I’ve had a few queries as to the (ever changing) wonky color of my hair and all I can say in explanation is this:

You’re only young once. Color is fun. And. I’d rather my daughter came home with unnaturally colored hair, piercings and tattoos than a mini-skirt and an A+ on her pregnancy test.

This blog isn’t very old so I don’t expect many hits.

So who do I know in L.A.?

Not Fresno. I know who you are.

(Update!) I did some digging and I think the hits I’m getting every now and then from L.A. are really from a spam-bot. I hope. If I’m wrong I hope the person from L.A. would be nice enough to leave me a comment. ^_^

On that note, how sad is it that I prefer a spam-bot over a stalker using a proxy?

Someone gave Mr. Husband a bottle of Grey Goose for ChrisYuleHanukKawanzaaMas (and a Festivus for the rest of us) this year.

While out shopping I found a jar of green olives spiked with vermouth.

One thing led to another and I ended up in front of the computer with One Mean Martini.

The trick to a great martini, I have found, is to add a bit of the juice from the olives and since this brand of olives already included just a hint of vermouth I didn’t need to add my own (dry, not sweet EW!).

I’m not big on adding bunches of frilly ingredients to my martinis either. Adding chocolate and frosting to a muffin makes it a CUPCAKE in my book. And so adding extra crap to a martini makes it a girly drink and the martini ceases to exist. For example: Adding Bailey’s and Kahlua to a martini essentially makes it a mudslide in a martini glass, right? Not that I’m against girly drinks, but if I want a martini, I want a freakin martini.

P.S. I’m not blitzed enough–as I’ve just started the first drink–to put together a really decent drunkpost but if you really want me to, I suppose I could knock back a few more and pull something digitally garbled and slurred from somewhere in my addled mind for you to raise an eyebrow at.

Really, though, I think one is enough. I’ve always been a lightweight, but when you haven’t had anything to drink for almost a year the spirits tend to affect you just a weencie bit more than they used to. Not that I’m complaining. Being a cheap date means I don’t have to spend so much money on myself for the same results.
P.P.S. I finally finished off that gigantic bottle of Six Vodka that I bought for myself while I was in California.  (Mr. Husband doesn’t do martinis.)  Yack. Don’t bother. It’s not worth it. I should have tossed it or given it away when TMO came for my things. BLAST that ‘waste not want not’ trait. I must have inherited it from my mother.