Infidelity and Beyond

There's nothing like the holiday season to bring out the best in relationships.

Tiger Woods made the front page of the NY Post for 20 consecutive days after the 'incident' outside his home caused a barrage of women to reveal their sext messages with the famed golfer. (Fact: This story received more front page coverage in the Post than the attacks of September 11th.)

Last month, ESPN exec Steve Phillips lost his job as a result of an affair with a 22 year-old psychopath who took it upon herself to reveal their "relationship" to his wife and the media.

Earlier this year, Eliot Spitzer was forced to resign as Governor thanks to his uncontrollable urge to have sex with hookers.

The moral of the story is, people cheat on their significant others, no matter how solid their relationship may appear. (I'm not even going to pretend to apologize for sounding like a cynical, jaded, Manhattanite.)

In the spirit of embracing infidelity (a concept I've been both guilty and victim of) I wanted to pass along my favorite songs to scream at the top of my lungs while I dance around in my underwear... (how's that for a mental image?)

Enjoy!

Classy Christmas Cocktails

If you've been following my blog at all, you know full-well that I'm a fan of the drink. With the exception of an occassional bottle of my favorite Argentinian Malbec, my purchases at the liquor store are most often a handle of vodka or a magnum of Yellowtail. The goal of course being: drink to get drunk and avoid spending $18 on a Red Bull Vodka at 230 5th.

However, for this post I've taken a few suggestions from friends and co-workers on their favorite holiday spirits that require one to sip, not chug. So in the spirit of the holidays, put away the funnel, raid your parents liquor supply (because who else would have Brandy on hand), and whip up any of the following for a delicious treat that's sure to warm your insides.


Tom & Jerry (thanks Sam!)
Ingredients
-12 eggs
-1 cup sugar
-pinch of ground cinnamon
-1 bottle brandy
-1 bottle dark rum
-milk
-nutmeg






Instructions (translated from Chef Speak to Stuff I understand)

- Separate the eggs. (This does not mean 6 and 6, but rather whites and yolks.)
- Beat the whites until they form a stiff froth. (That's what she said.)
- Add the sugar to the yolks and beat "until they are as thin as water," gradually adding 4 ounces brandy and a pinch of ground cinnamon.
- Fold the whites into the yolks. (FYI- "fold" is just a fancy way of saying mix.)

When ready to serve, give it another stir and then put 1 tablespoon of this batter in a small mug. Add 1 ounce brandy and 1 ounce Jamaican rum, stirring constantly to avoid curdling. (sounds gross, but the result is delicious). Fill to the top with hot milk and stir until you get foam. Sprinkle a little grated nutmeg on top.

Puerto Rican Egg Nog

*Under normal circumstances I think egg nog is a vile drink and should be placed in the same category/trash receptacle as fruit cake for "holiday foodstuffs that absolutely suck." However, this beverage was discreetly served to me in a coffee cup at work by my Puerto Rican friend in the mailroom. After one sip I knew I needed to pass along the recipe.*

Ingredients
-1 can coconut cream (Coco Lopez, etc.)
-2 cans condensed milk
-3 cans evaporated milk
-1 tsp vanilla extract
-cinnamon & nutmeg
- 1 liter of spiced rum (or 151 if you've got a family of lushes)

Start by pouring half of each of the ingredients in a blender. Sprinkle cinnamon and nutmeg "too taste" (not too much, idiot.)

Blend thoroughly (on setting of your choice) - Pour contents into a big bowl.

Repeat above steps with remaining ingredients (blending and mixing well enough to ensure there are no chunks of coconut floating around... we wouldn't want your guests to hurl chunks before they even sampled your concoction.)

Pour into glasses of your choice and garnish with a piece of cinnamon (optional of course).


Brandy Alexander
Ingredients - Recipe below serves 10.
(or 5 people two drinks, 2 people five drinks...or yourself until you get sick.)

- 15 oz brandy
- 10 oz dark creme de cacao
- 10 oz french vanilla ice cream (really, really softened)
- 2.5 tsp grated nutmeg

In a shaker a quarter filled with ice cubes, combine the brandy, creme de cacao, and ice cream.

Shake vigorously. (Hence the softened ice cream... you'll break your arm if you try to use a shaker on ice cream straight out of the freezer).

Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with the nutmeg.

Last Minute $hopping Do's and Don'ts

With just two days left until Christmas morning, if you haven't finished (or started) your holiday shopping yet, well, quite honestly you're probably fucked. However, if you decide to brave the cold and battle the teeming masses of last minute morons like yourself, try to keep the following in mind:

DO: Make a list of exactly what you need and which stores you need it from. (It doesn't hurt to have a mapped out plan of attack to prevent you from wasting your oh-so-precious time.)

DO NOT: Wander aimlessly from store to store like a tourist in Times Square. Now is not the season for window shopping. I can assure you that doing this will increase your odds of getting punched in the face three fold.

DO: Have patience with old people and their walking devices. It probably took them a lot of effort to velcro their shoes, fasten their waterproof cap, and load their purse with caramel chews all in the name of finding the perfect gift for their grandkid. *Keep in mind that this will be you someday.*

DO NOT: Bring your toddler, stroller, car seat, playpen, and beanie baby collection shopping with you. *This will probably be you someday too, but thanks to my blog you will know better than to be that mom with the unruly offspring and the aisle-blocking paraphernalia. Hire a babysistter.*

DO: Buy greeting cards, CDs, and DVDs at Walmart. It's not like these items are a of any different quality than their counterparts at Hallmark or BestBuy.

DO NOT even think about ordering from the Fantasy Gifts section of the Neiman Marcus catalog. Does anyone really need a $25,000 Cupcake Car or a pair of Swarovski Crystal headphones?? I can hear just as well with my gummy's, thank you very much.

DO: Keep your audience in mind when gift giving. (Just because your sister is sexually active doesn't mean you should stuff her stocking with a box of Trojans for Christmas morning with the family.)

DO NOT: Spend more money than you can afford right now. Assuming that you can use your next paycheck to cover your ridiculous credit card bill is not smart in an economy where you might get laid off before your next paycheck.

DO: Cut pictures out of magazines of the items you ordered online but did not arrive on time. Put them in thoughtful greeting cards with a note explaining the delay.

DO NOT: Promise someone that "their gift is on the way" when you know full well you haven't purchased anything for them. That's a seriously dick move, Scrooge.

Cute Without the E

If you haven't already read my Dear Facebook post, I suggest that you do. If you have, consider this my post script.

I spent the better half of this morning defriending (a verb that I can only hope never makes it into any English language dictionary) people from my facebook account. While the process was more liberating than stressful, there were still plenty of factors I took into consideration before confirming that I was "sure I wanted to remove Jane Doe."

In case your New Years resolution is to trim some friend-fat, you might find the following guidelines useful. Here's how I arrived at my conclusion to cut 70+ people from my Facebook team.

YOU'VE BEEN REMOVED FROM MY FRIEND LIST IF...

1. you have no picture (and I can't figure out who you are without it). Or worse, your picture is of your pet or your child.

2. we weren't friends in high school, but fell victim to facebook's "suggestion" that we become electronically connected. (Sure we were both members of Key Club, but sadly, that's where our relationship ends.)

3. I only requested (or accepted) your friendship because I was hooking up with one of your friends. (Sorry, but I only saw your facebook page as an alternative stalking avenue.)

4. we met at a bar, you were overzealous with your Facebook for Blackberry application, and we haven't exchanged any communication since. (Not even a poke!)

5. you've recently changed your status to engaged (and I didn't even know you were in a relationship).

<-- you so obviously got a manicure in order to pose with, and post pictures of your ring. (tacky)

6. you change your status more often than I change my underwear. Moreover, you're gone if your status is:

a) a stupid inside joke that only 1 of your lame friends "like."
b) grammatically incorrect/misspelled.
c) annoying enough to make me want to take a hammer to my computer screen.

7. your name is not saved in my cell phone contacts or my g-chat buddy list.

8. your display name is either hyphenated after marriage or you've done the ridiculous first name-middle name bullshit so people can't find you. (You're not hiding from the FBI, people. If you're so concerned about your privacy, deactivate your account!)

Not So-Newsworthy

Well folks, it would appear that journalism has hit a new low thanks to the NY Post. (Shocking for such a reputable publication, I know.)


In case you hadn't heard, Elliot Spitzer's infamous prostitute is now a writer. Ms. Dupre will be sharing her thoughts in a weekly column titled "Ask Ashley" to give readers advice on sex, love, and relationships. She views this opportunity as a "second chance."


I am aware that I run the risk of sounding like a complete bitch when I say this, but I think she's about as qualified to be writing an advice column as I am to be performing root canals.

In an interview with Fox this morning, Ashley told Rosanna Scotto that she's actually "considering offers to pose nude in a magazine for money." (Way to grab the reigns of that 'second chance.') Her mother must have been beaming with pride in the audience.



Lastly, as a legit librarian, I'm quite fed up with people (especially this 24 year old call-girl turned columnist) who believe that fake glasses and an unbuttoned shirt earn you credibility as someone who is "smart and sexy." Sexy? Sure. Smart? Are you kidding me?


Perhaps I'd have more blog followers if I launched my career as a hooker and caused a philandering politician to resign.

Things I'll Never Learn

I've tried to stick to a firm "no blogging while intoxicated" policy, but after 6 solid hours of double vodka tonics at my firm's holiday party, I can't guarantee that I'm completely sobered up this morning. Either way, I thought now would be as good a time as any to regale you with a list of mistakes that I'm sure we'll all continue to make no matter how many times we "swear we'll never do that again."

Thursday happy hours are not the beginning of the weekend. It would be nice if it were, but it would also be nice if going out for "a drink" after work meant just that. Unfortunately, the combination of drink specials, men in suits, and great 80's music is a really hard thing to voluntarily walk away from. I guess I'm just fortunate to have mastered the art of keeping it together at the office the next day.

Shots are rarely necessary. Declining an offer to do hard drugs, no problem. Saying no to a free shot of Patron, impossible! And why? Because it's very likely that a level of intoxication has been achieved where logic and reasoning are out the window. And free? Yes please. I've probably already spent close to $100 on my own drinks, so why shouldn't I accept that free shot from Mr. Pink Tie? (which is how he'll end up being saved in my phone at the end of the evening.)

Wine is NOT a pregaming beverage: While this is true, it's irrelevant on Friday nights. One glass of wine to relax after work quickly turns into an entire bottle, and if I can't finish it before I have to leave my apt to meet my friends, I'll pour the remaining contents into a poland spring bottle for the train. I'm pretty sure that's how the French drink it.

Staying in is OK...especially if you're feeling under the weather. Well in my rule book that's simply not true. A quick power nap immediately followed by chugging a red bull and a hot shower and I'm like a new shiny penny ready to paint the town red. (Or so I've convinced myself.) No doubt I feel 142% worse the next day.

After Hours are Unnecessary: Bouncers won't start kicking you out of a bar until just after last call, which is 4am in the city. The ugly lights are on and the DJ has informed us that "Ya'll don't gotta go home but ya gotta get the hell up outta here." It's at this point that I in fact DO have to go home, however, I think to myself, "You're right Mr. DJ! I don't have to go home!!" After the party is the after party...

Late Night Feasting: Just because many restaurants/diners/pizza places are open 24 hours, doesn't mean they should be patronized. In my 25 years on this planet I've consumed more pizza than is appropriate or acceptable, mostly between the hours of midnight and 5am. On a similar note, I've actually had a pizza delivered to my doorman just to ensure that the cheesy goodness from Librettos was waiting for me when I stumbled home. I think it's fair to say that the morning after stomach pains rival menstrual cramps.

It's Sunday FunDAY not FunNight. Ha. No matter how many times I check my watch throughout the day, I'll continue to tell myself that I have time for another beer because, hell, it's not even 6pm yet! It's even worse when I've stayed in on a Saturday night to be well rested for said day of drinking. I cannot even express the regret I feel on Monday mornings. Maybe some day I'll learn that Sunday boozing has an entirely different set of rules than the rest of the weekend. Or maybe not.

Size (Apparently) Doesn't Matter

In case you were hoping this post would be about the irrelevancy of penis size during sex, it's not. (No matter how many rhyming euphemisms one creates, the fact remains that the motion of the ocean can rarely ever make up for an inadequate boat, sorry boys.)

I came across an article in the NY Post that really puts NYC apartment life in perspective (and simultaneously emphasizes the insanity of city dwellers.)

You can read the full-text here, but to save you the time, I've highlighted the most absurd things about this couple's choice in real estate (and added my own commentary).

"Zaarath and Christopher Prokop-- and their two cats-- live in the smallest apartment in the city, a 175-square-foot "microstudio" in Morningside Heights."

A microstudio? Is that even a real word?! Did they mean a microwave?? For fuck's sake, I've seen roomier fish tanks at restaurants. And I'm sure the two cats were a totally necessary addition to their jail-cell-like quarters. They do realize that Morningside Heights is just a fancy way of saying "just below Harlem," right?


"One of the kitchen cabinets is full of champagne because Zaarath's job allows them to order cases of it. A converted desk acts as a wine rack and minibar, helping to store the bottles that Christopher Prokop can buy at a discounted price because of his job as a distributor."

One of the kitchen cabinets AND the converted desk is full of booze because there's no possible way that two human beings would be able to tolerate each other in such confined quarters without being perpetually intoxicated. Hell, they even leave their clothes at various dry cleaners around the neighborhood to have more storage space for the alcohol. Seriously.

"It's like having a rent controlled apartment, we're going to own something in Manhattan in two years. How many people can say that?"

I'd rather own a refrigerator box in Chelsea... at least I'd be in a better neighborhood.

"I'm amazed we can fit two people and two cats in here, but it's harmonious at this point. I have friends who say they could never live with their husbands in a place this small. It's a good thing we like each other enough to live there."

Ah, the key words of course being "at this point." Let's check in with these love birds in 6 months. I'm sure at that point I'll be blogging about their follow up tale...."Tiny Apartment Drives Man to Eat Cats, Slay Wife."