Sunday, November 20, 2005


I'm sitting here happily contemplating my liquor. It's pretty much all you can do, at this point in the Bengals-Colts game, which after the first quarter currently stands at 14,295-14,181.

I meant to gather some alcohol unto me on Friday night, because Flipper was coming to visit so's she could have a movie buddy for Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire; Goblet Of Fire Now Available Only At Target For $19.95. So I went to a liquor store so as to have some sort of wine selection not involving a cardboard box, and then I decided that I should invite Mr. Peach Schnapp's to the party, but, contrary to popular opinion, I did not need the bigol bottle, just a little bottle, the kind I keep strapped to the podium for sustenance between classes.

These smaller bottles were kept behind the counter, which was unfortunate, because it forced my least-favorite thing: Interaction with another human being.

And this human being, there at the liquor store, had been clearly intimate with the inventory for quite some time, preparing specifically for my arrival.

ME: I'd like a traveller's bottle of the Peachtree, please.

LIQUOR STORE GUY: (pointing to a bottle holding, like, two microns of liquid) This one?

ME: No, the next larger size.

LIQUOR STORE GUY: (pointing to a bottle of Peach Pucker) This one?

ME: No, the Peachtree.

LIQUOR STORE GUY: (triumphantly brandishing a bottle of peppermint Schnapp's) Oh! This one!

Then I made the fatal error of asking for two tiny samples of flavored Margaritaville tequila-- one mango, one tangerine-- and after first emphasizing that I wanted two bottles, one of each, no, one, of each, I got back to the Blonde Bachelorette Pad and found, not at all to my shock, two bottles of tangerine. Well, at least there were, indeed, two. I'll need them now.

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