A Girl...

I'll Drink to That

Behold what has become of my life.

For the last hour and a half, I've been sitting on the couch making a mix cd for tomorrow's Whiskey Night while my cat gnaws on my wrist with her throwup mouth. I look away from the laptop every so often to watch the tv, which is playing Fear Factor on mute, thinkin "If I took a drink every time the closed captioning read 'retching,' I'd have already drained the terrible whiskey sour I made myself with a fresh bottle of Speyside single malt scotch and two cherries." Earlier in the evening I spent $101 at BevMo, the holy mecca of all things potable, purchasing eight bottles of whiskey (including minis--sheesh), some new glasses, a shaker that now seems to be permanently stuck closed, a bottle of juice for breakfast, and a tin of not just plain mixed nuts but fancy mixed nuts. I flirted with every damn employee in the place--impressing them with what amounts to forty minutes' worth of Internet research on single malt whiskeys--and then I rode the shopping cart across the parking lot, stopping to pick up a penny. If nothing outrageous happens in the next thirty minutes, that will have been the highlight of my day. After that I went to B&N to pick up the soundtrack to Sideways, an extraordinary film with a scotch-worthy score that you should all run out to see right now. (Don't forget to sneak in a flask of pinot noir when you go; you'll thank me for it later.) Sadly, B&N didn't have the cd in stock, so instead I bought a Dusty Springfield greatest hits. Dusty, you know, is decidedly not proper Whiskey Night music, hence the last hour and a half spent making a mix CD while my cat gnaws on my wrist with her throwup mouth.