I’ve got nothing for you today, my fellow inebriates. So I hope you’ll accept this little GIF.
sex
ASTROLIQUOR for March 1–6—What the stars say you should drink!
My Fellow Inebriates,
Here’s your booze horoscope:
Aries, an insurance issue will require your full attention. Make sure you read the small print—preferably before you go on a Yellow Chartreuse bender. In any case, your coverage will probably screw you over, leaving you to wonder why you bothered buying insurance at all. The good news is it doesn’t involve driving and/or your car. Give yourself a pat on the back for confining your drinking to your home and public transit. Take the money you’ve been wasting on premiums and buy a present for a Scorpio. Maybe a bottle of Yellow Chartreuse.
Taurus, you’re brooding over old issues. Colleagues wonder why you haven’t gotten over ancient slights, but Taurus personalities are excellent at balling up those hostile emotions until they explode. Release them before you go critical. Remember: booze will free you of your inhibitions. Use anything…cognac, Cointreau, Yellow Chartreuse… Are you drunk yet? Good. Now go talk to your boss.
You think you know yourself so well, Gemini, but others actually know you better. In fact, you can’t even remember the last five years. You’ve been awash the whole time in Southern Comfort. Little do you know, your consciousness is about to explode, providing new insights between now and May. You’ll also experience some diarrhea.
Cancer, you’ll start a drunken fight at work this week. You can’t help it; your colleagues are idiots who refuse to do their jobs. Privately you’ll feel ashamed for your outburst, but then you’ll gradually start to like your new bad-ass self. You’ll rationalize your nutbag workplace freakouts and bolster them with a flask of gin. Have a cardboard box ready.
Leo, pay more attention to your family. Don’t just listen to them; try to understand what makes them tick. What weird-ass genes influence them? What crazy relatives brought them up? Meanwhile you’ll find yourself in the doghouse with a significant other; it seems your inability to function without a headful of Bacardi 151 is a relationship dealbreaker. Don’t worry, you’ll meet someone new at the liquor store in April.
Virgo, your month is outstripping your paycheque and causing you big financial worries. Consider getting rid of your car. You never drive it anyway because you are always pissed on Malibu. You could buy discount rotting fruit and vegetables to save a few coins, or maybe even give up solid foods altogether. Or you could just wait for a raise. The stars say “maybe.”
Stop mailing your hate letters immediately, Libra. The “send” button is far too tempting for you, and you’re dissing people who are much smarter (and probably more sober) than you. If you, for instance, email the stupidest inbox in the blogosphere, you will get skewered. It’s okay to have an opinion, but try not to formulate it after marinating your neurons in vodka, whisky, gin, and a dash of tabasco sauce. That shit’ll make you mean.
The stars may be messing with you, Scorpio, but they’re suggesting you make an elaborate dinner for friends. They’ll be surprised at what a gourmand you are, and a flirtation may even ensue with a Leo or Pisces. The resultant public display of affection will probably appall your guests and scare them off, but for your superbly stocked bar. White rum, dark rum, and elderflower cordial? You’ve got it going on. And now you’ve got an orgy in your dining room.
Sagittarius, you’re hurting financially. You made some serious dents with your ATM card back in December, and you can’t even remember what you purchased. That’s what happens when you go shopping during a drunken blackout. Who knows what you bought—check and see if there’s a Prada purse under your bed. Better yet, see what’s in your bar. Let’s hope you stocked up on Tia Maria and Amaretto.
You don’t have any spare cash, Capricorn, but who cares? You’re feeling down and your house could use some new furniture. Your partner will be so surprised to see a new living room suite and a zero balance. Smooth over any arguments with this yummy drink:
- 1 cup vodka
- 1/2 cup cranberry juice
- 1/2 cup mango juice
- 1/2 cup orange juice
- 1 cup ice cream
Blend it all up with ice…unless you have to sell the blender.
Aquarius, it’s time to take someone to dinner—maybe an old friend, maybe someone you meet in the brandy aisle at the liquor store. You’ll hit it off in a big way and end up naked. The next morning while you’re lounging around in an ill-fitting thong with your new friend, Jehovah’s Witnesses will come to your door. Invite them in. You must have some brandy left, and the conversation will be fun.
Pisces, you have a very deviant sex life, but it’s not satisfying you these days. Could you be looking for true love? The stars have lots of options for you (Capricorn, Pisces, Cancer), but they’re not all into your kinks. They don’t like that bit involving peanut butter and the dog, and they draw the line at letting your relatives watch. Cheer up, you can still pour the Hypnotiq, Malibu, and vodka, and there’ll be no hard feelings.
Queerer than we can suppose—Q&A with the kiddies
My Fellow Inebriates,
I fell asleep huddled among the empties last night, which meant I was in the kitchen for the following breakfast conversations.
V: Mummy, did the Easter Bunny write my name on this Kit Kat bunny?
Mum: Yup.
V: Oh. Because I thought you wrote it.
Mum: Nope. And it’s not for eating right now.
V: I know that. The puppy knows everything.
Even though V likes to refer to herself in the third person, her bullshit meter is sharp. My parents will get away with Easter Bunny activities for another year maybe, if that—and it won’t be their eldest who drops the bomb; it’ll be four-year-old Miss V.
▪ ▪ ▪
If you’ve ever tried to get a grade one and a preschooler off to school by 8:31 (yes, union regulations dictate that school starts not at 8:30 but 8:31), you know what a scramble it is. I’m not usually awake for it, but since I’d made my nest among the beer bottles, I had a listening post.
P: Mummy, do we believe in God?
Mum: Well, you can if you want, it’s up to you. What do you want, cereal or toast?
P: I mean, is God real?
Mum: Well, a lot of kids in your class probably go to church, right?
P: Uh huh. Do we go to church?
Mum: Nope. Cereal or toast?
P: Why not?
Mum: Because it’s totally boring. You have to sit still for, like, an hour and be really quiet.
P: I think I’ll believe whatever you believe.
Mum: That’s usually the way it works in families. But it’s up to you. Cereal?
This isn’t as negligent as it sounds. If P really wanted to go to church, my mum would find a churchgoing acquaintance to take her. And then she’d bore the shit out of the kid deconstructing the whole thing afterwards. My mum loves religion. She just doesn’t believe in it.
▪ ▪ ▪
P: Mummy, why do grown-ups smell?
Mum: Like, why do they have body odor and bad breath and stuff?
P: Yeah.
Mum: Well, it all comes down to hormones. Where are your shoes? Grab your shoes.
P: Hormones?
Mum: Yeah, body odor is all about territoriality and mating. Got the black shoes?
P: Mating?
Mum: Yeah, you know, because humans are basically animals, and animals like each other’s smells; that’s why they mate. Three minutes, guys, we gotta go.
P: You mean, like get together?
[And P mimes a big hug. Three minutes is not enough to get into this.]
Mum: Kind of like getting married—animals getting married. They like each other’s smells so they get together and have babies. Just like Daddy and I have babies. Got your shoes? Okay, which jacket?
P: Oh, but Daddy has showers so he can smell good.
Mum: I know, isn’t it awesome?
▪ ▪ ▪
Whatever contradictions manage to coexist in our brains, the kids’ questions do not stop. Get this one.
P: Mummy, is LB real?
Mum: Of course he’s real. Look at him.
P: I mean, is he alive?
Mum: Yeah. Of course.
P: But he’s a stuffie!
Mum: A what?
P: He’s a stuffed animal.
Mum: Oh. Then how did he wink that day when we bought him?
P: But he doesn’t move.
Mum: Sure he moves.
P: No, you move him!
Mum: What are you talking about? That’s crazy.
P: Mummy!
Mum: He’s perfectly real. There’s a whole construct called “LB.” He’s as solid an idea as anything else. The notion of LB exists, and the people around him support it.
[At which point P is moved to hug yours truly. This either represents a point for a mother trying to score points off her child, or the indulgence of a child who knows her mother is batshit crazy.]
Mum: Stranger things are believed in by more people based on a lot less evidence. LB has a blog. Of course he exists.
[And then she makes it weirder.]
Mum: I even saw a bunch of little bears that look just like LB in Save-On Foods. Just like him, only really small, for $2.99. They’re probably his offspring.
OMG!
(While walking to school)
V: Mummy, I wish that person wouldn’t leave dog shit all over the ground.
Liquorstore Bear 