first crack at a label for our concoction. Thoughts?