blame it on the a a a a a alcohol

Aboriginal communities in Australia are facing a dilemma: preserve hard-won freedoms or cede some control to their former oppressors? At the center of this tug-of-war is the consumption and possible prohibition of alcohol in Aboriginal communities. According to a recent New York Times article, alcoholism is a major issue for the native population resulting in problems like domestic violence, child abuse, unemployment, health problems, increased crime and accidents.

After a long history of subjugation and oppression by the colonial whites who moved in on Australian territory long ago, Aborigines became equal under the law in 1967. Since then, Aborigines have had equal access to rights ranging from State-sponsored welfare payments to the right to legally purchase and consume alcohol. Once the prohibition on drinking was lifted, it seems as if a number of Aborigines took too kindly to the bottle to the detriment of their communities.

Take Hall’s Creek in northern Australia for example, “about half of the town’s population has alcohol-related problems, including 300 to 600 people with serious health issues like brain damage, said David Shepherd, a senior doctor at Halls Creek Hospital. Young women born with fetal alcohol syndrome are giving birth to babies with the same illness.” Concerned about issues such as child welfare and the proper use of government funds, Australian officials have begun regulating alcohol sale/purchase in some areas. Additionally, the government is keeping a close eye on how welfare funds are spent, going so far as to “have 70 percent of [Aboriginies’] benefits restricted to paying for essentials like food, rent and utilities, a strategy intended to reduce their purchase of alcohol.”

Big Plastic Cups

I hate them. I have what some might call an irrational aversion to big plastic cups. All I had to do was see this .gif on OKP and Twitter today and I was set off on a big plastic cup rampage.

I know. I should be focusing on how ridiculously funny that chick (?? or not) looks. Trust me, I LOL’d appropriately. Still, my FIRST reaction was “ugh, I hate that cup!” When I was younger, we had a few of those cups at the crib. They were mainly blue or green but I think there was a purple one thrown in there somewhere. I bet my aunt bought ’em from K-Mart or the dollar store, her favorite places. All I know is I avoided drinking from them. Why this hate?

People mostly use those cups to drink juice or Kool-Aid. I don’t think any human being should be drinking that much juice in one sitting. That cup is so big that when the drinker pulls the cup away, he is left with a juice mustache a la the Got Milk campaign. People drink out of em and don’t sip, they gulp… loudly. They gulp and you can hear them breathing all hard into the cup. I know what it is, I associate that cup with fat people. My aunt is fat. My uncle is fat and they love those cups. Yup, that’s it. That’s a fat ass cup, yall.

Dear LIT,

I hate you. I think you’re the worst drink ever. Before last night, I hadn’t drank a Long Island Iced Tea in years. Really, I think I had my last one in Chapel Hill around 2004. You know what happened? I was at a bar called The Library and they were charging a lot for top shelf liquor. So I said “fine” and let them make me a LIT with Well liquor. FAIL. My boy ended up holding my purse while I yakked up my guts in an alley on Franklin Street. That was also the same night I almost vomited on a cop’s shoes, but that’s another tale, isn’t it?

Vodka, gin, rum, tequila, triple sec, sour mix and a splash of coke. It really doesn’t taste that good and you’re likely to get shit-faced pretty quickly. I guess that’s what some people want, but I don’t know. The LIT screams immature drinker to me. I see someone order that and I immediately judge. Clearly they just don’t know what else to drink because if they had any bar knowledge whatsoever, they’d choose something way better. I put LIT orderers in the same box as people who still drink Amaretto Sours nonstop. Now, I can make a little room for people who just like those drinks a lot. I have a friend whose go to drink is the LIT. I wouldn’t say he’s 100% lame, but I will say that I don’t fully respect his drinking game.

Last night, I stopped to get a drink before going to catch a movie. I ordered a dirty martini, my boy ordered a LIT. He finished it and ordered another, but realized that he was already feeling some kind of way from the first one so he passed me the LIT to finish. Normally, I’d say no. But since it was my birthday, you kind of have to drink poured liquor. Besides, I was way more sober than I’ve ever been on my bday, so I drank it. Chugged it actually. I was trying to make a movie! I should note that homegirl who made the drink FILLED the glass up with liquor, leaving only about an inch of space in the glass for the sour mix and coke.

Let me tell you how that shit was disgusting. I can’t remember why I EVER drank that shit other than the fact that freshman year (when I drank them quite often), I didn’t know better. Didn’t know what ELSE to drink. Ugh. It was hella nasty. Anyway, here’s the tragedy – Seeing as I only ate one meal that day and was still exhausted from my Halloween partying, that martini and LIT hit my like a ton of bricks. Long story short, I had to pull the car over and regurgitate out of the door. Sexy, right? I fucking hate Long Island Iced Teas.

Now that my system is free of LIT residue, a few bullets about the wknd:

I vote. I drank. I’m supposed to stop but I cain’t.

Ciroc Obama. It’s not just Diddy’s new “AKA” moniker.
Yesterday, my girl Brokey hipped me to a new drink for the politically-minded and pop culture saturated. Yup, the Ciroc Obama! I cannot wait to mix up a yummy apertif named for our presidential hopeful b/w a vodka best known for its association with Diddy for the inauguration parties. (oh, you ain’t know we was gonna party like Chapelle’s reparations skit?)

Chambord Ciroc Obama

I asked her what was in the C.O. and she reported: Ciroc, blue caracao, lime juice, & sprite. Okay, sounds good. The blue drink makes me think of blue states, and that’s hot. I got curious and Googled ‘Ciroc Obama’ and spotted another recipe being served at a Chicago bar. That version mixes Ciroc, Chambord, Fresh squeezed lemonade, and features a sugar rim. I’on’tknow about that sugar rim, though. Are they trying to say my boy Barry is sweet? Pause.

To be honest, I haven’t had Ciroc yet but I’ve heard that it’s good. I’m wondering, is it ELITE enough to carry the Obama name?

7 ways to take care of a drunk friend

I was thinking about how helpful my friend was the other night when I was inches away from alcohol poisoning. I also thought about how he doesn’t really have that much experience dealing with drunk friends (at least I don’t think so). So I figured I’d give a few tips on what one should do when entrusted with the care of a shitfaced pal.

1. Take a lesson from the folks in New Orleans and Key West. PREPARE!
In preparing for Gustav and Ike, the good folks of the coastal region know that even though it all looks good (calm before the storm), some shit is about to go down. They buy out the stores, board up their homes and, if they’re smart, they’ll hightail it out of town. You can do the same for you drunk friend. You can totally tell when somebody is heading down the road to DrunkAsFuckTown. This is a good time to start slipping them glasses of water and directing them away from the open bar. If they haven’t threatened to keel over yet, you might even want to take ’em to a diner for some fries. Mmm, fries.

How not to save a seat

This is kinda crazy in light of my previous post but isn’t this just the way life works? So after work last night, I headed out to meet someone for a networking type deal. We were going to have drinks somewhere in the city, talk and all that stuff. So when C and I meet up, she asks if I’m okay going to Bump for drinks. See, she had to ask because Bump is a gay bar and well, some people aren’t cool with that. HOWEVER, Bump also has $3 cocktails (good ones too) from 5-7pm. I’ve been to Bump before and I have no prob drinkin’ with the Kids, so I was like cool.

So we get to the spot and pull up to the bar. There are tons of seats in the place, but the bar is kinda full. Oh, but look, two seats open! Score! C and I take a seat and order a couple of drinks to make the 7pm cutoff. Strangely, though, there’s a glass sitting on the bar right at my seat. It’s pretty full and has a napkin over it. Hmm, could be that someone was sitting here and just got up really quickly or something and this is how they’re preserving their drink? I don’t know. I just pushed it back a little bit and set about chatting.

About 15-20 minutes go by and I’m feeling kind of good, ya know. All of a sudden two dudes and a chick roll up. The one tall guy is standing right behind me and is talking to his buddies, but clearly intending me to hear:

“That’s my drink right there. This is my seat. I put my drink there to save my seat.” So now I’m looking at C like, I know this fool ain’t crazy and I KNOW he ain’t hinting at me moving!!! Now the guy addresses me directly, “That’s my drink.” So I reply, “Oh? Well do you want to get it?” and I move back a little bit so he can reach the glass. His guy pal says something like, “Are you serious, don’t do this. Don’t make her move.” The girl is silent. Dude is STILL standing there and we had a mini stand-off. I was NOT planning on moving. What the fuck, dude? You really think you saved your seat at this bar by putting a napkin over your glass and leaving it unattended for like 20 minutes?!!! What part of the game is that?

C decides that I should just move. “Here, take my seat,” she says. I hesitate. I’m not about to be moved because of this dumb shit. I mean, it’s the principle, right? BUT… my better sense kicks in. This is a networking outing, after all. This woman is an attorney and in charge of an organization that I am trying to get involved in. I do not need to wild out in a gay bar over a bar stool. So I moved.

I am still heated about that shit, yall. In retrospect, it was probably best not to try and rumble with a queen in a gay bar. He looked like he could get an attitude just as quickly as I could. Plus, there’s no telling who had his back in there (no pun intended).

“I’m crooked like the ‘I’ on the toxic malt liquor…”

Peace to Thembi for reminding me about these St. Ides Commercials.

I remember when St. Ides first came out. I was a young girl growing up too fast in NY. St. Ides seemed like that hotness because all the rappers were talking about it. It was like a jazzier forty-ounce for young folks. Those “Special Brews” seemed especially inviting because of the different flavors. Basically, I’ve had a couple. That was oh so many years ago. I hate malt liquor now. Mostly I’m just principally set against it because of the type of advertising that accompanies the beverages. It’s so lopsidedly targeted to people of color and contains a ridiculously high amount of alcohol (8.0-8.2% alcohol by volume,) for the price (around $2). It’s the dollar menu of beer liquor. Ew.

Anywhoo, let’s reflect on some “Crooked I” advertising.

Box O’Wine?

Earlier in the week, my girl asked me if it was pretentious of her to think it was odd that a box of wine was served at a bridal shower she attended. I told her that yes, it is indeed bourgie to turn your nose up at boxed wine, but that I understood. I mean, WHO does that? I asked a couple of questions to figure out the severity of this bourgie no-no: Was the event outdoors? Apparently, boxed wines are good for outdoor events like picnics and the like. No need to carry a corkscrew. No need to worry about disposing of the glass bottle. She said no. Were they trying to serve a lot of people in an economical way? Again, no. Well in that case, why not just get a few bottles? 

I have never, ever had a sip from a box of wine before but I’ve been thinking on this for a little while and did a bit of research. Box wines cost less, keep longer and open easier than your regular glass bottle. They hold more wine than a single bottle, are light and recyclable, are resealable, chill quickly, and won’t break if you drop them. I guess I should probably relax my stance on boxed wines and try out one of the brands below. First, I need to get over my apprehension of even carrying one of those squares up to the freakin’ counter! I’m a DRINKER… I have a reputation to uphold! 

Top 5 boxed wines according to Epicurious.com

Can a sister live?

It’s a fact: Everything good in this world causes cancer.

Today, my boy told me that soy milk is a carcinogen. My response: “everything is a carcinogen.” Still, it pissed me off a little because I hate real milk. Hell, I had some vanilla soy milk in my chai tea last night and it was yummsters! I have to look further into this soy milk – cancer link. For now, let me share with you two more things which will have you signing up for cancer walk-a-thons this year.

Bourgie gets a hangover …

Bourgie goes out for the usual Thursday night romp and overindulges…

Thursday night is usually the night when my friends and I go out looking for alcohol, good music and beautiful people in Philadelphia. We usually end up with two out of three.

Something inside of me told me not to go out. I had a presentation Friday morning and still needed to go over what I was going to say. However, Thursday night was one of the first really beautiful nights, as far as the weather goes, in a very long time. I had to take advantage of it, right? So off I went.

Started out at Bamboo with the Stoli open bar. Had two drinks there. Next, ran into a friend who drove us over to Rittenhouse. Meanwhile, we drank HENNESSY straight from the bottle. It is at this point that I’d like to mention that I hadn’t eaten a thing after some hors d’oeuvres at a 5pm reception (which I kind of crashed, anyway).

Our original plan was to go to Byblos, which is usually pretty hot on a Thurs. night. But upon arrival, we noticed that neighboring Vango had a line halfway down the street. Usually, Vango is filled with Euro-Trash and bangs with house music all night. AKA Vango sucks balls. But this time it looked like something cool might actually be happening there. Luckily, my girl is a supporter of the Fraternal Order of Bouncers & Club Doormen (she just knows everyone) so we had a good feeling we could skip the line. Sure enough, the owner of the joint is out front, sees my girl and is like “everyone has to wait in line… except you of course.” In we go.

Place is packed. PACKED. So my girl uses her FOBCD card to get us into “VIP.” Now, while this may sound utterly un-bourgie of me, I typically hate VIP. It’s always full of assholes who just want to be seen. The fun is with the “common folk” downstairs, ya know? On this particular occasion though, VIP was just where I needed to be to get away from the crowd downstairs AND to get access to the rooftop patio on such a great night. Strangely, VIP was overpopulated by Asian men and women in costumes. Favorite costume? Yup, schoolgirl. SMH

While there, I put back an extra dirty martini and then think “self, you should drink some water.” Unfortunately, that was too little, too late.

To make a long story short, I ended up looking for a cab in Center City at 4am. Had to be up at 7 to get ready and head to school for my presentation. I felt soooooo crappy. As I type this, I still don’t feel 100%. That’s the problem with the All Day Hangover. It’s true to its name. I could barely stand up today so I called into work (which means I sent an email saying I wasn’t coming in). They hate me there, I’m sure. Feeling is mutual, though, so no biggie.

I’ve been laying around all day. No energy. Well, I mustered up some energy to run over to Five Guys with my boy Drew. Nothing is better for an All Day Hangover than a cheeseburger and fries.

So, what have I learned? Well, I learned that I make poor decisions sometimes. I learned that one should not take Henn to the head in unmeasurable amounts after downing unmeasurable amounts of vodka. I learned (for the 800th time) that I ought to eat before boozing. I learned that recovering from Thursday night means Saturday morning in the gym. Finally, I learned that it’s hella hard to catch a cab at 4am in Philadelphia.