Til you do right by me everything you even think about is going to crumble... and other stuff

The Color Purple

2 oz Southern Comfort

1 oz blue curacao

3 oz cranberry juice

Maraschino cherry for garnish

Pour SoCo, Blue Curacao and Cranberry juice into a cocktail shaker over cracked ice.  If you don't know what to do next, I should beat you like Celie told Harpo to beat Sophia. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass, float the cherry and enjoy!

I'll fill you in on the driving assignment soon, but I have other pressing business.

You see, I'll be making a trip to Philly in a couple of weeks.  Normally I like to stay in a hotel because well, I haven't lived at home since I was 16 years old and you never know when the need to *ahem* may come about.  But I'll be staying at my dad's house because of the following reasons: I'm a fancy bitch, and I can't just stay in anybody's old HoJo or anything of that ilk, BUT I'm a broke fancy bitch and my dad's house is nice and free.  And although I have an awesome hook up at the Kimpton Hotels, my father and his fiance is super hyped about me staying with him (notice I said HIM and not them because although she lives there, it's HIS house and I don't really like that bitch).  Now pops has offered me his car during my stay, but I'd rather rent one since I need to retain some of my independence and I'd rather not put him out anymore than my picky pescatarian ass already will.

So that brings us to the issue at hand.  I'm about to book my car and I'm trying to decide which agency to give my business to.  Do I go with the one where the ex, the LIAR, the emm effing asshole of the century who broke my heart into thousands of tiny shattered shaken pieces is a manager, or do I go somewhere else where I could probably add to my frequent flier miles?

Do I go to the one where that sonofabitch works who kept me from moving here 3 years ago with his lies and his bullshit crocodile tears?

Do I go to the one where that douche bag works who if I wasn't tougher than Nigerian hair, would have completely and totally destroyed my faith in men and in love?

Yes? Or No?

I know what my sister would say.  She would be on Team Hell Yes, and want to know what time my flight gets in so she could be there in that Color Purple "we gon' sit around and whoop yo' ass" kind of way.  But I know what my girls would say - leave well enough alone.  The best revenge is moving on and blah blah blah.

But wouldn't the best revenge be going and letting that emm effer see my Illinois drivers license solidifying the fact that not only have I totally moved on, but moved across the country any old way?  Wouldn't the best revenge be letting him see how awesome I'll look being 40 pounds lighter than the last time he saw me (oh by the by, did I mention that a bitch has lost damn near 40 pounds and counting?)?

Wouldn't that be the best revenge?

What do you think? Please vote:

Team Hell Yes
or
Team Maturity

[Please note, I am a firm believer that maturity can often be over rated]

Doing donuts

Alice in the Sidecar

1 oz of triple sec
1 oz of fresh squeezed lemon juice 

2 oz of cognac

1/2 oz apple flavored brandy

Lemon wheel

Sugar

Take the lemon wheel and rub around the rim of a chilled martini glass, then dip in sugar to rim.  In a cocktail shaker over cracked ice, mix triple sec, lemon juice brandy and that 'yak and shake it with the vigor of 1000 pogo sticks.  Strain into the rimmed martini glass and enjoy!

I don't know if I ever mentioned it before, but I'm a pretty awful driver.  I never really felt a necessity to learn until I had to for a job after college.  And even then, I didn't know what the hell I was doing and only passed my driving exam because my tester thought that I was cute and would eventually learn.  He was right about the cute, but oh so wrong about the learning.  Since then I've had my fair share of fender benders and full on flipped-over-thank-god-we're-alive accidents, but for the last few years I've tried to be a much more cautious driver.  [READ: I refuse to own a car] I use the hell out of some SEPTA and CTA and whenever necessary, I use a car share program, so I barely drive enough to get into an accident, (although I was rear ended that time in a Zi.pcar in Philly...)

But I digress (sidebar - don't you hate when people say that when they're writing? It's so emm effing pretentious).  But seriously though, I totally digress...

I have recently been tasked with a very awesome and important driving assignment and I'm totally stoked about it. I don't have time to go into details, but soon my pretties, I'll fill you in.

Because he's new-new

Nu-Nu

2oz Nuvo

1oz Hypnotiq

2oz Diet Lemon Lime Soda

Lemon wheel

Mix all ingredients in a hurricane glass over ice. Garnish with the lemon wheel. Stir gently and enjoy!

And then there was him.


Remember the New Guy?  Well he's still around, but he's sort of taken a back seat.  I still like him and we still go out occasionally, but he actually tried to throw a test at me. ME!  I don't know if I ever told you guys how young he was, but he's pretty young so when he tried to actually test me, he got his feelings hurt.

One fine fine *ahem* post coital morning, we were laying around his place when we realized how late he was going to be for work due to all of the *ahem* coitus.  I had my dance class on his side of town (ironically it's the neighborhood that I currently live in) and his job was on my side of town, so I was going to hang out at his house until my class started.    Because he was running late, he wanted me to iron his pants while he showered...
But that's not what he asked.
Instead of saying 

"Hey Alice, after all of that sweet sweet lovin' could you do me a solid and iron my pants while I wash my sweaty, sexy, musky manhood?"

 He said

"I sure wish there were two of me so that I can shower and iron at the same time..."

 I'm a grown ass woman dog. I ain't fittin' to call no man Delicious Just come out and say what you want.  I'm from Philly and we don't do subtle.  So when I didn't jump off of the couch and grab the iron, I could literally see our relationship shifting into a slow, but steady downward spiral.

So he's still around, but I certainly am not holding my breath for a chance to press his pants.  Particularly when I've been getting *ahem* pressed by someone new. Nu-Nu. (by the by, if you haven't figured it out by now, when I say *ahem* I'm about to talk about sex.)

I met Nu-Nu at a club of all places.  I had gone to see Anthony David sing some songs that I know and some that I did not, and I ran into a guy that I had met there a few weeks before.  I was half hanging out by myself and half with the other guy when the DJ started playing some music I wasn't familiar with.  People seemed to really be enjoying themselves (including other guy), but hell they go crazy over Too $hort here, so I stopped trying to figure out music in this city.  So I'm standing there a little awkward like when I spied with my little eye this gigantic being noticing me, noticing him.  He gave me the "I don't know what they hell they're playing either" look and that was all she wrote.

Well, not really because I have more to say.  So without getting into a play by play, the evening ended well (no not that well sluts). Barring work and other unavoidable instances, we've been pretty inseparable and things have eventually gone that well. Hubba hubba.

He's built just like I like them - a big ol' hunk of man. 6'4", makes me feel tiny when I stand next to him and when we *ahem* he likes to pick me up and toss me around and... well you get my drift. And we've been doing okay.  It's too soon to count all my chickens, but I actually like this one enough to give him a name. Nu-Nu.

Get it? Got it? Good.