Okay, I think I’ve had a fatal seizure and I’m now in heaven because I just found THIS!!! Oh My Sugary Carb Sweetness!!!
THIS IS A SUGARED DOUGHNUT TOPPED COFFEE LIQUEUR CUPCAKE!!! With Whipped Cream.
This is it folks. There IS a cupcake heaven and I’ve found it.
Folks, I have a serious issue now with a certain food that I am CERTAIN was made by the devil. No, I’m not talking about doughnuts. I’m talking about these:
Yummy mouthfuls of creamy, buttery sweetness. Looking oh-so-pretty and colourful, CUPCAKES brighten up my day. Why?
As far as I’m concerned, cupcakes are democratic, fair and (almost) guilt free. You serve cupcakes at a party, everyone gets one, no need to wait awkwardly for the unevenly hacked off slice and no need to lament or listen to said laments of “oh its too much, I only want a small slice etc.” Cupcakes can be finished in a matter of 1 bite (if you are like my husband) or many little bites (if you are like me). You don’t share cupcakes (unless you are weird) and you don’t have to be wracked with guilt because seriously, cupcakes are tiny. And if there’s extra, you can go back for seconds without looking like a greedy bastard. And did I mention they look oh-so-pretty?
Of course there’s more to cupcakes than just aesthetics. There’s a cupcake out there to suit every taste from the sweet to the fruity to the savoury. I know that there are vegan and lacto / gluten / flour / egg / nut / etc free cupcakes and even cupcakes for the diabetic. Not forgetting that cupcakes come in different sizes from the supersizeme gargantuan monstrosities the size of a bowling ball (for the hardcore crazies) to the mini little inch wide cuties (for the calorie conscious) – there’s something to please everyone. Don’t believe me? Give a cupcake to a toothless 90 year old, a cynical 50 year old and a grabby 2 year old. All will be equally happy at receiving and eating the cupcake. And buying cupcakes doesn’t break the bank. 
So back to the pretty part. I like how cupcake makers take great pains not to just slap on frosting and be done with it. You can personalise cupcakes, be creative and make little works of art. Like these little lovelies.
However I will draw the line at this US$500.00 cupcake. As my sister so aptly put it, there’s a sucker born every minute.
But this one, this is my favourite. This is carb on carb cannibalism at its best. It’s a cupcake eating a cookie. And when YOU eat this cupcake… You get both the cupcake AND the cookie. What’s not to like about that?
Ok that’s enough talk folks. There’s a yellow buttermilk with blue butter frosting cupcake that’s calling my name right about now. Oh and folks? Please don’t ask me what my wedding cake will look like. I’m sure you already know. :D
Quite a few nights ago my family (sans my hubby) braved the horrendous city traffic in the downpour for dinner at what we remembered to be an awesome restaurant (this memory stems from way back in the early 90s)-called-Eden-Seafood-Village-.
Don’t let the ‘village’ part of the name fool you folks, this place is about as posh as its going to get. And expensive – averaging about $90 per person for an appetiser and entrée. Obviously, we were expecting a really nice experience. So, all together now…
WE WERE WRONG.
Firstly, EVERYTHING was slow. Like, a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter. We got to the place and since it was raining mom suggested to valet the car. So I wait… And wait… And wait. 10 minutes later, the valet kid comes running up and he takes my less than 4 month old Volvo S80C… AND SCREECHES OFF TO PARK IT!!! AFGAFGAFGAFGAFGAFGAFGAFGAFGA!!!!
Bleh. I was too hungry to really kick up a fuss so in we went to get a table. Mind you there were only 4 couples and two other families at the place so plus us that would make the place top out at 7 tables. And ours was the largest party at 6 people.
The table they showed us to was for 10 top and since it was too big, we suggested a switch to a smaller table. The waiter just stood there with his mouth open and dumbly pointed back to the table the hostess showed us to.
So daddy told him, “This table is too big for 6 of us. We want to talk to each other. Can we get another table instead?”
Again, the [dumb]waiter just stood there and pointed to our original table. Giving up, we just moved to the smaller table. As we are perusing through the menus we discover that the spot that we picked was way too cold. Shivering, mom suggested we move to a table away from the air-conditioning vents. When the [dumb]waiter came back to get our orders, we told him that the table is too cold and we wanted to move. Guess what? He pointed back to the same 10 top we were shown to.
>.<
Lord, grant us patience to accept the things we cannot change. And the ability to change things we cannot accept.
That being said, we move to the new table, leaving [dumb]waiter gaping at us in confusion. Sitting down, we motion for him to come and get our orders. He dumbly complies. Mom orders for a lobster bisque for Jenny (who was visiting us-from-China-)-, a seafood chowder for daddy and then she adds a 2nd lobster bisque for herself. My sister chips in and orders a medium steak. Then mom chimes back in and orders garlic bread for everyone at the table. Not quite finished with her order, my sister then asks to replace her potatoes with fries. And you know what the [dumb]waiter said?
“Uh… So want fries, so no garlic bread?”
>.<
Lord, have mercy.
We had to slowly tell him that the fries were for my sister’s medium steak and the garlic bread still stands. FINALLY, the [dumb]waiter nods and finishes taking orders from the rest of us.
I was the last one he came to so first thing I said to him was, “What’s the soup of the day?”
He looks at me in horror. “Uhhhhh… Huh?”
Steeling myself from screaming at his utter brainlessness, I bracingly told him in a very clear tone, “WHAT. IS. THE. SOUP. OF. THE. DAY.”
Stammering, he grins sheepishly at me and stutters, “Uhhhhh, d-d-d-don’t know…”
HOLY DUMBASS, BATMAN! So I told him, “Well go and find out.”
Jiggling on the spot like he’s got fleas, he stammers for several seconds before running off to the kitchens to find out. Sigh. Skipping back, he tells me, “Cream of chicken soup.”
Okay. Scrap that. I order a medium rare steak. He repeats, “Medium well…?”
“NO! Medium RARE.”
“Medium…?”
“MEDIUM RARE!”
“Medium… Rare…”
“YES!!!”
I swear to God, working with autistic children wasn’t this trying.
THEN, we order lobster and jumbo prawns (shrimp). So standard procedure for lobster is the same for wine. The restaurant shows us the lobster, we either approve and then they cook it, or we disapprove and send it back and repeat the process. So we told [dumb]waiter to bring out the lobster to show us. He nodded and left.
So we waited.
And we waited.
Appetisers came… But no live lobster.
So we tried to signal for the [dumb]waiter. No one was around. In fact, service was so lousy for SEVEN (7) tables; the table next to us just paid their bill and left after trying in vain to order dessert for over 15 minutes. And the other family group actually went to refill their glasses themselves.
Then the garlic bread came. Mom ordered garlic bread for everyone. The basket came out with 5 pieces. We had 6 people at the table. Well gee, that’s great math for you. And then our soup came. And if you check the order above, we ordered 2 lobster bisques and 1 seafood chowder. What came out was 1 lobster bisque, 1 seafood chowder and 1 oxtail soup. Where the oxtail soup came from we haven’t a clue.
So finally we manage to flag down the supervisor. We told him what had happened, and that we have yet to see our lobster and he needs to get us another piece of garlic bread.
This came out of the supervisor’s mouth. “Our garlic bread comes 5 pieces per basket, so you want garlic bread for everyone, so that means each person gets 1 basket?”
Whaaaaaaaaat the??? From one extreme to the other. I am so not surprised that the [dumb]waiter is the way he is, seeing that the supervisor is another moron. Long story short, (this is to spare me any more aggravation because just reiterating this story is bringing up my blood pressure) we literally had to spell out what was required so the errant oxtail soup was returned and the correct lobster bisque was brought and the fresh lobster was presented to us.
That’s still not the end of the ordeal. The steaks came. My steak, because I repeated Medium Rare 3 times, came out right. My sister however, got her fries but her steak came out medium well. Sigh. Then getting our water glasses refilled was another pain. Asking for extra cutlery (steaks came without steak knives, soups came without spoons, lobster came without accoutrements; go figure), napkins, general SERVICE of any sort was in short, agonising. This was like Chinese Water Torture. With champagne. And even getting the bill was like rolling a bowling ball up Everest. Even Jenny who's from CHINA said that the service back home wasn't quite so awful.
And how was the food? 50/50. Some things were really good – like Susan’s mango filo. Some things were just awful – like the chocolate ice cream that resembled a pile of turd, and tasted like it had gone stale. Everything else was average by usual steakhouse chain standards, which should not have been so.
Verdict?
NEVER.
EVER.
EVEN IF YOU PAID ME A THOUSAND BUCKS.
NEVER.
NEVER going back.
Like. Seriously.
“Hey, Jasz?”
“Yes luv?”
“You know, I’ve always wanted to ask you this but I’ve never been quite drunk enough to screw up enough courage to ask…”
“God mate, please don’t propose! Your wedding is tomorrow.”
“Haha, nothing like that, its just… Well…”
“Spit it out, I’m too drunk to care either way.”
“Well you know when I first met you over, what; 9 years ago you were like… HOT.”
“HAHA I still am hot, what’s your point?”
“I know but you were like really skinny hot. What happened?”
“I discovered that food was not to be eaten only for survival purposes. I now eat for enjoyment, and that is what happened. Besides, I really love my boobs this size now!”
“From what I can see from where I’m sitting I agree!”
“Careful luv, don’t forget your wedding tomorrow!”
“Yeah but I can still look right?”
“Eh, go ahead. As long as your wife doesn’t come after me for flaunting my cleavage all is good.”
~~~
If you are wondering what kind of skinny hot I was 9 years ago? Think Natalie Portman in Episode 2. Right now I’m more Renée Zellweger in Bridget Jones. But you know what? I don’t really give 2 fucks at this point.
What is the point of being stick insect thin really? To fit clothes better? Or to fit society’s perception better? Okay if your cholesterol levels are off the charts and your BMI is in the dangerous zone, or if you’re 300 pounds over what’s considered medically healthy, then yes – something needs to be done.
But to be skinny solely to be considered ‘hot’? C’mon, my self esteem (and body confidence) levels are much higher than the average anorexic teen and I have other things to flaunt besides looking like a clothes rack. Like my bodacious boobies and my black chick booty. Not to mention that I’m 177% smarter & funnier than the average anorexic teen, and probably more than 60% of women in my age group. (Don’t believe me? My Mensa score of 143 will attest to that.) But I digress. My point is that I don’t need to be skinny to be considered ‘hot’.
C’mon, life is meant to be LIVED to the fullest. Why wouldn’t anyone deprive themselves from food is beyond me. Some of you would remember that I lamented about needing to go on a DIEt a while back. Well I’ve since discovered that although meal replacement shakes really aren’t all that bad, it really doesn’t replace the ENJOYMENT I get from eating a really awesome meal.
Most of you who has ever had a meal with me will know that I’m the kind of person who really savours flavours in its entirety. It’s all about taste. And calories be dammed. Give me rare steak with a giant baked potato smothered in butter, sour cream, chives and bacon; chocolate filled sugar glazed doughnuts with coffee; full sized continental breakfast with eggs (with the yolk), ham, french toast, beans, bacon, mushrooms, cheese and fruit; real cream sauce; real chocolate; real butter even…
And I believe that living shouldn’t only apply to food! Sigmund Freud once said “the only unnatural sexual behaviour is none at all.” The world would be a better place if everyone enjoyed everything that they did – be it eating or working or shagging and just generally having fun.
And speaking of fun, I’m heading to the studio for some cha-cha-cha and after I’m going for ice-cream. Oh yeah baby, I’m living the sweet life.
I don’t get it when people order steak well done. Well done is when your meat is incinerated to resemble the bottom of your leather shoe. When I ask these ‘connoisseurs’ about it, half of them will tell me they tell me that they don’t like the taste of blood.
What’s wrong with the taste of blood? It’s juicy, slightly salty and metallic tasting, and it adds to the general yummy flavour of your steak. I’d take warm blood any day over charred flesh. Imagine the carcinogens you are ingesting. But at least they are eating meat for what it is.
Unlike the other half of the well done crowd.
They tell me that they don’t like their food bleeding all over their plate. Oh right. These are the same people that orders horribly expensive filet mignon well done and then proceeds to SMOTHER it with ketchup.
&%@#!!!
And these people have the gall to look at me weird when I order meat medium rare to mooing. Bite me. I like my steak so rare that it’s blue. Sear it lightly on both sides so it’s got its beauty marks, then the best part! The blood on the inside is completely warm. Better if it’s served on a bed of mashed potatoes. All the warm, juicy blood gushes out and soaks my spuds. No need for gravy, no need for ketchup and no need for a steak knife. I use a fork. Bliss.
Oh quit making faces at me! It’s not like I’m sucking down blood sausages okay?
Let’s be real. Our society is obsessed with the liquid of life. Don’t believe me? Look at the evidence:
Religion (the Blood of Christ)
Legend (blood drinkers)
Monarchy (royal blood / blue blood)
Relationship (blood ties)
Emotion (nosebleed / blood lust / in cold blood / bloodthirsty)
Medicine (bloodletting)
Sports (bloodsport)
Violence (bloodbath / bloodshed / first blood)
Physical (bloodshot)
Food (blood orange / blood sausage / blood pudding)
Animals (bloodhound /blood eagle / blood suckers)
etc…
While you contemplate the life in all its bloody glory, I’m going to indulge in my daily dose of iron.
I am like the millions of people out there in the world who enjoy sipping freshly brewed java. The atmosphere is climate controlled and it’s almost blissful soaking it up at the many varieties of coffee parlours - from the pretentious American chains to the less polished local family owned. Heck, I even enjoy the overpriced yummy ice blended syrup flavoured concoctions stuffed to the brim with calorie goodness!
If you think blog is going to be a happy one you are dead wrong. Brace yourselves people, this is going to be one long rant.
I always enjoy my Starbucks experience. I love the velvety smell of fresh coffee as I walk in and I really appreciate the staff greeting me with the “hi, welcome to Starbucks, what can I get for you?” everytime. But last night when I went in for a late night fix my rosy outlook on bux was very rudely busted as Mr. Bitchy Barista Bastard gave me a very long and pained sigh as I walked up to the counter.
Fine, he’s having a bad night. I can understand so I let it slide. Putting on a smile I pipe up “good evening, how’s your day been?” Mr. BBB glares at me like I just killed his dog.
“What.” BBB spits out at me.
Whoa, diva much? Still on polite mode I go, “hmm are you still having the pumpkin spice syrup…”
“NO!” BBB barks as he cuts me off abruptly.
I just stand there in opened mouth shock.
“WELL?” BBB sighs like I’m a HUGE and ugly chore. Very impatiently he rolls his eyes and growls, “Hurry up. I have other things to do.”
Okay that’s it. No more Ms. Nice Girl. I give him both barrels of my Death Stare. “Then I suggest you go replace yourself at the counter with a manager and you can go do your other things.”
“UGH!” BBB throws his hands up in the air dramatically and storms off, leaving me standing at the counter. What the?
Someone needs his Prozac. And I still need my coffee dammit! I was about to walk off in search of another green apron when BBB come stomping back with a scowl black enough to be at the bottom of a coffee grinder. “WELL?” He tsks irritably.
Still giving him the double barrelled death stare now fuelled by a serious blood sugar low I sloooooooowly enunciate, “I specifically asked for a manager. As far as I know you’re not it.”
BBB fidgets uncomfortably. “Why can’t you just order your goddammed drink?” He whines with a little stomp of the feet.
Oh first he’s a tough guy, now he whines like a baby. Talk about bipolar. Sighing because I REALLY need my sugar fix, I give in. I think I’m too nice. “Fine, just give me a Grande low fat Hazelnut Hot Chocolate.”
“Ugh finally.” BBB divas it up with an eye roll. He proceeds to grab a cold cup to mark it.
Note: Bux has 2 different cups for cold drinks and hot drinks. Cold drinks get the transparent plastic cups; hot drinks get the opaque paper cups with the cardboard sleeve. I point out his mistake. “Uhm, I ordered a HOT chocolate. Why are you marking a cold cup?”
“I KNOW how to mark the drinks thanks!” He practically spits at me. And to top it off, there’s no one at the bar making drinks but he just puts the incorrectly marked cup on the counter like it will magically make itself! He then punches in my drink into the register and he oh so very rudely sticks his palm out to me and barks, “$13.95!”
I give him $15 and only the devil knows what the heck BBB’s problem is but he practically THROWS my change back at me, missing my hand completely as the coins bounce unceremoniously all over the counter and onto the floor. Then, sniffing loudly at me he huffs off into the backroom leaving me to gather my money.
Like, hello??? Its almost midnight, there’s hardly anyone in the store; I don’t see you cleaning or prepping for your close (which happens to be only at 2am!) so why the heck aren’t you doing your frigging job??? And why do I have to look at your ‘face’ when I’m there for a pleasant experience? If you don’t like working at bux, QUIT. Your customers will be happier, your management will be happier and Lord knows YOU will be happier. I won’t even get started about how disgusting the condiments counter looks, how filthy the pastry case is and how cluttered the uncleared tables are.
I was about to march into the backroom and demand that BBB either make my drink or give me my money back when the elusive manager runs into the store laden with products. Obviously she had gone to do a restock run leaving sulky BBB behind to mind things. When she see me standing at the counter, a wide-eyed look forms on her face. Ooh things are looking up for me. Smiling apologetically at me, she mouths a ‘one moment please’ to me before busting into the backroom.
From where I’m standing I can see BBB with headphones plugged in, totally engrossed with his PSP. (At least he wasn’t jacking off or something equally gross!)
This is going to be good and I have front row seats.
Totally Awesome Manager very calmly puts away the products and them very firmly rips the headphones away from BBB’s head. Sputtering as he looks up, I see BBB’s face change from irritated to terrified.
I gleefully do the happy dance.
Snarling threats, Totally Awesome Manager literally kicks BBB’s rear into gear. She sends him for a floor run and I catch her muttering something about him scrubbing the toilet drains for a week. She puts on her happy face before turning to me. “Hi, welcome to Starbucks, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. What can I get for you?”
Smiling back at her, I tell her my story. Apologising once more, Totally Awesome Manager not only UPGRADES my drink size (which she made correctly), she also refunds my money down to the last cent AND scores me a free drink coupon.
Aah bliss.
I’m thinking of making another bux run this evening. I swear if I get another Bitchy Barista I will go postal. I’m gonna go clean out my shotgun now.
This Saturday past was one of the more tasteful nights I’ve had in a long while. Note, when I say ‘tasteful’ I mean it exactly as I say it… YUMMY!
So butterflies first. Act One: A couple of weeks ago I came across a little flyer for the Chinese musical Butterfly Lovers. You should note that aside from this being one of my absolute favourite stories, I’m also a HUGE theatre buff. As I skimmed through the flyer, I noted a very familiar name in the title credits… Immediately, I whipped open my cell phone and dialled.
“Hello Uncle Aaaaaaaaadrian?”
“Yes sweetheart?”
“I have in my hand a flyer for the musical Butterfly Lovers. I know for a fact that Aunty Genevieve is performing in it… Can I get a free ticket? PWEESE?”
“Eesh, I have to pay for my own tickets la. Fine, fine I’ll get you one too. Is your mom going to be in town for the show too?”
“No, mom’s going to be in China
“Okay, okay. I’ll let you know the details when I get the tickets”
“Oh and I’ll need a ride there too…”
“Aiyah! Okay, okay!”
Woot, free ticket and free ride to boot. I love my Uncle Adrian; he’s so easy to wrangle, hehe. Fast forward to Saturday evening, Uncle Adrian, his two boys, his three sisters, a niece and her husband, a family friend and I all troop to a warehouse theatre deep in Kuala Lumpur
Now for all of you who are unfamiliar with the story, it’s almost like Romeo & Juliet. Spoilt little rich girl wants to go to the famous literature school to study with the masters. Problem is school is for males only. So she persuades her parents to let her go in disguise as a man. There in the school she makes friends with a poor boy who’s studying to become a court official. After 3 years of hanging out with each other, the girl is obviously in love with him but she has to go home. Here’s the dilemma: she can’t tell him that she’s a girl yet she can’t express her feelings lest he thinks she’s gay (she is pretending to be a man after all).
To overcome this problem, she tells him of her ‘twin sister’. He’s very interested, and promises to go visit his buddy and the twin sister. The girl goes home to her parents who unfortunately have arranged for her to marry the son of the richest family in town. She screams and cries for days but her folks won’t relent. So when her friend finally comes to visit, he is told the truth of her identity but is also broken the bad news that she is already promised to someone else.
He goes home very confused and heartbroken and from the shock of everything he falls sick and tragically, dies. The poor girl is told the news on her wedding day and she demands that her wedding palanquin travel past his gravesite so she can bid him farewell before starting her new married life. Her parents relent. When they reach the gravesite, the girl leaps out of the palanquin and runs to the grave where a thunderstorm promptly begins and then, she screams that because they were separated in life, they will be together in death. The tomb splits open dramatically and she throws herself in, committing suicide. As the storms blows away, her minders search frantically for her to no avail and someone sees two butterflies flitting around the tomb.
Tragic ain’t it? That is exactly why I love theatre/opera. Someone always gets to die. And the production was AWESOME. After the show Aunty Genevieve very happily introduced all of us to the cast members, the director and the concert master. As we all got ready to leave, Uncle Adrian suggested supper. Bak Kut Teh. Woot.
And thus begins Act Two of my tasteful Saturday: Pigs, YUM. All eleven of us adjourned to a street side coffee shop (this was like, almost midnight Saturday) and supper officially began.
To the uninitiated, Bak Kut Teh is a Chinese soup concoction cooked in a clay pot. The soup is a mix of medicinal herbs & spices like pepper, garlic, cloves, cinnamon, star anise etc all boiled together with pig bones for hours. Inside the pot, we add various parts of the pig including the meat, ribs, feet, ears, and the highlight; copious amount of innards! Intestines, liver and stomach are all fair game. Yum yum! Several varieties of mushrooms, dried tofu and lettuce are added to the mix as well. Traditionally this fat laden dish is eaten with rice and tea. Positively artery clogging!
Tasteful don’t you think? I dreamt of Butterflies and Pigs that night!
Woo. What a weekend! Truth be told that it was actually quite a regular weekend – hanging out with mates over beer, eating good food, playing pool and just generally having fun. It shouldn’t be that momentous. Nothing exciting happened. No one did anything extraordinary. We were not celebrating a special occasion. It was just a run-of-the-mill, plain-jane, boring-brian, ordinary weekend.
Except for the fact that I finally broke the fasting.
Hey, it wasn’t any ordinary fasting – it was a vice fasting! For over 5 years, I have been clean of any tobacco substance and for the first time in over 5 years, I spent the entire weekend inhaling cigarettes. YAAY! Two WHOLE evenings sucking on cancer sticks. YAAY! Oh sure, I’m torn up about it. So much effort over such a long period of time. To throw it all away on one ordinary weekend – kinda anti-climactic ain’t it?
I think not. I’m going to use the excuse that it’s been a long week out of a long month. Bleh to you too. The joys of finally being able to indulge a craving that has been slowly tormenting me to the brink of insanity – freedom! Ah the clogging feeling of ash and tar smogging up your lungs, the flavoursome teeth staining smoke filling your mouth and rush of the nicotine slowing your brain cells down… What a feeling!
Sure, I had a drink too… I didn’t get my Bombay Sapphire but I did get half a pint of Heineken and half a pint of Hoegaarden. Not much by certain standards but it was just as a space filler between my cigarettes. Nothing to shout about.
Problem with indulging your vices is the wrath of leaves the next day… I woke up with that distinct feeling that a small rodent had shuffled off its mortal coil inside my mouth. Either that or a very talented cat had deposited about half a box of soiled kitty litter in there. Whatever it was, the taste, smell and feeling – NOT something I’d wish upon anyone but my worst enemy.
I swear – your mouth is desert dry with that fuzzy, mouldy coating on your tongue and the roof of your mouth; an oily, smoky film on your teeth; gritty, sand-like grains down your throat when you try to swallow; dizzy, swimming feeling when you open your eyes; slower, spastic reflexes when you topple out of bed; breath that can rival a sewage dumpsite; and the nail in the coffin – the MASSIVE urge to light another one.
Sigh. Back to staying quit. Which really sucks. But was the transgression worth it? Two words.
FUCK YEAH
Do you ever get that feeling that some days you just need a smoke and a drink?
Yeah yeah I KNOW I've quit smoking and drinking for over 5 years now but I tell ya, that craving you get in the middle of the night or at times of stress or whenever the fancy strikes, that constant hunger - NEVER goes away...
Its been a long 2nd month - rellies with demands, work, mates from overseas with time constraints, work, dislocated ankles, brain tumours, weight fluctuations, insomnia, work, hike in fuel prices, skin allergies, financial turbulence, work, relationship funks... Did I also mention WORK??? Its been a real trial to say the least. Course other people go through the same thing as I do but geeze I could use a bit of a breather...
Woo, a breather like the kind that comes in a little white square box with a pretty gold trim and those lovely words M A R L B O R O L I G H T S tastefully emblazoned across the front... Filled with 20 little white cylindricals, all stuffed to the brim with carefully hand-picked and oven dried Nicotiana, all waiting to be plucked out one by one... It tempts me, calls my name, gently beckons me like a siren's song, begging to be held and caressed... Oh to cradle one between my fingers, to slip it between my lips and oh, to set it smouldering with sparked embers of passion... I close my eyes and let the intoxicating, full bodied tendrils of ecstasy tease my tastebuds and fill my soul...
FUCK!!! I WANT A CIGARETTE!!!
Eesh. Life sucks. Literally. I can't have a smoke because I've been 'clean' for the past 5 years and if I start I swear I will NEVER be able to stop this time around. And with the anti-tobacco squad squeezing us all like a bunch of dominatrix on steriods with steel torture clamps - cancer sticks are becoming more and more unaffordable. And unsmokable. Do you know that you now cannot walk along a pavement/sidewalk with a lit cigarette in Australia? Talk about overkill. Eventually it'll get to the point where you can't smoke on the shitter inside your own house! Eesh!
Moving along.
Now about that drink... I haven't had a proper drink in a long time... No I don't mean wine with dinner or the occational pint of beer on Friday nights; I'm talking about a REAL drink. Not the wussy kind - watered down Long Island Tea with that sordid bit of lemon, not the sissyfied Bacardi Breezer with the little pink unbrella, and most definately NOT anything with those two nasty words 'House Pouring'!!! I'm talking unadulterated, unapologetic, full flavoured, X-Rated for adults only Drink.
A Vodka Martini (Shaken not Stirred) with 3 olives. A Bombay Sapphire, chilled to 0 degrees Celcius, garnished with a smidgen of tonic water. Round glasses filled with warm and perfectly aged Whiskey, swirled and savoured. A Flaming Lamborghini, standing on the bar, vroom vroom! Bright green Creme de Menthe on the rocks. Shots of burning Tequila with a lick of salt and a wedge of lime. Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of Rum! Ay caramba - Mojito in a thin, tall glass with a fistful of mint leaves. A sexy Cosmopolitant, New York style. Toxic shots of rancid green Absinthe with the inevitable Green Faerie hallucinations. Southern Comfort with a toasted marshmellow. And if you must have beer, Stella Artois in a frozen steiner, a proper Pint of Kilkenny in your Kilt and Shamrock or a barrel of Heineken drunk straight from the tap, foaming at the mouth!
Ok who's up for a drink?
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