Oh hai. I have been feeling super rustic lately. First, I bought mason jars. Then yesterday I found myself starting a fucking her garden… the legal kind. Sure it will be nice to have a fresh sprig of thyme to jazz up a roasted chicken but what I am MOST excited about is incorporating my homegrown garnishes to use in my cocktails. The first to sprout (gardening lingo) was my lavender BUSH. Am I the only adult who can’t use the word bush seriously? Since I am partial to a dirty martini, last night I got experimental with my new foliage and concocted this DELISH lavender martini I had to share with muh bitches.
WHAT YOU NEED:
Vodka (Gin works too)
Juice of a lemon
Lavender syrup (to make boil equal parts sugar and water with a few sprigs of lavender)
To serve: Let syrup chill. Rim martini glass (or if you are a dirty hipster MASON JAR) with lemon juice and dip in sugar. To a cocktail shaker add 1.5 oz (or more) of vodka, juice of a lemon, tablespoon of simple syrup and ice. Shake like a polaroid picture and serve.
You’re welcome. Cheers!
I am a very routine bitch. I wake up, check my Instagram followers and make a to do list for the day. I tend to do my marketing around 11am post breakfast after a failed attempt at delivering my food baby, an average of 4 hours watching Bravo and cloaked in both shame and water retention. The parking lot is open, the cheese selection hasn’t been picked over and the staff seems in a chipper mood. For the first time ever I braved the carpool mom cluster fuck that IS Trader HOES at 5pm. The whole market just smelt of baby formula, cheese puffs and regret.
Within 34 seconds of entering the market, a kid spit on me. It wasn’t like he hacked a loogie on me, it was more of an aggressive drool. Thank god I have a serious gravitation towards Asian children or I may have cut a bitch. I am not an ageist … babies can be real assholes.
As I headed towards my happy place aka the liquor aisle I was hit with an immediate wave of social anxiety. All of these medicated carpool moms were clearly 20 minutes away from getting the shakes and running rampant. Children were left abandoned as their mothers grabbed crates of Two Buck Chuck. The sight alone was the best birth control I have ever experienced. I needed to get the fuck out of there. As I went to grab my routine bottle of Goose on the top shelf I found myself perplexed as the bottle in my hand started to crackle… because it was made of fucking plastic.
It read “Vodka of The Gods” and was $9.99 for a handle. The description boasted it was “perfect for mixed drinks” which is like when someone describes a bitch as looking “healthy” after she has gained a few lbs. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. I would sooner ferment my own potatoes or find a Russian sugar daddy with great Vodka inventory before I bought this shit. I practically dropkicked the nearest employee and demanded they check the back for some decent vodka.
College wasn’t my shtick but I can imagine how those 4 minutes of waiting for Salvador to return and determine the fate of my evening has to be eerily similar to waiting for a University acceptance letter. As I saw my little chalupa emerge from the back without any happy juice in tow my heart sank. “So sorry ma’am. It’s been a very busy afternoon. Have you ever tried Vodka of The Gods?” “Fuck you Salvador.”
I had spent 40 minutes navigating this infested market, helped an elderly pick out a new orchid and swapped germs with enough children to cast a United Colors of Benetton ad. It was time to get sketchy.
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a yoga pant-wearing woman chatting away on her Bluetooth. She had abandoned her little boy in the shopping cart and was perusing various meatless products. I quickly scanned the contents of her cart: 1) Her mediocre child 2) No animal byproducts 3) A bottle of fucking Grey Goose. Clearly this bitch was a vegan. Can they even DRINK vodka? “Seriously tempeh tastes better than steak Cheryl, you MUST try it” … Now all bets were off. Her kid was playing on his iPad, she was gabbing away about her philanthropic dietary restrictions (side note: if everyone was a fucking vegan the ecosystem would CRASH #teamfoodchain) and I was getting thirstier by the minute. I knew if I could just position myself about 45 degrees to the left of her malnourished child I could grab the bottle of Goose and make a bolt for the cashier. It really seemed like I would be doing her a favor… I mean drinking something that possibly could have come from a Goose seems conflicting with her lifestyle choices.
I inched closer pretending to red the nutritional info on a nearby box of Snap Pea Crisps and ever so delicately let my left arm fall into Vegan Victoria’s shopping cart. Without breaking eye contact from the Snap Peas, I located the bottleneck and slowly started to lift it out of the cart. With merely centimeters to go … “MOM MY IPAD DIED!” what a little shithead. The mother whipped around and caught me awkwardly holding the bottle of vodka behind my back while I clutched the snap peas. “Oh… UM. I am so sorry I thought this was my cart? Haha!” #LAWLZ Yeah fucking right. I am pretty sure I didn’t also have an overindulged little asshole riding shotgun in MY cart. She looked over at my nearby basket filled with ground lamb, 46 kinds of cheese and enough frozen fish to subsidize for Fukushima and things only got more awky.
She looked at me in total disgust. Back off me bitch, things could be worse. It wasn’t like I was trying to kidnap your child. Some may call this occurrence a personal low point… I prefer to think I had great initiative and high spirits. I headed to the checkout sans Vodka and many of my maternal instincts. Since this incident I have been popping birth control pills like wintergreen Tic Tacs. I have made a vow never to come face to face with these vicious Trader Hoes ever again and to forever more buy all alcohol at Costco where the dilfs and samples are plentiful.
I will be honest… I don’t have the slightest fuck what that saying means but it has slowly yet surely become my personal tagline. It just sounds so fantastic “Lettttttt’s have a KIKI!” Totally want this engraved on my tombstone… not really, I want to be frozen #duh. Anyways, after one long ass week of playing nurse to my post-surgery mother (she had “Lasik” eye surgery #not) I felt I was entitled to a festive adult beverage. I considered tapping into her Percocet prescription but I have too much anxiety to be a pill popper. This bitch prefers to keep it kosher and just stick to the “happy juice” AKA vodka. Since my mother has decided to find dual purpose with her recovery and further her suffrage by going on a “weight loss program” and keeping NO food in the house, ingredients were scarce. When concocting my much needed cocktail, I had to get crafty and more importantly get sipping ASAP. I created this drink using pretty basic/random ingredients and was delighted with one raging liver boner. This drink is figure friendly, delicious, pretty and very festive. One sip and you’ll be feeling KIKI-licious.
- one lime juiced
- 1/4 tsp of agave nectar
- 1 shot of vodka/tequila/nail polish remover (whatever you’re into)
- 1 fresh watermelon popsicle (or frozen watermelon chunks)
- 5 basil leaves (mint would be delish also)
Muddle limes, basil, watermelon and agave nectar in cocktail shaker. Add alcohol, shake and sip responsibly… or irresponsibly. We won’t judge.
Salad – I hate salad. I hate people who think it is okay to order salad for dinner. Who wants to be that girl. You are so boring. Fuck salad. Got that? Fuck. Salad.
Mullet Dresses – Once things get so over done that they are mass produced for Wet Seal (is that even still around) you know it is time to purge from your closet. Mullet dresses with an elastic waist band are even more offensive – no girl, no.
Facebook Fame-Hoe’s – O-M-G you were at a club with Lil Romeo also known as the STAR of ICDC College commercials nationwide? And you totally got to sit at his table and drink amateur vodka cranberries together? And he let you wear his gold chain and hat to accessorize your super cute polyester bandage dress? WOAHHHH. Please do not infect my newsfeed with your endless photo shoots with b-list celebrities. It is so embarrassing. Unless you’re in Lake fucking Como with Clooney you have no reason to be broadcasting your pathetic “celeb” sponging.
Inspirational Quotes – Sometimes a bitch will post an Insta-pic with what is intended to be words of wisdom and I sit there and just think… what the fuck? I mean if you have already exhausted the cat pictures, sunset shots and pics of your new mani/pedi (another thing I hate – the term “mani pedi” it is so wrong) I understand needing to resort to a “meaningful” quote to create the allusion of depth and deep intellect. Because obviously that is what Instagram is for #duh. “It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey” … um okay. Have you ever been stuck in gridlock traffic on the way to Vegas? It’s about the fucking destination. Bitch please – go get yourself a froyo and leave the insight to someone who doesn’t still wear jeggings.
“Protein Style” – Ladies and gentlemen. Although it is fun watching people wrangle a meat patty and gallops of thousand island in between 2 pieces of wet lettuce and tell you how great it is – you are living a lie. I am a woman of statistics and the only difference between a regular and a protein style burger from In N Out is 20 calories from fat and 2 grams of fat THAT’S IT. Still want to lose the bun? I didn’t think so.
Pigeons – I thought I could best describe my feelings in a poem… Rats of the sky.I want them all to die. They shit on your head and peck at your feet-a. I dream of their extinction fuck off PETA.
As a social observer, I am always wondering what kind of women order what kind of drinks. I have never been extremely experimental with my beverage options but after some very extensive research, I have made some scientific conclusions about what your GO-TO drink says about your personality. I should be clear that this is based on your ultimate drink of choice at a bar or other drinking encouraged environment. We aren’t talking a hit it and quit it relationship, this cocktail is your main bitch. These observations are only geared towards LADIES, there will be a mens edition later. Clearly a woman who’s go-to is champagne and a man who’s go-to is champagne are two entirely different situations. She is prissy and he probably is a huge mo… Duh.
Champagne – Oh my! (Heather Dubrow reference) Ordering champagne at a bar is like painting a big red x on your face for all potential suitors. I have a few guidelines when it comes to drinking champagne. Drink it at brunch, drink it with your girls, drink if you are celebrating, drink it if it’s expensive or drink if it’s free. The end. It aint fancy if it’s Andre girl.
Wine – Friendly, girly, nice – sometimes too nice. Loves The Bachelor and probably thinks Taylor Swift is really pretty. Loves an emoji. May or may not have serious love affair with frozen yogurt and could still own a pair of True Religion jeans.
Beer – Guys love a girl that drinks beer. Fun, go with the flow kind of girl. Not someone who gets super sloppy. Wears jean shorts a lot. That’s all I have. I personally don’t trust girls who can’t drink a beer. It’s a character flaw.
Tequila (on the rocks) – I had to specify on the rocks because this person is very different than someone who drinks margaritas. Obvi. My kinda girl, I can’t roll with tequila but appreciate this type of liquid commitment. No mixer, no problem.
Whiskey Drinks – Wears crop tops. Has definitely vacationed at a Lake at one point in time (Havasu, Tahoe, Laughlin? Is that a a lake?) Thinks platform shoes (circa Spice Girls) are making a big comeback. Definitely not a Jew. Jewish bitches don’t drink whiskey. ** I have many friends who busted my ass for this. I had one person in mind while writing this and I apologize #backpedaling.
Mojito/Margarita – I like a mojito/margarita kind of girl. Firstly, I live for a garnish and mint is very refreshing. Secondly, I find the mojito/margarita girl to not be super health conscience which I love because nothing is more of a buzzkill than a calorie counter (I’m talking to you Vodka Soda’s).
Vodka Soda (or any alcohol + soda water) – Buzzkill. That can’t taste good, your drinking carbonated alcohol. At least add some cranberry, or just go big with no frills and drink it straight. Can I get an amen?
Dirty Martini – HUGE pain in the ass, high maintenance yet delightfully witty and ballsy (this all applicable to me because this is my drink).
Long Island Iced Tea – Balls to the walls. Always has a karaoke song/choreography prepared given the opportunity presents it self. Love this kind of girl, from a distance at least. My ex boyfriend drank 2 Long Island’s one night out and puked all over my bed, floor and favorite jacket so I still have negative feelings about anyone with male genitalia who drinks them ( If you are reading this, I still pinpoint this as the ultimate demise of our relationship. That and and the fact that the only date we had in college –yes singular– was to CPK xo)
Anything Blue – Get your shit together.