so ...

Just keep away from me ’cause you’re killing me

A while ago we bought these sim­ple syrups at Williams-​Sonoma, and they rule. Actually I bought them while my hus­band protested vio­lently. One is fla­vored with Meyer lemon, the other with vanilla bean, so there are lit­tle flecks of vanilla bean all sus­pended up in it. I fig­ured that I could make some awe­some cock­tails with them, and today I proved myself right.
First I made a vari­a­tion Cosmopolitan that was just plain vodka (Skyy), Cointreau, cran­berry juice and the Meyer lemon syrup. It ruled. But I used the last of our cran­berry juice. Then I made up some­thing that is vanilla vodka (Absolut … it tastes like marsh­mal­lows!!!), orange juice, Cointreau and the vanilla bean syrup. I am now on my sec­ond one. This drink rules. I’m telling you, it is unreal. I’m a genius.
I almost don’t care about the game today, but I do. The whole rea­son I started drink­ing already today was the game, because I was freak­ing out and throw­ing news­pa­pers over my head and Christopher said, “You need to be drunk.” So I fol­lowed his instruc­tions, that’s all. The game was bad, though. It was really bad. So I just hope that the Kings were con­cen­trat­ing all their suck into this game and will go crazy insane fan­tas­tic for the next two. Yes.
You know how much I hate the Lakers? I hate the Mavericks almost as much. These are my … my two most hated teams in the uni­verse. I hate them. Steve Nash looks like a frig­ging ser­ial rapist lizard man. Words can’t describe how much I hate him. And Nowitski, eew, for­get about it, he is a creepy stalker. Which is only solid­i­fied by his “Trophy Love” com­mer­cial, am I right peo­ple? Yes. The peo­ple know. And that frig­ging thug Najara. Eew girl, eew. I hate that f-​er.
While we are on the sub­ject of, um, dudes, it’s all over between me and Bobby Flay, just so you know. The rea­son is here.
Jose Giovanni passed away today of a brain hem­or­rhage at 80. The only rea­son I know about him is because he wrote the screen­play for Le Trou, which trans­lates to The Hole. Yes, the entire movie is about dig­ging a hole. I’m not even exag­ger­at­ing. I think … Jacques Tourneau directed it? I think that’s who it was. (EDIT: Jacques Becker. It was Jacques Becker.) I saw that bitch up in Lincoln Center, on a dou­ble bill with John Huston’s We Were Strangers, I think, which is the movie that made me fall in love with dead John Garfield. Or maybe that was on a dou­ble bill with He Ran All the Way, which also made me fall in love with dead John Garfield. Oh man, I can’t remem­ber. I swear I asso­ciate We Were Strangers with Le Trou. But I also asso­ciate We Were Strangers with He Ran All the Way. It was so long ago. I don’t know what to believe any­more. I’ll get to the bot­tom of this even­tu­ally. In the mean­time, how about a gra­tu­itous image of John Garfield
in his final movie, He Ran All the Way, with Shelley Winters
and, um … let’s go with The Man, Vlade Divac
stop killing me

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