cocktail hour. or hours.

things got a little weird friday at work.

[as can be seen below in the previous post]

we were tired. we were annoyed. we were frustrated. we just wanted it all.to.end.

from the next office, screaming began. and it went a little something like this:

“MARCY, GO MAKE US DRINKS ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !”

um, okay.

never one to disobey a hostile & somewhat threatening direct order, i skipperdee’d on into the kitchen and made this:

but let me explain something to you. i am not a bartender. i can make anything that requires 2 ingredients like, say, rum&coke, vodka&tonic, gin&juice (insert snoop dogg here), et cetera.

but when it comes to things fancy or frilly (or basically anything i don’t drink regularly or ever), then all bets are off.

and if it involves a martini glass (which falls under the fancy and frilly category because, frankly, i think martini glasses are silly and unnecessary and make me feel like i’m walking on eggshells around my cocktail – which defeats the purpose of the cocktail altogether), then forget it. i’m gonna throw a whole bunch of stuff together, shake the hell out of it, and make it look pretty with a visually pleasing but entirely useless garnish.

in this case, it rocked our weary-minded worlds. i don’t really know what all is in it, but i should have paid attention and named it. someone would have paid 17-bucks for one of these suckers in the city. maybe more.

about 6 minutes into happy hour, there was more shouting . . . “TAKE PICTURES OF OMAR ! ! ! !”

okay. but who is omar??

“THE GUY FIXING THE PATIO ! ! ! ! QUICK TAKE PICTURES ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !”

and now i have about 30 pictures on my phone that look exactly like this:

sweet.