Vodka gets me in trouble…

Here’s the deal. I like my martini dirty (light on the dirty – maybe we call it a naughty martini). Either way, the root cause of all evil is wheat. I can prove it.

It all started when the Maynards invited us to join them for the Northern California Special Olympics celebrity ski event at Incline Village the other weekend. As soon as we arrive at the ski resort, we perch our asses pointing at the north shore and begin our ritual – you know, starting off the ski day by getting warm – ala some dirty mary’s.

Nice ass.

Properly revved up on napalm mary’s we ski’d for a bit then on to other fun activities – we head to the banquet. One word: Mayhem.

You see, Brad Kinney was manning the turntable and of course I had to go say hi. After all, we went to HS and are facebook friends and all. Such a small, small world. I clickity clacked my way over and said “Hi Brad!” and we chit chatted and maybe there was some flirt on my part. I mean, he’s BRAD!

Meanwhile, over at our table, dubbed Team Vodka (coincidence? I think not) we had one of K‘s colleagues, a very nice Russian man named Dmitriy. He’s been at these celebrity events before and knew everyone. I mean e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e.

He and I quickly hit it off, drinking shots of Russian Standard and talking in a thick Russian accent. My accent is a hot mess but Dmitiriy’s is real – which totally worked!! So after a few of these fire shots, me and my big girl shoes are dancing and whooping it up. I don’t need much of an excuse you know.

However, I have NO idea who I’m dancing with at this point. And it totally doesn’t matter. I think at one point I was bootie popping with Juliet Goodrich from CBS News. She saw one of my tattoos and became my new dance BFF.

Then, Dmitriy gets me in a gang-dance. I don’t know what else to call it. There were three of them and one of me. And outta nowhere, I find myself hoisted up on top of a dinner table to dance with Ryan Merriman (Pretty Little Liars) and Thyme Davis (Days of our Lives). No shit. Earlier that day, after skiing, we met up with them in the bar. Ryan showed me a picture on his iPhone. It was him – shredding at the terrain park.

But up on the table – dancing with Ryan and Thyme – this was well, both surreal and to be expected I guess. I mean, for those that know me. THIS. IS. NOT. UNCOMMON. FOR. ME.

Thanks Brad! The hat is smashing!

As the party goes on, out come the cute pink cowboy hats with tiaras (thanks Brad for giving me one first!). We continue drinking vodka, and I realize I’m a gonna pay dearly for this later.

And I do. Can barely walk the next day and I have to check my texts and tweets for too much sass. And then apologize. A lot.

Like a half-off shoe sale at Nordstrom’s, I love my vodka but it gets me in all sorts of trouble.

Ménage à trois?

Abso-freaking-lutely.

I always say, “two’s company and three’s a party”. But that’s me. I’m crazy that way.

So when I was chatting with my very good gal pal, the ever so divine @theMartiniDiva, we were bantering about booze and my mood. I was feeling dry and bitter. Like eggplant. So I wanted her to suggest a Martini to suit my mood. But not with eggplant.

She came back with a gimlet of course. A vodka gimlet. I’m a sucker for vodka. Ketel One specifically. And last weekend, true Russian Standard shots with Dmitriy got me table top dancing with some actors at an event for Special Olympics. True story. For another post of course ;).

Anyhoohaw – she suggests a gimlet – I tell her I have a madcap recipe for a Ruby Red and Mandarin Orange gimlet that is outta this world. I call it of course…

Did you think I'd add a kinky picture? Ha!

So we decide to post my recipe on her fabulous website – where there are drink recipes for pretty much anything your little hearts desire.

And because she likes me, I mean really likes me, she made it into a printable card. With my LEGS on it. Yep, my legs. In stilettos.

Cuz I’m crazy that way.

And yes, these are my legs. No lie. I’m such a shameless chit.

You can view (and print) my legs and recipe here.

Either way, enjoy yourself and your new friends. Cuz if you order this drink at a bar, you will find yourself surrounded by new people. And by new, I mean new “friends”.

OKAY, thanks bye.

Drinks with a dildo-model

And by model, I’m referring to the guy whose big willy was the model for the #2 best-selling dildo in Canada. On Sex In The City (the series) that is.

But in real life, I had drinks with this guy. The actor who played the dick model.

I probably could get a graphic from toywithme.com who is absolutely hilarious – but I is afraid!!! So this post will be cartoon and graphic free of that image!

Anyhoohaw, you could say he tried to pick me up. There was overt eye winks and body postures. It reminded me of girl’s night out last summer… Fond memories, but nonetheless, at a certain age one shouldn’t…dot dot dot…

But we did… so, over dirty martini’s I got to hear all about his new project, blah blah blah – bitch bitch bitch – yawn, yawn, yawn… and there were jokes a-plenty about his perfect “girth” (which I suspect is merely a reference from the show.)

Mostly, I was sorta – hmmm, bored.

On the one hand, he wasn’t particularly funny. Nor was he tall – he barely reached my chin. Which for some gals, might be the perfect height HINT HINT, but well, it made me feel older. Which is wrong, I think… I’m not older than him, I think…

On the other hand, he didn’t fondle his iPhone/Droid/Blackberry so that was a plus.

I secretly think anyone who covets and diddles thy PDA more than they covet and diddle thy lovah is just useless. Cuz guys, if we gals want you, pay attention. Our PDAs have a vibrate mode, hear what I’m saying?? And guys, your iPhone might have an app for this and that, but I promise you, it doesn’t have an app for THAT.

So, while I got to have drinks with this actor who played a dildo-model, I was mildly amused but I wasn’t overly impressed.

Reminds me of this other time I met an incredible hulk… I’ll be your green with envy on that one too! Let me know if you wanna know who that was! Me likey!

Say cheese!

There comes a time in everyone’s life when you just happen to get photographed (or videotaped) naked. Or nekked as I like to call it.

First, Mommy thinks it’s precious to snap some film while her little Schmoopy’s in a bubble bath. Then as you grow up, your big sister or brother thinks it’s hilarious to take pictures while you’re undressing. In fury you lurch to grab the camera only to *whoops* accidentally drop your drawers to the floor. Blackmail would ensue and you’d be stuck with all the chores for a whole month.

Ah, harmless pranks of youth.

As adults, it aint so funny. Unless of course you are posing for said skin pics. And by posing, I mean, getting paid. And a consent form has been signed. And the moolah deposited in the bank.

Until then, it’s simply not de rigueur to snap one’s camera whilst another is in flagrante in de shower.

Flash back to the hubby’s birthday. We were in the Big Easy for some big food, and big crazy ass fun. Three other couples were with us, and well, we were all-a-drinking-eating-drinking-laughing-drinking-earningbeads and drinking.

Did I mention we were drunk like the WHOLE freaking time?

After gorging on oysters and wine at Acme, we headed back to our condo to nap a bit, clean up a bit, and head back out for more food and debauchery.

That’s when it happened.

While the hubby was taking a shower, our friend Mr. Inch decided it was time to photo-document hubby’s fine form. Inch slowly opened the bathroom door, stealthily grabbed the shower curtain and BANG! Whipped open the curtain, and snap snap snap – took  nekked photos and laughed uproariously.

The rest of us were rekindling our buzz in the family room when it all went down so we didn’t at first hear the hubby’s expletives. The WHAT THE FUCKs? The GODDAMITs. The GET THE FUCK OUTTA HEREs.

Hell, we’ve known Inch and his wife Betty for a long time. They’ve even seen my nekked boobies. But that’s another story involving drunken boating and Mai Tai’s.

So it wasn’t a big deal that Inch took a pic on our Big Easy trip of the hubby’s big dick. {I really felt compelled to rhyme in this post. Sue me.}

We all got a good laugh over the whole peeping paparazzi incident. I saw the dick pic and I must say, I was proud.  {Insert applause and high fives}

Fast forward like 4 months.

We’re at Inch and Betty’s for a party. Several couples are scrolling through Inch’s digital dial when my radar went off. It dawned on me – Inch never deleted those photos. The hubby’s tallywacker was still on his camera.

Somebitch. I walked as fast as I could in super high strappy sandals and grabbed the camera. I then clickity clacked myself away as fast as I could, which was hard given the aforementioned strappy sandals.

Yep. Nekked dick pics were still there. Inch just laughed and shrugged. Using gross exaggeration, I deleted the photos.

Hubby just kinda winked at a couple of the ladies but me? I was not all that amused. Inch sauntered back over and whispered two words “Memory card.” And then “Flickr.”

One day – Inch.Will.Pay.