Wine Snob Take 1

My husband and I recently went to an “Old World Wine Tasting” brought to us by a local restaurant and liquor store.  The point of this was to get us drunk and get us to buy their crappy wine by the case.  The wine was paired with food.  We received a total of seven wine/food pairings.  Of course, there wasn’t much food, but there was a healthy quarter bottle in each glass, so we had to take a cab home.

They gave us a piece of paper with the type of wine, name of wine, price of the wine (ha!), where the wine was from and the food it was paired with.  My husband (who for the last 3 years has spent a week each year w/ a self-proclaimed “Wine Snob” who is working on getting her Sommelier’s license) decided that we should judge it and write down our opinions and thoughts, al la John Cleese’s wine for the confused” and see where that takes us.  As follows are our highly esteemed, semi-sober, opinions.  (yes, I’m drinking crappy cheap wine while I’m typing this up…  it’s meh wine, but it’s consistent; it’s consistently the same and it’s consistently on sale at 9.99 a bottle.  So, all typo’s, flights of fancy, and nonsensical meanderings should be attributed to the booze.  However, it’s up to you to figure out what drunken thoughts I’m transcribing, and what thought’s I’m drunkenly transcribing)

(Husband wrote at the top of the page:  Roughly Half”)

(I wrote at the top of the page:  60’s  10 bottles)

Wine:  Lunetta

Type: Prosecco

Location: Italy

Price:  114.72/Case, 10.66 bottle

Food:  Served with Stuffed mushrooms

Husband: “Unclean!!!”  Would be good with coat what?? And brea dip.  Can’t piss (gripes were good)  Netalie.  Nnooooooooooo.  Overall tasted like cheap champagne.

Me: Pre-grape-e’.  First sip ok, bit of apple.  Later drank  grapes good.  Ewww, wet sandpaper .  I don’t like.  Bitler.  It for the same reason I don’t like green apples.  Overwhelming on the palate.

Wine: New Harbor

Type: Sauvignon Blanc

Location: New Zealand

Price:  126./Case, 12.08/Bottle

Food: Served with hot spinach salad with bacon vinaigrette dressing

Husband:  Ok, very acidic  “Lacking”  Grapefruit (bleh!)  Makes me think of Galaxy Quest

Me:  Light Fruity.  Smells Funny.  Reminds me of something.  What?  Don’t remember.  No front of tongue taste.  Explodes in back.  Passion fruit!!!  Grapefruit in background.  Yuck.  Wouldn’t pay money for it, but if it were poured for me, I would drink it.

Wine:  Duck Pond

Type:   Pinot Noir

Location: Willamette Valley, Oregon

Price: 198.62/Case, 17.66/Bottle

Food:   Old World cabbage soup

Husband:  Makes me think of “War of the Roses”  Peppery.  Soup brings out the acidity

Me:Mellowshell not sure if I meant mellows well, or mellow shell Warm, Full front, slight acid back.  After soup:  sharper in front, fuller in back.  Some sort of Mullet of the Wine World

Wine:  Trapiche Oak

Type:   Malbec

Location:  Argentina

Price:  107.68/Case, 9.57/Bottle

Food:  served with cheese stuffed ravioli with a red and white sauce

Husband:  Makes me think of ‘Deep Rising”.  Just keeps getting worse.  Made me gay.  Good pairing.  Got Wife under the table.  I have no recollection of this event…

Me:  Dry, slightly bitter.  The pretentions of a cab I’m sure I meant Cabernet with the smack you in the face of a Merlot.  I dropped my pen.  Oh, well, it’s nice to know that even while several glasses in I know enough to protect my honor.

Wine:  Camp Veijo Rioja Reserve

Type:   Tempranello

Location:   Spain

Price: 140.75/Case, 13.16/Bottle

Food:  Served with a slow cooked chicken and vegetables with a red sauce

Husband: Reminds me of and Rockey in a corner.  Spicy.  The Crying Game.  In the words of Gordon Ramsey “What’s this shit?!?”

Me:  Wet, Spicy, want to smoke.  Sour base.  I am not the word poet Husband is

Wine:  Grand Marnier

Type:   Liqueur

Location:   France

Price: 36.51/Bottle

Food: Served with Chocolate orange truffle cake

Husband:  Too strong for sipping.  Con Air

Me:  Smells scary, like a mix of burnt orange peel and my high school English teacher.  Racing fuel.  Evaporates on my tongue.  Oh, God, no!  I can’t finish it, even for Science.  Or some future blog…  I should start up my blog again…

Wine:  Cockburn

Type:   Tawney Port

Location:   Portuguese

Price: 147.68/Case, 12.82/Bottle

Food:   Served with Coffee

Husband:28 Days Later, Nearly vomited.  A fine line between cough syrup and death.  Couldn’t keep her hands outta my lap I don’t know what he’s talking about here…

Me:  Sweet, smells like cherries, syrup and flouuuuuuur…  but not consistency.  I needed a spoon for the stirring of the coffee!  I’m hoping this means that I dropped my spoon in his lap, and not that I had other plans for his lap and my coffee

Trials and tribulations of travel

There are those who think I’m strange… They are all right. However, in my defense, I got it via my family.
The following is an actual conversation I had with a third party regarding an interaction with my family in the week before I went on a trip south.
My mission: to bring down quilting squares that my mother sent me (these would be for my brother’s daughter’s (Red’s) birth… did I mention she’s 1.5 years old at this point? I was supposed to embroider them with something unique to myself and my husband (and another one that my daughter was supposed to do… the difference being that she got hers done) and then Ducky and grandma are going to piece them together, and Red will have a lovely blanket.
My other Mission: Bring an antique children’s rocking chair that has been in my family for oh so many years and that goes to whoever has the baby. It came to Alaska when my baby was born (almost 13 years ago!) and has sat in storage for the last 10 years. During that time the wood dried and one armrest popped out of socket (I still can’t find it) and a seam in the seat split. So now I’m terrified that it’s going to break beyond repair before I can foist it off on my brother.
I should take this moment to just state that my mother is known as Ducky to her grandchildren… more than that is for another post, though…
Here’s my conversation:

Me: My family… I can’t tell if they rock or if they suck.
3rd: Yes
Me: Mom tells me to bring the quilt squares. Brother tells me that he’s been instructed not to pick me up from the airport if I don’t have them.
3rd: Rock
Me: I tell him I can only find one of the two squares. He says he’ll pick me up anyway… and then just tell mom that I lied to him.
3rd: Hee! Rock.
Me: I call Brother and tell him I’m bringing the rocker. And that the rocker has broken, does he know someone who can fix it. He says yes. I get home and the rocker doesn’t fit in the box. I call Alaska Airlines and they tell me that they will probably break it in transit if I just tie the flight info to it. So I make an executive decision and e-mail my mom that I’ll fix the rocker up here and then ship it south. This is the e-mail I get back:
“Great. Great great. Brother wins the bet, but I’ll help you with the cost of the rocker. I guess you can’t call it Baby’s car seat, huh? Oh well. Just get here, scrap what you need to.
Love,
Mom”

Me: And I’m all… “Wait… y’all are betting on me on this?!?!?!” and she sends:
“Just on whether or not the rocker comes. Since it was a deliberate choice not to bring it maybe he doesn’t win. He thought you would forget it.”

3rd: Your family definitely rocks.

Dreams...

I dreamed a friend of mine, R (who has moved away, and wasn’t actually THAT friend, but had certain aspects of her), and I were hiding out in someone’s living room, because we had just tried to drown her sister (who was absolutely NOT her actual in real life sisters) who was an evil witch. But we hadn’t drowned her, she used one last spell to cut off her own head and used her tongue to swim away. While we were hiding in the living room, between the coffee table and the couch, R admitted that her sister had whispered something after she was supposed to have been dead, or her final words, or something. And that was the first few words of the movie Dune, (Or, really, read the books) then “18” and so R knew that her Evil witch sister was alive, because if you watch the 18 hour version of the movie Dune, then you know that the person who was supposed to have been dead was actually alive. (I’m not sure if this is true in real life, but in my dream it was the equivalent of the song “Last Dance w/ Mary Jane” music video when Kim Bassinger opens her eyes at the end when she’s under water.
So then, we were… Helping her? Dunno, but we were in this car and this guy was driving it. And he went around the corners up the Dump Hill road (a very steep and curvy road) so fast! And at the top was a castle. And there was this guy there who I have liked for quite a while, B. (He, also, had moved away) and he saw our car doors open and he came running down from the castle and he jumped in on my guy’s lap and since we were going so fast, he had to throw himself in so he’s lying flat down. So then he laughs and does this whole humping motion. And he has a cheroot or something in his mouth and he’s just really hyper and really laughing and just way more animated than he ever really is in real life, so I accuse him of being on something (The car has now come to a stop.) The guy who’s lap he’s humping, M, laughs and then does this spanking smacking motion and knocks him out of the car.
The car starts up again and we drive off down the curvy hill going so fast. The doors haven’t even closed and B is trying to squirm his way in, and we’re going so fast that I’m hanging onto the door and the frame and my body is just flying out of the car, like centrifugal force.
We get to wherever we’re going, and we’re trying to decide to watch the 16 or the 18 hour version of Dune b/c the meaning changes w/ which one you watch. And B comes over and is all sexy sexy and, while I still like him, my feelings were really hurt, because I knew he had been in town for 3 months and hadn’t bothered to contact me (and I hate the feeling that I’m not constantly on someone’s mind… If we have a Thing, I really need you to be as hot and bothered as I am, or at the least, be thinking of me a bunch and wanting to be with me, because a once in a while booty call, while fun, is not a role I really want to play)
And then some other things happened, and we ended going off on some Epic Quest to go and find the 18 hour version of Dune because it was really rare… (Obviously it’s now been awhile since I”ve woken up and I don’t really remember the rest of the stuff… overall, a very strange dream)

Is that a fat joke?

Last night hubby and I were laying in bed.  Aren, our obnoxiously loud cat decided to speak up.  
So the conversation ended up going like this:
Me:  zzz /snore/ wha..?  huh?  I wasn't asleep, I was totally listening to you.
Hubby:  mmm-hmmmm, sure you were
Me:  no, really.  baby I love to hear you tell me about --
Aren: MMMMEEEEOOOOOWWWWWP
Me : Shut up you fat bastard!!!
Hubby:  Funny, that's what he said to you?
Me  :  You little shit, you called me fat?!?
Hubby:  That.  Is funny.

Affiliate test

So, I need to buy this book for school...  I thought I'd be able to just hyperlink it and blah blah, but hey.  let's see if it works.

Water Pirates

When I see the title, it really looks like I'm going to talk about some sort of Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of Dark Waters kinda thing, but I'm thinking more along the lines of roving bands of thugs who steal your water, like in some sort of Post-Apocalyptic desert scenario.

Hence the following e-mail:
Me: 

Another sign of my tragic space dementia...  I remembered that I was thirsty and I remembered that I took the lid off of it (then got distracted), so I figure I should take that drink I wanted to and then put the lid back on.  I pick up the drink.  I remember filling it all the way to the top.  there's like 3" of water out of it.  Damn that Dehydration Gang!  they've struck again!

Husband:

Bastards.  Fucking water pirates. 

Man Flowers

I have long thought that it wasn’t fair that guys had to buy women flowers and gifts like: jewelry, chocolate or lingerie (although that last one could be argued that they are actually buying themselves a gift…) I also don’t like the advertising campaigns that suggest that if an appropriate enough gift is offered we (female half of the race/gift recipient portion of the population) may deign to have sex with or kiss the gift bearer. Which… ok. I’m not a traditional gal. Most of you who have read me long enough to know that. But, seriously?!?
I don’t understand my female coworkers who say things like, “he’d better be buying me flowers” because he’s in so much trouble that only something that costs him a bunch of money will right the wrong that I’m feeling etc etc and “Oh, my husband didn’t do anything for me for ___ I’m so sad and/or upset at him…” My response is: What did you do for him for ___? And I wish I could just say: Did you buy him flowers for Valentine’s day?
But guys don’t want flowers for Valentine’s day. No, really. I’ve offered. And my husband doesn’t want jewelry. I’m not sure on the Chocolate one, however. I tried to find Cadbury Easter Eggs for him, but the store was sold out. (I know he loves those… next year I’ll just buy them as soon as I see them, horde them for a few weeks, and then put them in a heart shaped box. I know he’d like that. SEE?!?! See how easy it is to do something romantic for a guy!?! You have to think about it a little more, but then don’t you want him to think about you a bit more than just grabbing the first flowers he can find at the gas station?)
At any rate, Man Flowers. That is what this post is about.
Well, let’s look at girl flowers. They are amazing. They can mean like, a brazillion different things depending on which types you get. They can also mean like, a brazillion different things depending on the color, too. They can be shared. They can be delivered. That is such a happy feeling seeing someone walk through a door w/ a bunch of flowers, and then hearing your name called out. (And that adds in the bonus of everyone seeing and acknowledging that your other half thought about you enough to get you something) They can also be brought home yourself. (which gets you bonus points on walking in the door with them “hidden” behind your back and you get to see the happy on their faces) They can be shared (Well, the smell, visual can be shared)
After doing a VERY informal poll, I have come to the conclusion that the equivalent to girl flowers is Man Flowers or “Pizza” as I like to call it. I’ll work in random order w/ my aforementioned points. Pizza can be shared. With your Other Half in a romantic dinner kinda way after bringing it home and seeing the happy look on their face… or shared with their coworkers after a pizza is unexpectedly delivered. (imagine how happy they’d be if a pizza were delivered to their work, already paid for, just a few min before lunch time when they thought that they had forgotten their lunch at home…) And so the missing part is: They can mean different things depending on the type. So I’ve come up with a list (roughly… very VERY roughly) paralleling the Meanings of the Colors of Roses. (Feel free to come up w/ your own list. And, if you are wondering about the card or note, just write up a card and bring it with you when you go to the pizza place that will be delivering the pizza to order it. Put the card in a zip lock baggie, first though… just a thought) So – My List:

The Love Language of Pizza

Red Sauce – Is red like romantic Valentine’s Day so it stands for Romance.
Cheese – The goodness that holds everything together.
Pepperoni – Passion – the spiciness that makes us interesting
Mushrooms – Friendship – you know, says you’re a “fungi”
Olives – True Love – (when you mouth the words “Olive Juice” it looks like you’re saying “I Love You”
Anchovies – Lets break up

There are also combinations:
Sausage and Hamburger – the Longevity of a relationship – through rich (can afford sausage) and Poor (when you have to buy Hamburger instead)

Also, Beer. Beer is another type of Guy Flowers. You can buy it singly or by the dozen or half dozen. I’m sure you could come up with meanings for the different flavors, but I don’t like beer. At all. And so I’m coming up blank. (I guess there’s that joke about Coors Lite being like sex in a canoe – fucking close to water… but I’m not sure that it would work as a language of love… ooh! Ok, never mind. In the Love Language of Beer – Coors Lite is Lust. HA! But except for that, I’m coming up empty) So I’m just going to prove my love by walking in the door tonight w/ a 6 pack of one of the kinds he likes the most. (One of them is seasonal, and I’m not sure if it’s the right season anymore) Either way. It shows that I think about him, and I care about him. And I know what kind of things he likes. Oh, however, unlike Pizza, it’s probably harder to have it delivered. And if your Other works for any form of government or in a school district or any place that they could lose their job (armed forces/airport/any “real” jobs or whatever) don’t even try!