Vignettes: Alcohol, Travel, and Fruits of Mystery
On Drinking: I am not a drinker. I tend to get angry and grabby and ASPLODE for no damn good reason. I accused a friend once of smelling like dirty lobsters and threatened to brain her with a beer bottle if she didn't back away from me. Another time, I snapped a pool cue over my leg and tried to shank some guy for calling my friend a bitch--the next day, I didn't believe them when they were trying to explain the large bruise on my thigh. Alcohol=RAAAAAAAGE, and I know this, so I try to spare the world further drama.
HOWEVER.
Someone the other day introduced me to some strawberry wine. LET ME TELL YOU--it was fabulous. Almost fizzy, a little sweet, but riding that line of tart/sour that I love. It was the prettiest color, too, which is totes vital. More importantly, I don't know if it's because I was busy contemplating it and drinking super slow or what, but my shit was mellow. I'd like to think it's because strawberries are actually fairy kisses, and fermenting and bottling them increases their magic +4. Which is totally true.
On Travel in Foreign Countries:
Once, during a stay in Paris, some friends and I were going to meet in Rouen to check out the cathedral there and the big woods. Let it be noted that French is NOT one of my strong points, like at all; I'm a Spanish/Italian-speaking sort of girl, and I tend to pronounce things accordingly. Those that know anything about French realize that that is so NOT correct.
Okay. So, we're at the damn train station, shooping up to get our tickets to Rouen, and I realize that neither the girl I'm with nor I speak French above, "How are you?" and "My name is______." It's cool, I tell myself, they probably speak English, or some other lingilly that you have slightly better mastery of.
Oh InnerSelf, why do I ever listen to you?
This is how it goes down:
Mistress: Salut, we need to get to Rouen, please. [Now let me clarify right here--I pronouced "ROUEN" like any other person that speaks English would: "Ruuuuuuuuin."]
Irritated Ticket Man: What? What 'ave you ruined?
Mistress: No, see, I need to GO to Rouen [Ruuuuuuuuuuin].
Slightly More Irritated Ticket Man: You ahr going to ruin something? D:
Mistress: ROUEN [RUUUUUUIN] dammit, the city?
Ticket Man Whose Accent Gets More Outrageous as He Gets Angrier: You ahr going to ruin ze city?! Why ees she for doing zees? D:<
Mistress: JESUS CHRIST, JUST GIVE ME A TICKET, I DON'T EVEN CARE WHERE WE'RE GOING ANYMORE.
[At this point, Traveling Partner Girl calmly slides a napkin to him with "Rouen" scripted ever-so-elegantly on it.]
Pleased Ticket Man: Ah, oui [all French charm and smiles now], WoooWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH, for why you did not say zis?
Mistress: *FACEPALM*
On Trying New Mysterious Fruits: There's a guy in my neighborhood that doesn't speak a lick of English and sells fruits door-to-door. (OLOLOLOL) I have no idea where he gets them from, and I'm probably going to end up contracting Ebola or something, but damn, he's got the best shit ALL the time.
The other day, he brought these things over... Oh man. He called them 'white nectarines' in Spanish, and I have no idea if that's they're real name or not, but GOD, it was like a peach and an apple got together, fucked, and made a fantasticly delicious baby. It was almost pink on the outside, crisp on the inside, and so, so sweet. Wonderful.
He also supplied me with a prickly pear, which I had no idea really existed. It was a little bit like a pomegranate, only kind of textured like watermelon insides. It was also fantastic, except there were some weird seed-things, and the outside was kinda scary. Still very yummy.
And last, but SO not least, he introduced me to green figs. I was not expecting to enjoy them so much. They look like little alien heads or green horse shit on the outside, so I was a little suspicious when I took that first bite. Oh...oh, the insides. It was juicy, but not unmanageable, and rather like a strawberry on sugary, sugary steroids. It was beyond fabulous. If strawberries are fairy kisses, these bad boys just graduated right on up to faerie fellatio. Now if someone could only figure out how to bottle some of it and use it to turn me all mellow. Or induce blind rage, my own private Hyde-juice. Whatevs.
HOWEVER.
Someone the other day introduced me to some strawberry wine. LET ME TELL YOU--it was fabulous. Almost fizzy, a little sweet, but riding that line of tart/sour that I love. It was the prettiest color, too, which is totes vital. More importantly, I don't know if it's because I was busy contemplating it and drinking super slow or what, but my shit was mellow. I'd like to think it's because strawberries are actually fairy kisses, and fermenting and bottling them increases their magic +4. Which is totally true.
On Travel in Foreign Countries:
Once, during a stay in Paris, some friends and I were going to meet in Rouen to check out the cathedral there and the big woods. Let it be noted that French is NOT one of my strong points, like at all; I'm a Spanish/Italian-speaking sort of girl, and I tend to pronounce things accordingly. Those that know anything about French realize that that is so NOT correct.
Okay. So, we're at the damn train station, shooping up to get our tickets to Rouen, and I realize that neither the girl I'm with nor I speak French above, "How are you?" and "My name is______." It's cool, I tell myself, they probably speak English, or some other lingilly that you have slightly better mastery of.
Oh InnerSelf, why do I ever listen to you?
This is how it goes down:
Mistress: Salut, we need to get to Rouen, please. [Now let me clarify right here--I pronouced "ROUEN" like any other person that speaks English would: "Ruuuuuuuuin."]
Irritated Ticket Man: What? What 'ave you ruined?
Mistress: No, see, I need to GO to Rouen [Ruuuuuuuuuuin].
Slightly More Irritated Ticket Man: You ahr going to ruin something? D:
Mistress: ROUEN [RUUUUUUIN] dammit, the city?
Ticket Man Whose Accent Gets More Outrageous as He Gets Angrier: You ahr going to ruin ze city?! Why ees she for doing zees? D:<
Mistress: JESUS CHRIST, JUST GIVE ME A TICKET, I DON'T EVEN CARE WHERE WE'RE GOING ANYMORE.
[At this point, Traveling Partner Girl calmly slides a napkin to him with "Rouen" scripted ever-so-elegantly on it.]
Pleased Ticket Man: Ah, oui [all French charm and smiles now], WoooWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH, for why you did not say zis?
Mistress: *FACEPALM*
On Trying New Mysterious Fruits: There's a guy in my neighborhood that doesn't speak a lick of English and sells fruits door-to-door. (OLOLOLOL) I have no idea where he gets them from, and I'm probably going to end up contracting Ebola or something, but damn, he's got the best shit ALL the time.
The other day, he brought these things over... Oh man. He called them 'white nectarines' in Spanish, and I have no idea if that's they're real name or not, but GOD, it was like a peach and an apple got together, fucked, and made a fantasticly delicious baby. It was almost pink on the outside, crisp on the inside, and so, so sweet. Wonderful.
He also supplied me with a prickly pear, which I had no idea really existed. It was a little bit like a pomegranate, only kind of textured like watermelon insides. It was also fantastic, except there were some weird seed-things, and the outside was kinda scary. Still very yummy.
And last, but SO not least, he introduced me to green figs. I was not expecting to enjoy them so much. They look like little alien heads or green horse shit on the outside, so I was a little suspicious when I took that first bite. Oh...oh, the insides. It was juicy, but not unmanageable, and rather like a strawberry on sugary, sugary steroids. It was beyond fabulous. If strawberries are fairy kisses, these bad boys just graduated right on up to faerie fellatio. Now if someone could only figure out how to bottle some of it and use it to turn me all mellow. Or induce blind rage, my own private Hyde-juice. Whatevs.