Tag Archives: Baileys Irish Cream

Best. Sentence. Ever. (Again.)

26 May

blog image baileys

Today’s sentence is brought to you by Cameron, age 16.

Let’s say you have a boy.  Let’s also suppose that The Boy and his friends, including Cameron, have a band.

And finally, to keep it interesting, let us also put forth the proposition that the band will practice at your house every Friday night regardless of whether you have a headache, want to practice silent meditation or need to surf the couch in your tattered pajamas while drinking Bailey’s Irish Cream and eating Kellogg’s Rice Krispies even though it’s still kind of light out and now you’re no longer drinking the Bailey’s and eating the cereal but are, rather, pouring the Bailey’s over the cereal and eating it all with a soup spoon.  But I digress.  (Which is what happens when I eat Bailey’s.)

Eventually, the band is going take a break.  Not because their heads are pounding from making all that “music”- my stars, doesn’t anyone cover a nice Sam Cooke song anymore?  Why cant the band be in a sad mood tonight?  Or any night.  No, the band stops because they are hungry.  (Again, sad moods have been proven to reduce appetites but, alas, this band is delirious.)

Which brings us to Cameron’s question: “What’s for food?”

And, really, Cameron, this is America.  The question you should be asking is “what isn’t food?”

From a flavor-blasted Goldfish to a Dunkaccino* beverage to a genetically modified vegetable that can self reproduce then gather up a bunch of its buddies to outnumber and kill us all, we are a nation that will eat just about anything as long as there is melted cheese or Bailey’s Irish Cream on it.  I’m speaking from personal experience here (especially after 10PM or following a Paul Rudd movie).

So with a wave of my wand (not really- it was more like a quick snap! crackle! and pop!) followed by three clicks of my heels (or I may have just purchased three pairs of pumps from Zappos.  It’s hard to tell; things also get blurry when I eat Bailey’s), I answered Cameron’s question and “fed” the band.  (PS: I hope it’s the shoes.)

* Second-best sentence ever: INGREDIENTS: Water, Dunkaccino Powder {Sugar, Creamer [Partially Hydrogenated Coconut Oil, Corn Syrup Solids, Sodium Caseinate (a milk derivative), Dipotassium Phosphate, Sugar, Mono and Diglycerides, Sodium Silicoaluminate, Sodium Stearoyl Lactylate, Soy Lecithin, Artificial Flavors, Annatto and Tumeric (Color)], Sweet Cream Powder [Pasteurized Sweet Cream, Skim Milk Solids, Soybean Oil, Corn Syrup Solids, Sodium Caseinate (a milk derivative), Mono and Diglycerides, Soy Lecithin], Natural and Artificial Flavor, Instant Coffee, Sweet Dairy Whey, Cocoa processed with alkali, Nonfat Dry Milk, Cellulose Gum, Salt, Silicon Dioxide}.

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Happy Anniversary, Fresh Air and Sarcasm!

12 Jul

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Well, it’s been two years or as my publicist would say: “FA&S enters third year of earth-moving, world-changing, mind-altering goodness!”

Side note: my publicist leans toward hyperbole.

Side side note: until recently, The Boy pronounced it “hyper-bowl.”  Like a trophy match for the most caffeinated kid.

Additional side note: I have no publicist.

Still, more than 115 published bits of sarcasm and, despite our efforts, we have yet to be sued by: David Sedaris, Dave Barry, Oprah Winfrey, David Lee Roth, Wolf Blitzer, my mother, Hellman’s Mayonnaise, Rand McNally, Alex Trebek, Lance Armstrong, Donald Trump, Judd Apatow, David Lynch, Karl Marx, Adam Sandler, Tom Arnold, The Drifters, Bono, Dire Straits, Priceline.com, Dane Cook, my mother, Taylor Swift, New Zealand, Nabisco, Bailey’s Irish Cream, a Kardashian, James Sacket, Cliff Bars, Eminem, Janeane Garafalo, yoga, Entenmann’s, Cyndi Lauper, Vitamix, The Girl Scouts of America, Santa or my mother.

That’s an impressive list which, to me, says two things: either everybody loves FA&S or everybody really likes FA&S and the love will eventually follow.  In the cases of Tom Arnold and David Lee Roth, however, I think that if they had the money, a lawsuit would only help revive their- oh, how I am loath to use this word here- careers.

Notice that I am eager to use the expression “I am loath” because, really, how often does one get the opportunity to actually be loath?  Answer: infrequently.  (Additional answers include: extraordinarily, only just, sporadically, seldom and, for our Spanish readers, rara vez because, really, how often does one get to use those words either?)

And words, after all, are the reason we are here.

I don’t mean that words are the reason that we, as a species, are here.  (Yea, right.  Millions of years ago caveman says to cavewoman: “go fix me a dirty martini” and BAM! three more of those later, a species is created.  PS: the martini was dirty due to early cave hygiene practices.)

What I mean is that we (okay, you) have read thus far because of something in the words (it’s either sarcasm dust or bits of organic compost imported from Oprah’s new hobby farm) and I thank you for your loyalty.  Sincerely.

But not too sincerely.  That would be wrong.

Only 220 Days Until December

25 Apr

My mother is one of the few people I know who still uses checks and I’m guessing that what keeps her coming back is the “check memo.”  Without that space, she would be denied the opportunity to indicate, in writing, why she has sent me one check, per year, on or about the same day, each year, since I moved out.  It’s kind of like an annual celebration of something significant.  (Hint: “Birthday Gift.”)

Things have gotten crazier since I birthed the boy, though; now mom has to remember two birthdays in December so you can see how that memo line becomes even more critical.

My mother-in-law has found a way to eliminate any confusion: she sends the boy a savings bond for his birthday.

Which stinks if you’re him.  Instant gratification delayed is instant gratification denied (so why even bother with the word “instant?”)  Having money for a new guitar but not really having money for a new guitar because you loaned it to the government for an unspecified period stinks even more.

Nothing creates a cynical, anti-government teen faster than a Series EE savings bond preventing you from becoming the next Stevie Ray Vaughn.

Getting a savings bond for your birthday is like being one of my brother’s kids at Christmas: you unwrap a shiny, new Hess truck which is then immediately placed on a shelf with the other Hess trucks.

I know that my brother and his wife believe that those collectible trucks (brand new, still in box) are the kids’ college funds but they’re wrong: a bursar will not accept Hess trucks (regardless of condition).  At least no bursar I’ve known.  (I think I just wanted to use the word “bursar.”)

The best plan for my niece and nephew is to bust open those Christmas trucks and have at it.  At least then they will have interesting college application essays like: “The Day I Lived out of the Box,” or “Hess Trucks are Awesome, Who Knew?  Not Dad.”

And then, maybe someday when they’re grown, their cool aunt will send them checks with encouraging thoughts written right on the memo like: “English Majors Rock! (Please check with the bank before you cash this),” or “I told your parents to let you play with those trucks now stop scaring the cat” and the holidays can be fun again.  Until then, there’s Baileys.

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