That time I almost stole a kayak in Poland.

Version 2

Ok, I might be exaggerating slightly. But not much, actually. I really did almost steal a kayak. The only thing that held us back was the lack of an oar, and therefore no way to steer ourselves down the adjacent river.

So I suppose the next step in this story is to give you some context. Because you’re probably just thinking I’m some asshole who tries to steal people’s kayaks, but I promise you it’s not like that. (Ok, it’s only sort of like that.) Also, I just switched from “I” to “us” in the previous paragraph without warning, and I swear it’s because there were other people involved, and not because I think of myself in the plural. We’re not that crazy.

ANYWAY. A few weeks ago, I went to Poland for work. As many of you know by now, this usually means I go to a foreign country and I spend a LOT of hours in a field watching people play ultimate frisbee and/or selling apparel to said ultimate frisbee players. And then, once us frisbee people leave the fields, weird things happen. Because that’s how we roll. Also, we’ve all gone insane from spending 12 hours a day in a fucking field, and we don’t know how to properly behave in the real world.

And so, on this particular Saturday night, we got into all sorts of shenanigans. The tournament had ended earlier that afternoon, so all the staff were finally done and allowed to actually let loose and enjoy themselves. So that night, it was time to go. And I mean, “let’s fucking GO” level go.

First, I should begin by saying that the crew involved consisted of 4 Brits, 2 Canadians, and myself. We all work in the ultimate frisbee world, in some capacity. So by default, we’re all a bit weird, and totally 100% awesome.

The night started with champagne. Actually, I think we had hard cider first. But then champagne. And then we went out for a very late, incredibly magnificent dinner which involved a very large beer, and then more wine. (And holy shit so much food. Pretty sure the Canadian dude ate 3 entrees because he is apparently a human garbage disposal. I mean that in the best, and most impressed, way.)

And THEN we went to this insane beach bar along the river, which also happened to be right next to the zoo. As we walked through the forest on the way to the bar, we kept passing ridiculous graffiti showing zoo animals who were apparently going into space. I promise you I’m not lying. The images were very upsetting, just look:

IMG_0471I don’t know what this octopus did to deserve being sent into space against its will, but it made me sad.

I was fascinated by the graffiti, as was this British guy Jon. We were so enthralled by the crazy space animals, in fact, that the two of quickly lagged behind the rest of the group. We stopped to marvel at them and took several selfies. And then we lost everyone.

So when we found a beach bar, we assumed we were in the right place. So we bought a beer, and then looked around and realized that there were definitely no frisbee people there. And I think everyone thought we were insane because we wouldn’t stop talking about the “crazy bird” and the “space octopus.” I only hoped that everyone there assumed these were our code names and that we were really awesome special agents. (I’m certain this is what they thought. There’s no other explanation for our behavior.)

We already had a beer in hand, so we figured we would drink it and then continue onwards to find the group. And frankly I don’t remember if we kept walking, or if frisbee people just appeared out of nowhere, because suddenly we were in the right place and everyone we knew was there too. It all seemed to happen rather magically.

We ordered more beers and then spent some time sitting on a very funky piece of architecture that I believe Jon referred to as a “geometric orgasm.” I wish I had a photo of it, but I don’t. It was pretty cool, though. His description was fairly accurate, to say the least.

And that’s when we saw the kayaks.

So here’s a little thing about me: when I get drunk, I like to do things that a) I probably wouldn’t want to do while sober and b) seem WAY more fun than they actually are. So at that particular moment, I was inexplicably excited about sitting in a kayak. Actually, I think I was more excited about the prospect of going down the river in said kayak, but getting into it was step one.

Fortunately, Jon (who I had only just met) turned out to be as ridiculous as I am, so he was as excited about this idea as I was. So we went to the kayaks. And we crawled into one. And I think we sat there for a good hour, with the very serious intention of actually taking the kayak down the river, but lamenting the fact that we didn’t have an oar. Pretty sure someone was hiding the oars from us, probably because whoever owns the bar is very smart and knows that stupid drunk people will otherwise try to steal their kayaks. (We totally would have stolen that kayak. Totally.)

IMG_0499This is a terrible photo, but it proves the existence of the kayaks and us being in them.

Eventually we got out of the kayak, because sitting in a non-stolen kayak and doing nothing gets pretty boring after a while. But then we were hanging out on the floating dock next to the kayaks, and the Canadians thought it would be funny to untie the floating dock from the thing it was attached to. While Jon and I were on it.

So for a brief moment, a new idea came to be: Let’s take this raft down the river!

IMG_0500Our Tom Sawyer & Huck Finn rafting adventure begins! (Except not.)

We very quickly realized that was a terrible idea and we would probably die, but fortunately there was still one tiny chain keeping us attached to the mainland. (Without which, we were totally fucked, actually. Because, if you can’t tell from the photo, there was no way off the raft at that particular moment.)

But then, as Jon attempted to pull us back using that tiny chain, it snapped. I was completely unaware of this fact, but he began to panic and kept telling me to “Jump! Hurry, jump to the other dock!” while I kept saying “Dude, chill out, you’re overreacting.” Because I just thought he was being a sissy. But apparently, for a brief moment, we almost actually floated away down the river. Which would have been exciting, but then I probably wouldn’t be around to tell you this story, so I’m kind of glad that didn’t happen.

And of course, in the midst of all of this chaos, we continued to drink beer. In fact, despite the fact that we’d just had a near-death experience*, we managed to continue drinking for several hours. And then a wedding party showed up after their reception, which apparently had been at the zoo. We thought a zoo reception was pretty cool, until this guy kept yelling “DO YOU KNOW HOW SCARY IT IS TO BE IN A ZOO AFTER DARK?! THERE ARE BEARS EVERYWHERE.”

It was about this point that I realized I was far too drunk and tired to be having a conversation with someone who has severe bear-phobia and is still suffering PTSD from his nighttime zoo experience. (Frankly, I think he’s an idiot, because I would LOVE to be in a zoo at night. That sounds fucking dope. You could pretend to be a jungle explorer. You could practice your night vision. YOU COULD STEAL A MARMOSET.)

(I promise I wouldn’t actually steal a marmoset. I barely know how to care for myself, let alone a small monkey.)

So, after many failed attempts at conversation with the terrified-of-bears man, we decided to leave. And before we even managed to make it out of the park, the sun was rising.

Leaving a bar at sunrise? That’s some college-level party shit right there. I haven’t done that in years. Mad props to the crazy British/Canadian crew for partying like rockstars.

I am so proud.


*Ok, we didn’t actually have a near-death experience. But it could have been a near-death experience if we had floated away. We just didn’t try hard enough.


[Next time: When in Ireland…]

I really should put things here more often.

IMG_0145Urban beach party! This shit was the jam.

Well, here we are again. Months ago, I recounted the harrowing tale of my new life in Amsterdam. At this point, I’ve forgotten all about that crap. But at the time, it sucked. A whole fucking lot. (Ok, so I haven’t forgotten. The world and particularly the absurd Dutch bureaucracy spent many months telling me to pack up and go back to America. It was infuriating. I might still be a little bit angry.)

BUT. The point is, it’s over now. And guess what? THINGS ARE SO MUCH BETTER! In fact, I feel like I can basically live my life now and the Dutch government isn’t trying to make each day a living hell anymore! So that’s nice. (I’m not being sarcastic. It really is nice!)

But the REAL point is, I’ve been doing so many things and I haven’t written about any of them! It’s a total disaster. (Not the doing things part, just the failing to record it part.) I guess that’s what happens when you live a fast-paced, crazy, completely unreasonable lifestyle.

(I’ve gotta say, I really never expected to be living this kind of life. It’s a bit mad, really. But I love it, so who’s complaining?)

But here’s the kicker: there are two sides to every story. There’s the “my life is insane!” story (in a good way). On this side are some of the absurd things I’ve done over the past many months, such as:

  • Sledding down the side of a mountain in Switzerland while slightly tispy
  • Pouring honey rum into someone’s mouth from the top of a human pyramid 4m tall
  • Watching my father get hilariously hammered at a Gin Festival
  • Climbing on the roof of a building while very intoxicated against the advice of pretty much everybody
  • Drunkenly running around naked in a children’s playground in a London suburb at 3am
  • Falling off my bike while inebriated. Doing it again a month later.

(If you hadn’t noticed, I like synonyms. But also, I promise I’m not always drunk.)

But, you see, there’s also another side to this story. There are all the very sober, very real “my life is insane!” moments that seem to scare the shit out of my non-insane friends. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard “Um, you seriously need a vacation” or “WTF are you doing with your life?” or “You’re doing WAY more than one might consider normal” or the horrified stares I get when I say my next weekend at home isn’t for 2 months.

And to all those people, here’s what I have to say: you are right. This is totally unsustainable. I’m addicted to having a completely unreasonable schedule and I don’t know how to stop!

IMG_0029This is my “I am trying to be normal” face. Convincing, right?

But with all the bad comes the good, right? And lately, it feels like the good has been even better and more fun, so I don’t exactly want to stop, despite the fact that I am highly aware I might just drop dead from stress at any moment. But it’s worth it, damnit! #livingontheedge

[Cue: wine. I am drinking it now. Because why should I start being reasonable NOW? That would just be absurd.]

So, instead of listening to all the reasonable people in my life, I am doing EVERYTHING and loving it. Who needs sanity anyway? ALSO, I’ve realized I have a backlog of half-written posts about some of the aforementioned adventures, which I am planning to finish right now. Because, why not? Also, wine.

Get ready. The deluge is coming. And this time, I’m not fucking around.*

*She said for the millionth time.


[Next time, on Christina’s totally unreasonable adventures: I’m about to spend a week in Belgium! Let’s see how much trouble I can get into there.]

[Drunk Baking] Adorable Apple Cake

On Sunday afternoon, I got drunk and made an apple cake. It also happened to be super adorable. Here is the story of how the adorable apple cake came to be.

October 5th. The Un-Live Blog.

3:22pm – Open a beer. Drink it. Gotta warm up your drinking muscles and relax your cooking muscles. #science

3:46pm – Open beer #2. Time to start cooking!

4:01pm – Spend far too long cutting apples. Blegh.

4:02pm – Drink a bunch of beer.

4:07pm – Quick clean up. Drink more beer because you’re too sober. Restrain yourself from eating the apples that are now coated in sugar and lemon juice.


4:17pm – Halfway through beating the batter. Arms are tired. Need more beer.

4:21pm – Seriously, why are you drinking your beer so slowly?

4:28pm – Finish beating batter. Lick the beaters. Chase with beer.

4:29pm – Dance break!

4:35pm – Beat those eggs whites! Listen to “Beat It” as you do so.


4:42pm – OMG this cake is going to be amazing.


4:45pm – In the oven! Eat remaining batter off the spoon. Finish beer.

4:49pm – Beer #3!

4:50pm – Dance break.

4:55pm – Dishes break.

4:58pm – Dishes are done!

5:00pm – Cake smells amazing. Still 20 minutes to wait. TORTURE.

5:01pm – Distract yourself by doing something else in the kitchen.

5:05pm – Successfully quarter an acorn squash. This has nothing to do with cake. Also, it only took 4 minutes. DAMNIT.


5:07pm – Continue drinking beer and dancing around the living room.

5:12pm – OMG HOW HAS IT ONLY BEEN 5 MINUTES. I am too impatient right now. I blame the beer.

5:13pm – Drink beer. Again. Because what else are you going to do?

5:17pm – 2 MINUTES LEFT.


5:20pm – Shit, no it’s not. DAMNIT.

5:20pm – Set timer for 5 more minutes. Glumly drink more beer.

5:21pm – Beer is awesome!

5:26pm – THE CAKE IS DONE. Look how adorable it is!

Photo on 2014-10-05 at 17.36 #5

5:27pm – Allow cake to cool. Try to figure out how to edit a video. Fail completely. Drink more beer.

5:35pm – ROOMMATE IS HOME! Yay! Now I can actually do something productive with that acorn squash…

[At this point, hours pass. I do, in fact, cook the acorn squash. My roomie and I also make salmon and kale. We be fancy. We eat dinner. I drink about half a bottle of wine. The drunkenness continues. Dinner is delicious. And then cake-time continues.]

8:49pm – CAKE. (Suddenly I have remembered that cake happened earlier.)

8:50pm – Make honey glaze for cake.

8:51pm – Honey glaze is done! (Yeah, it’s basically just slightly-warmed honey. Whatevs.)

8:52pm – Glaze cake.

8:53pm – THIS CAKE IS BEAUTIFUL.IMG_20141005_210914

8:48pm – My roommate and I then proceed to devour said cake. And by devour I mean we each have a small slice that we eat very delicately with a fork. Because we are classy like that. (I mean, we just had salmon + squash + kale for dinner. We be classy folk here in Seattle.)

Ok, I’m pretty drunk. Umm. Yep.

OH. Right. Recipe. If you want it, I stole it from Smitten Kitchen. Cuz she’s pretty much the best. You can find it here!

And now I have no more to say. Happy Sunday!

Los Angeles: That time I got my cousin so wine drunk she passed out in front of the whole family

[This is Part 1 of the Series Where I Catch You Up on My Drinking Doings Since December.]

So between Christmas and January 10th, I actually traveled to L.A. twice. It’s a little disheartening, considering how much I dislike that place.

But I think this latest set of trips may have given L.A. a bit of an upgrade in my book.

The first of my recent L.A. visits was for a family Christmas, the second was for a beach ultimate frisbee tournament. You might guess that the latter was a more fun and shenanigan-filled trip, but you would be wrong.

Family Christmas is the best thing that has ever happened. EVER.

(Reminder: I use an unnecessary amount of hyperbole when I’m drunk. And yes, I’m a little drunk right now. So shush.)

This year, for the first time in 15 YEARS (<–that is actually true), my entire dad’s side of the family got together. The last time ALL of us were together at the same time was my grandfather’s funeral in 1997. And at that time, my cousins and I were far too young to consume alcohol or have any manners. (For example: My cousin Ron tried to get us all to go to Six Flags. During the funeral weekend. This is how young/immature/unaware we were.)

So anyway. This Christmas was a big deal. Family. Togetherness. The whole family in the same place at the same time! It was going to be magical.

And of course, I went into the trip with just one important mission: Get my cousin Evangeline really, REALLY drunk.

You are probably wondering why this was my goal. No, it’s not because I don’t like her. And it’s not because I was trying to prove I am a better drinker than she is (because, in fact, I am not).

No. I wanted to get Evangeline drunk as payback. Sweet, sweet payback for the time she got me so drunk I nearly missed my cousin Ron’s wedding ceremony because I couldn’t stop vomiting. (Fun fact: I made it through the ceremony! But then I missed the reception. Dammit, E.)

This drunk-getting plan was made all the easier by my goofy father, who doesn’t really like people, especially family. Because of this, he planned a variety of “activities” for us to do so we wouldn’t have to actually hang out together in my Aunt’s house all week. And one of those activities was wine tasting.

My plan was unfolding perfectly.

The night before we went wine tasting we went to a birthday party for my cousin’s wife’s younger brothers. They were turning 25. We drank a fair amount at that party. I mean, we drank as if we weren’t about to drink for the entire next day. Because why should I censor myself?

The next morning, I managed to wake up feeling pretty peachy, while Evangeline spent most of the car ride to Temecula, CA trying to get rid of her hangover. In fact, she took it so easy at the first few wineries that I was mildly concerned that my plan might totally fail.

But fear not. The day wore on and the wine drinking continued. Now I’m not trying to say I wasn’t drunk (I was). And I’m not trying to say that I didn’t make a fool of myself (I did). And I’m not trying to say that I didn’t run back into a nearly-closed winery to buy two bottles of Cabernet Franc because it was the best wine ever and I held up the whole car but who the fuck cares. (Yes, I did do that.)

What I AM trying to say, however, is that Evangeline was far drunker than I was. She was so drunk, in fact, that she somehow managed to sprawl across the entire backseat (she was sitting in the middle) and completely pass out on me and my mother.

When we got back to my Aunt’s house, I assumed she would wake up. But she didn’t. Like, she just would not wake up. So we got some photos. You know, for posterity’s sake.

DSCN2997(Her older brother Ron took this photo. I wish I could replicate the glee on his face. It was amazing.)

My mother managed to extricate herself from under Evangeline’s legs, and I eventually managed to escape the car myself, and then we had a comatose cousin in the back seat. My mother objected to leaving her there, so we managed to wake her up and get her inside, where more hilarity ensued. I don’t even think I remember what she even said, but she was black-out drunk for the rest of the night and has no recollection of any of it. And considering the entire family was laughing at her, it’s no wonder she got so defensive and hilarious. It’s also probably for the best that she doesn’t remember any of this. I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed that hard at someone else’s expense. It was incredible.

Now, before you go thinking I’m a horrible person, consider this: I will forever be remembered as the cousin who vomited 2 minutes before her cousin’s wedding in order to barely drag myself through the 20-minute beach ceremony without vomiting again. I will forever be the cousin who missed the reception. And sure, Evangeline may have been blamed slightly for my state, but I was still the one who missed the party.

And now Evangeline will be remembered as the cousin who passed out after wine tasting and then drunkenly tried to defend herself afterwards. And sure, we all laughed. But it’s a family story we’ll never forget, and hell, we love her all the more for it.


P.S. Dear cousins, if you are reading this, much love to you all. And sorry if I hyperbolized too much, but hey, I’m drunk and this is my blog anyway. xoxo

BACON! (or: how to win at life)

Drinking should always be a top priority. Before I even unpacked my groceries, I had opened my wine. That, friends, is commitment.

The wine I chose was a Syrah from Columbia Valley. It was a gorgeous deep purple color. Almost black, even. Thick and opaque like obsidian, with a beautiful translucent ring of violet right at the surface. It was lush and velvety. So velvety, in fact, that I nearly downed my entire first glass without realizing it. So smooooooth.

One glass of wine in seems like a prime time to commit to making some food. Wait any longer, and you may forget to eat. Start too early, and you may forget to enjoy yourself. It’s important to have balance in your life.

And so I moved on to making some food.

And by that I mean BACON.

There I was, in the grocery store. I had just returned from a business trip that morning (6am flight) and had struggled through as much of the day at the office as I could muster. I got home around 4pm and nearly resigned myself to eating whatever crappy/old food I had in my fridge before I decided that, goddamnit, I have EARNED a delicious meal.

And so I went shopping.

And I bought bacon.

It seemed only right.

With a second glass of wine in front of me, I tenderly wrapped some boneless chicken thighs in strips of bacon. I nestled them in a pan together and seasoned them well. I slid the pan into the oven with care, and almost decided to say “fuck it” to the kale I bought.

But then I drank another glass of wine and decided, in my pre-drunk state of heightened awareness, that greens are healthy and I should eat them. Again, balance. It’s important.

So I made kale while bacon-chicken smells wafted through my apartment. I felt like I was absorbing the smells with my body, causing me to relax and feel content. (I had also had half a bottle of red wine. This may have contributed to my relaxed state of being. Whatever.)

After what seemed only a brief period of time punctuated by much wine-drinking, the chicken thighs were done.


Bacon. Chicken. Together. It was as if a beautiful love story was unfolding in my kitchen. Finally, after years of being apart, the bacon and chicken finally reunited. They were perfect for one another. Such chemistry. Such compassion.

I nearly shed a tear for them.

But instead, I proceeded to drown myself in more wine and attack the thighs viciously as if I hadn’t been fed in days.

Commitment. Am I right?

No. I’m just a savage.

To be fair, I ate with utensils and not my fingers. Also I ate kale!

So maybe I’m not totally a savage.

Also I’m drunk and can’t figure out how to end this post, so here is a photo I stole of some chicken wrapped in bacon:




[Next time, on Christina’s Drunk Adventures: WINTER BEER. Oh yes. Oh yes yes yes.]

That time I got drunk (again) and baked some things (again).

Well, friends. I did it again. Drunk baking. My favorite pastime!

And this time, it got real drunk.

A few weeks ago, I decided to make one of the most involved recipes on the planet. Like, holy cow. It’s pretty unnecessary how involved this recipe was. As such, since I knew I would be devoting most of my afternoon to the project, I decided to get really drunk.

Oh, and I succeeded. Obviously.

This time, I also did something else new and exciting. I attempted to make a podcast. It didn’t go so well. I got too drunk and disorganized to handle my shit, so it turned into two hours of me rambling, making messes, dropping shit, burning myself, and laughing uncontrollably.

Here’s how it all went down.

The recipe: Pumpkin Pie Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting

First, I made pie crust. Nothing too complicated.

Then I made miniature pumpkin pies. Adorable, but still not particularly complicated.


But then I was halfway through a bottle of wine and things started to get weird.

I managed to make the cupcake batter, but once the first batch was in the oven I sort of lost my shit and this happened:


Yeah. It was bad. Even worse considering I took that photo of myself. Yikes.

Despite this, I somehow managed to make it to the grocery store and back before the first batch was done!


But then the podcast seriously went south. I couldn’t stop laughing, and I nearly destroyed my kitchen trying to get the second batch in the oven. I had drunk over 75% of the bottle of wine on an empty stomach and shit was getting weird. I ended up sitting on my floor while the second batch was baking and just eating batter out of the bowl.


Yes. I ate all of the leftover batter. ALL OF IT.

Thank goodness I managed to stay coherent enough to pull the cupcakes out of the oven at the right time. Because immediately afterwards, I passed out for about an hour. When I awoke, I knew I needed to feed myself something solid, so I made myself a bunch of pasta and (of course) finished the wine.

By that point I was so drunk and exhausted that I simply gave up on making frosting and decided to leave it for the next day.

On the upside, although the podcast was an utter failure (even hours of editing couldn’t make it worth listening to), some of the outtakes seemed worth saving. And so, dear friends, here is a sampling of what happens when I get really drunk and try to make cupcakes:

Happy Thanksgiving!

A list of “sometimes” things.

Sometimes Sunday is the best day for drinking.

Sometimes one glass of wine makes you tipsy because you forgot to eat all day.

Sometimes you get drunk before dinner.

Sometimes you make stir-fry while drunk.

Sometimes you forget how to cut carrots.

Sometimes you’re drunk and you eat all the mushrooms before you cook them.

Sometimes you have to look at the recipe 4 times because you have drunk ADD.

Sometimes you tell yourself you’re only going to have half a bottle of wine tonight, but then you’re already two glasses in before dinner is ready.

Sometimes you think, “That’s cool, I can just have one more glass,” and then you laugh because that is totally ridiculous, why would you ever do that?

Sometimes you dance around your kitchen and then forget you’re cooking and then freak out because shit is burning.

Sometimes it’s not even 7pm and you’ve had nearly half a bottle of wine.

Sometimes your dinner is ready but all you want to do is have a dance party.

Sometimes you can’t remember whether it’s “your” or “you’re”.

Sometimes you manage to eat your dinner, but then you’re really drunk so you feel like dancing, so then you dance.

Sometimes you actually do your dishes, but in the process you feel like you’ve earned more wine, so you do that too.

Sometimes you’re on your 5th glass of wine and it’s Sunday night.


Sometimes you don’t care.

Sometimes you think, “I’m young and reckless!”

Sometimes you think it’s stupid to think those things.

Sometimes you think that’s why society thinks your generation is a bunch of lazy bums.

Sometimes you think society sucks.

Sometimes you dance around your living room to feel better.

Sometimes it works.

Sometimes you drink more wine.

Sometimes Sundays are super awesome.

Summer: If you’re not drinking outside, you’re doing it wrong

First, dear readers, I must warn you all that I am drunk. Hooray wine!

Second, tonight I made myself lamb chops. If any of you out there wish to seduce me at any point in the future, making me lamb chops is a good way to start. Figured I’d throw you all a bone on that one.

(Sorry if that was wildly inappropriate, but as I mentioned previously, WINE.)

Third, last weekend was really freaking awesome. You know why? Because I spent much of it outdoors and much of it drinking. And that’s really what summer is all about: drinking outdoors.

On Friday night I went to this super cool event at Gasworks Park called “Clips of Faith.” Hosted by New Belgium brewery, the event is basically a short-film screening (featuring 18 different short films made by New Belgium drinkers) and a beer festival (featuring 16 different New Belgium beers) all in one. And it was wonderful!


I sat outside in the grass.

I watched some awesome short films.

And I drank some limited-release/collaboration New Belgium beers.


I think I win that round. (If you’re not playing the “drinking outside in summertime” game you should get on it pronto.)

[Note: I was just about to start my next awesome weekend story, but then I finished my wine and had to get a refill. So consider this a “commercial break.” Blah blah blah WINE IS FULL OF ANTIOXIDENTS YOU SHOULD DRINK MORE OF IT blah blah blah]

And now back to your regularly scheduled programming…

Saturday was pretty chill. I walked to Lake Washington, dipped my toes in the lake, sat in the sun, walked lots, ogled lots of puppies, and then headed home for what was supposed to be a quiet evening…

But THEN my friend texted to ask if I wanted to go out and get drinks, and I said yes (duh, I have a reputation to uphold). And I ended up right in the midst of Capitol Hill, where the Capitol Hill Block Party (a pretty sweet music festival) was just wrapping up. And so I wandered in through the sloppy, drunken crowd and spent an evening at the bars drinking, dancing, and debaucher-ing. Until 3am. Woop!

The best part of this whole experience was the part where I met up with a friend of mine whose other friend happened to have a spare ticket to the festival on Sunday. HOW LUCKY FOR ME.


So I woke up Sunday exhausted and hungover, made myself a wonderful breakfast of biscuits and gravy, pretended to be an adult by going to the Farmer’s Market, and then dragged my ass over to the Block Party.

We spent the afternoon in a pretty great state of “chill,” wherein we absorbed some lovely music, ate some food, drank some beers, and really just enjoyed ourselves. And then we went and saw The Flaming Lips.

And I was afraid.

Because this happened.


It probably doesn’t look that terrifying to you, but to me (and I swear, I was SOBER when this happened) it looked like thousands upon thousands of BATS being unleashed from the stage and it was fucking ridiculous.


Also there were flames.

And bright lights.

And lots of scary shit.

Basically, I’m really REALLY glad I wasn’t on some sort of hallucinogenic drugs (or high in any way) because I might have had a heart attack.

So…ok. I’m going to be honest here. I was going to make some big point about drinking/being outside/drinking outside in the summertime, but I think I’m too drunk to be coherent at this point. And I just spent the last few paragraphs talking about bats and fear.

So, regardless of whether this segue makes sense or not, you should drink outside in the summertime! There is really no other way to do it. If you fail to do any outdoor drinking this summer, well, you’re doing it wrong.


Next time, on Christina’s drinking adventures: hopefully I will be more sober and can be coherent.

Also, I used the word “segue” even though I’m drunk! I am SO COOL right now.

Drink #6: Mulled Wine

Now this, this is a beverage that is truly “holidays only.” I mean, when else would you drink mulled wine? (Perhaps this is me projecting, but I really only drink mulled wine at the holidays…)

At any rate, there isn’t much to say about this drink. It’s warming, it’s tasty, and it’s pretty straightforward. Some cheap red wine (but I beg you, NOT Carlo), mulling spices, a splash of sweet vermouth, and a big pot on the stove turned to low for about 40 minutes. And voila! You’ve got yourself some mulled wine. Great for a dinner party. Or just a party. Or just for yourself! (You know, if you roll that way. I certainly do.)

But here’s the catch: In general, I’m very much a “DIY” and “made from scratch” kind of gal in the kitchen. I will never advise you to buy a pie crust. Make your own goddamn crust. I will never advise you to buy pre-made burgers. Make your own damn burgers. You have two hands, so you can do it yourself.

But I WILL advise you to NOT make your own mulling spices. Buy them. Buy them from the store. And here’s why: Making your own mulling spices sounds like a really cool thing to do. But unless you have tons of disposable income (in which case, do as you wish), it’s not worth the cost. For about $4 you can buy a packet of mulling spices that will make one GIANT pot of mulled wine, or several smaller ones. To buy the spices that you would need to make it on your own would cost at least $25. Yes, you could use them again and again, but let’s be honest. How often do you make mulled wine? Those spices (whole cloves, allspice pods, cardamom pods, cinnamon sticks, orange peels) are really only useful for that and for very few other things.

So, to the point, mulled wine is delicious! And if you buy mulling spices from the store, it is one of the cheapest party beverages you can make. And that’s always a good thing.

Drink #8: Cabernet Sauvignon

Again, not your average “holiday” beverage. But hear me out.

For me, Cabernet Sauvignon evokes the holidays because of what you pair with it. A good Cab is meant to be drunk with hearty meals, red meats, and flavorful spices. And what does my family eat at the holidays? DUCK.

Duck is Cabernet Sauvignon’s best friend. (I sound like a total snob. Forgive me. Or don’t, your call. But once you’ve tried this combination, you’ll understand what I mean.)

Yes, I have had a good Cabernet in April, even September. But it is certainly not a warm-weather drink, and since I only eat duck at Christmas…well, there you have it.

I could go on naming some of my favorites, but I have a feeling you’ve stopped reading by now. So enjoy this lovely photograph and look forward to a much less “bourgeois” post tomorrow. (It’s so good, in fact, that I might have to post it in the AM…)


P.S. If that wasn’t enough of a hint, you’ve probably never lived with me. *coughKBcough*