Lynchburg Lemonade. That, along with Mike’s Hard Lemonade had been catching my eye for several months, and I’d always think “Hey, that sounds kind of good! Maybe I’ll try some one of these days.” So Tuesday, I thought to myself, What better way to celebrate Christmas than to get plowed?, I picked up a 4-pack and put it in my cart. The spud said “Is that ALCOHOL?!”, and I cheerfully nodded. When I got home and was putting groceries away, Fred said “Oh I SEE, you alcoholic!” Wednesday night at Fred’s parents’ house, while we were eating dinner, everyone got to discussing wine – which everyone but Fred and I were drinking – and Fred informed his family, with the appropriate face of horror, that I had bought and was planning on drinking an alcoholic drink which had Jack Daniel’s in it. Whereupon everyone made an ew face and proclaimed how much they hated Jack Daniel’s. So after a hard day yesterday, during which I realized that the turkey we’d put in a sink of cold water was still frozen in the middle, and I couldn’t remove the giblets (and later I discovered I’d been looking in the wrong place for the giblets anyway) and I couldn’t reach Fred, who was out hiking with his father, and so I simply coated the turkey with olive oil and spices, tossed it in the roasting oven and hoped for the best, and then went with the spud to see the movie she’s apparently been dying to see, Gothika (highlight to see spoiler text: Halle Berry sees dead people), which wasn’t bad, and then I got home to find that Fred hadn’t even gotten the message I’d left on his voicemail bitching about the turkey, and then we found that the turkey was overdone and dry (it was a cheap store brand) and I decided to be bitchy and cranky, I thought to myself What better way to end this day than by getting drunk off my ass? and I opened a bottle of the Lynchburg Lemonade to drink with my dinner, which consisted of a very small amount of dry turkey, Stovetop stuffing (save your pity, that stuff is DAMN GOOD), green beans and almonds, and corn. And the Lynchburg Lemonade, despite the comments from Fred about how I was a raging alcoholic, was mighty damn fine. So I finished off that bottle, and not ten seconds later, my face was bright red. Alcohol has long had that effect on me, I guess – I know that about 10 years ago when I was doing shots of Cinnamon Schnapps with my sister and her boyfriend, my sister actually watched my face get red from the bottom up. We decided to watch some episodes of season 4 of The Sopranos, and over the course of two hours I finished the last three Lynchburg Lemonades, and although I am the lightest of the lightweights when it comes to that sort of thing, I only ever became mildly toasted, and my bitchy crankiness went away. And I slept like a baby. Woot!
ZzzzzZzzzzZzzzz
Such a pretty boy, that Spot.