Tag Archives: gin and tonic

The Not-So-Gentle Gin and Tonic.


My fave.

My fave.

My new favorite drink.

It used to be Pinot Grigio, since Chardonnay gives me kind of a headache. Pouilly-Fuissé is pouilly fabulous, but it puts too much of a hole in my wallet to be a regular thing – and hey, an artist likes a little nip now and then after a hard day’s, well, arting.

So now I have discovered – well, technically, REdiscovered, since it’s not like I never had a gin and tonic before in my life – the wonders of this clean, refreshing, and buzzy little drink.

Best of all? The little bottles of Tanqueray are VERY moderately priced, and there’s something about pouring your drink out of a flask-shaped container that makes you feel charmingly like a cross between a hobo and Dorothy Parker.

Especially if you drink enough of it.

Cheers.

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I’m baaaack. Anyone care for a drink?


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Hmmm. It looks like Elizabeth Williams Bushey could use a little, tiny drink.

Hmmm. It looks like Elizabeth Williams Bushey could use a little, tiny drink.

I’m BACK!

It’s really not the alcohol so much, really, as the cute little bottles it comes in.

No, really. I swear.

The alcohol I drank a LOT of came in a bottle of Gordon’s gin. And the part that sucked was when the tonic ran out. The part that only sort of sucked was that I had no limes – just the little slush of lemon juice I had left over.

It was okay, though. One finds hidden resources when one is desperate – and one finds, too, that a little lemon juice goes a long way – and one finds that one does not need lemon juice, or lime juice, after a few gin and tonics, after all.

Especially now that Peter is home.

Which sort of explains my absence from these pages.

We’ve renovated the backyard, which, if you’re a regular reader, up until now was pretty much Dog Turd City. Nice for Tucker Dog – not so much, though, an area that the girls and I were so much eager to go frolicking in ourselves.

Dog Turd Pudding jokes aside.

Peter came home, horrified – not only that I’d glued myself to the computer screen, but that the backyard was an overgrown, dog turdy mess.

Regulation dartboard. Watch the wires; your dart will fly right off.

Regulation dartboard. Watch the wires; your dart will fly right off.

In about a week, he’d installed a pool, built a slate patio, hung a dartboard, strung those little white twinkly lights all over the place (you know, the kind you see when it isn’t Christmas in restaurants?) and I was able to show off my artistic skills by printing up “end of school pool party” invitations for my oldest’s middle school friends.

He even took the props from my kids’ concert shows and decorated the yard and fence with them.

It went from looking like all that was missing was a car on cinderblocks to a virtual paradise.

I was stunned.

Hence, the alcohol.

Hence, the “blog? What blog? Real life has suddenly become WAY more interesting.”

And boy, can I throw a dart now. Even my youngest can. (We found a crate for her to stand on.)

Anybody wanna try me?

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