Drunken blogging

Yup, after a long 3.4 day workweek, I decided that the best thing to do was to head home to Casa de Moose and whip out some classic margaritas for my bad self. It's been a rough ride, this short little week, probably due to a hormonal imbalance, a bit of seasonal affective disorder and the fact that last weekend turned out to be genuinely "labor" intensive...not sure why they made it the focus of a holiday. Really, why do we celebrate the fact that we have to go somewhere and slave for someone else 5 days a week year after year, or alternatively (for the half of us that know what real pain is) have your body betray you and contort itself in inhumane and ridiculously painful ways to expel another human being? But I digress...I am quite sh**faced and have something to share.

Today I got home from said labor (the first one, not the second), and put my purse in it's rightful place, then checked the phone for messages. While I listened to what turned out to be dead air, I happened to glance at the tuxedo bag hanging from the china hutch (well of course it goes there....where else would you put a tuxedo bag?) and noticed the bold imprint of white on black "A $20 late fee will be assessed for every day passed the due date tuxedo is returned". In the neat little vinyl pocket the printout label with my son's name on it indicated a due date of 9/8. Two day prior. REALLY? After a mini phone call/lecture about being responsible, then a call to the tux shop, I fled the house, tuxedo bag in tow and hoped for the best.

Arriving 20 minutes later, a pleasant young woman took the bag, scanned the label and, looking at me with a complete poker face, announced the obvious...two days late. My only and very weak excuse? A button fell off and he was going to sew it back on, and he didn't realize it was due back the next day. No dice....poker face indicated that the terms were gone over with all tuxedo renters when they order....DUH. She then took pity on me and said she would split it with me....20 bucks and it would go away. I accepted gracefully, then called my son in the car and told him he OWES ME BIGTIME...he sounded sorry.

Went to the store after and sat in the parking lot, fighting the urge to sob uncontrollably, and called my husband. I didn't marry him for nothing - he had me laughing shortly, and I realized that it was water under the bridge, no big deal, and that I would forget about it shortly. Picked up a few things for dinner, then headed home.

I was on the highway, midway between two exits when I spotted it - a sunflower, only about 2 feet tall, but with at least 4 bobbing miniature faces, growing despite the traffic whizzing by unrelentingly, the toxic fumes it ingests daily, and only the water and sunshine God give it in the median right next to the gravel shoulder in the center. It made me smile. And made me stop thinking negative thoughts, if only for a few minutes. And reminded me that I needed to get some tequila. Thank you sunflower...you made my day. Here is my recipe for margarita's....I like 'em on the rocks because 1. I'm lazy; 2. I don't like ice cream headaches.

Brown Derby (Banks Oregon, not the one in LA) Margaritas

1 oz. tequila (I like Jose gold)
1 oz. sweet and sour mix
1/2 oz. Rose's Lime Juice
1/4 oz. Triple Sec
Salt
Lime wedges

Mix tequila, sweet and sour, lime juice and triple sec, pour over crushed ice in a 2 cup measuring cup or a shaker; rub lime wedge on rim of glass and dip in salt (or not if you like the nastiness of tequila straight up), pour mixed drink into glass with or without ice (your choice) and squeeze lime in and throw wedge in glass. Serve with a straw or not...I lick some salt off the rim, then drink out of the straw. I like straws. My mom used to be bartender at the Derby, and she liked to put a little OJ in with it...that's good too if you have it. And if you really want to, you can put it all in the blender and make it a slushy frozen margarita...but then you have to wash the blender and you WILL get an ice cream headache. Unless you can drink it without it touching the roof of your mouth. I double-dog dare you....

I can no longer feel the outside of my skin, so I'm going to go finish the pitcher....happy weekend!