You know - I haven't had a drink in two weeks almost. This is suprising considering I was pretty much dumped, had a mini nervous breakdown, and it's the last week of classes and next week is exams.
But since I've done all my term papers for this week now I'm spazzing out because I leave for Hulla Friday - and I look like death warmed over. I need colour in my cheeks by Saturday... gah!
*dies*
I wonder if I can write home saying:
Dear Mum,
Please send me gin and tonic, quickly.
... I wish she would.
I Sooooooo need a drink!
-
TragicPixie
- Mile High Club
- Posts: 831
- Joined: Tue Jan 27, 2004 4:19 am
- Location: St. Louis, MO
- Contact:
I Sooooooo need a drink!
Lie to me, it takes less time to drink you pretty.
-
sara
I have just the thing. Well, not really. Wish I could fix you a gin and tonic, but this will have to do.
Ode to the Bartender
Do you know what it means to be
One button away from the bedroom?
And no I'm not talking about the remote.
It's the top button,
The one under your black bow-tie.
It's that button.
If it comes undone,
We're done for.
Out of the bar -- Into your car -- Down the road -- But not too far.
It's not this drink,
Not that I'm not,
Enjoying it,
And it's not your high-ball either.
You know I prefer the old-fashioned
It's more manly
At its base,
After all, it fits perfectly
In the palm of your hand.
It's not the bourbon,
The brandy,
The white (silver) or gold tequila,
Although I do like the way
The smell hangs heavy
In the air between us.
It's the body and soul reviver.
You know the one,
Guaranteed to soothe the soul
When you awaken from the night before
Shaken not stirred
Strained into,
You got it
A shot glass.
Those orange bitters usually get me.
Peychaud, from New Orleans.
But you're my bar tender,
And it's just not the drinks.
It's the top button.
Si, bottoms up. Bonita
Between the sheets.
It's come undone,
And we're done for.
Ode to the Bartender
Do you know what it means to be
One button away from the bedroom?
And no I'm not talking about the remote.
It's the top button,
The one under your black bow-tie.
It's that button.
If it comes undone,
We're done for.
Out of the bar -- Into your car -- Down the road -- But not too far.
It's not this drink,
Not that I'm not,
Enjoying it,
And it's not your high-ball either.
You know I prefer the old-fashioned
It's more manly
At its base,
After all, it fits perfectly
In the palm of your hand.
It's not the bourbon,
The brandy,
The white (silver) or gold tequila,
Although I do like the way
The smell hangs heavy
In the air between us.
It's the body and soul reviver.
You know the one,
Guaranteed to soothe the soul
When you awaken from the night before
Shaken not stirred
Strained into,
You got it
A shot glass.
Those orange bitters usually get me.
Peychaud, from New Orleans.
But you're my bar tender,
And it's just not the drinks.
It's the top button.
Si, bottoms up. Bonita
Between the sheets.
It's come undone,
And we're done for.