Okay, let me first admit that I’m kind of cheating here. Oh I was handed another one of these Style Awards by my beloved Sarah over at Sara In Le Petit Village, http://www.sarainlepetitvillage.com/ a couple weeks ago, which was very sweet and looking at the title of this post, makes me wonder if her living in that tiny village has fucked with her English comprehension but, well I’m so gonna use this to slip in an easy post while I’m on deadline for The Wine Country’s newsletter. So if “Stylish” is short for lazy mother f’er, then yes, yes I do have me some style. Loads of it.
Each time I’m given one of these deals I pretty much break the rules. You are to offer up a number of secrets, (fuck, do I still have any of those?!) and then ask or tag however many other bloggers to do the same. Well, this would be the lamest game of tag ever if I were to play by the rules. You know that “odd” little kid on your block that used to run around in circles, by themselves, because no one wanted to play with them? Yeah, that would be me if I went around tagging the likes of Charlie Olken, STEVE!, John Kelly or the late great HoseMaster of Wine. Those cats would just watch me running around in circles, huffing and so out of breath that little snot bubbles would form at my nostrils as I yell out, “You’re it!!” and as much as a couple of them care for me, well they still wouldn’t play. It is a bit of a chick’s game and although I’ve heard that the HoseMaster looks fierce in hot pants and chunky wedges, well let’s just say girls have cooties on this one. And I’m not putting myself through that whole, “Hey guys? Where’d you go?!” trauma…again. I’m grown goddamn it and I can break the rules if I want. That being said, thank you Sara. It was very sweet of you to, “Pick me! Pick me!” and I was, as always, very flattered.
Seven Things You Might Not Know…although you probably do.
One: I Don’t Do Guts
I don’t care how uncouth or closed minded. I’ve tried, I really have, everything from foie gras to sautéed chicken livers, even the fatty, (gagging…I’m actually gagging) little globules of sweet breads and I loathe them all. I’m very much a texture person and I find that “meat” texturally unsound, squishy even and the flavor, oh how my fancy pants gourmet friends are going to hate this, the flavor is truly vile to me. I’ve been at many a table chewing, or squishing those filter bits around in my mouth, desperately trying to swallow only to be faced with two options, either spit the offensive glob into my napkin, (always a tough decision when at the kind of place that serves that kind of “delicacy” as the fucking napkins are cloth and not the paper kind I can wad up and chuck into my bag) or try to tuck it into my cheek, without gagging, and excuse myself to the ladies room where I can hork it into a tissue and do with it as God intended, flush it. People have tried hiding them in dishes to trick me and you can tell by the look on my face, “Oh shit, Sam found the kidney” the second my teeth pierce it. Gross. Might make me less fancy, (as if that were even possible) but it’s true.
Two: I Once Farted In Line At A Store
And blamed my son. “Jeremy! Are you poopy?!” yeah I did it. In my defense, I had eaten curry and then walked the mile to the store which made everything percolate and I had held it as long as I could. Kids give us plenty of shit so this time I blamed my offensive stank on his.
Three: I Think Prosecco Is Stupid
Okay there, I said it. As the sparkling wine buyer for the store I taste and stock several but as far as me taking some home to drink, aint happening. I know it is not meant to be serious wine, it is to sip on and be easy to drink, I get it….just don’t like it and would much rather drink bubbles from Alsace, Burgundy, Limoux or honestly, I would rather spend that $15.00 on something still that will have a better chance of pleasing me. This is where all the Prosecco lovers/defenders will chime in with things like, “Well for the money” or “If you were in Venice and they handed you a glass”. The “for the money” comment was just answered, would rather pass on bubbles and drink something still and for the, “If you were in Venice” deal….well hows about you take me and we find out? Until then, well like I said, I think it’s stupid.
Four: My Husband Is The Worst Dancer…Ever
Didn’t say they all had to be about me.
Five: I Never Feel Sexy Or Attractive Unless
I’m in my kitchen. Never got or believed people that make absurd comments about the way I look or any of those proclamations about me being sexy or whatever. It’s all utter nonsense to me but when I’m in my tiny kitchen, music in the background or purring through my headphones, the cutting board thick, sturdy and at the ready, the swish of my knife through celery, carrots, herbs, onions, meats and cheeses? Smelling, hearing, feeling, watching a dish come to life…created with my bare hands and desire, well I feel down-right sexy and powerful in those moments. Even more so when I watch my creation being devoured. Such a chick…
Six: My Favorite Way To Drink Champagne Is Alone
I know this flies in the face of all the verbiage about how wine is best served with others to enjoy it. I do believe that…most of the time and I do love sharing Champagne with others but, well when I can make that cork whisper, watch the sexy little mist slither from the opening, pour a deep glass of truly thrilling Champagne, just for me, fucking hot as hell. Something about the sheer indulgence, about knowing there are three or four more glasses for me and me alone because I’ve busted my ass all week, been buried up to my eyebrows in work or family, or simply because I want it….kinda gets me off that.
Seven: I Have Lady Gaga On My Ipod
(Dave Matthews, please turn off your Google Alert) It’s one song! I couldn’t believe it when I saw that the song I had been turning up to blistering volumes in my car, the slightly country, slightly bluesy song that I could listen to over and over again was in fact one from one of my most abhorred “artists”. I was stunned but am woman enough to admit it….am thanking my lucky stars there aren’t more of you reading right about now. Cannot end on Gaga so let’s go a couple more.
Eight: I Have A Mad Crush On One Of My Sales Reps
Now this has happened to me maybe twice in my fifteen years at The Wine Country. Just not a big crusher for the most part, that and I am a strong believer of not dipping your pen in the company ink…..even though I don’t have a “pen” per se and I had a long term relationship with someone at my last job, but other than that I stick hard and firm on that whole business. But this one, this one is wrecking me. Very cool, funky clothes, amazing palate, the kind of wines that you want to spend hours with, funny, descriptions that conjure up imagines that are nearly perfectly describing what is in the glass and….and she brings me presents! Yeah, that’s right, I’ve got a hetero girl crush on my Kermit Lynch sales rep. This chick is simply badass and I dread it when she has to leave. We share very similar palates and relish in turning each other on, (go ahead and picture pigtails and porn music here) to wicked cool wines. Hell the woman has even made me bitters and jarred cherries that were all boozy and fucking delicious. This last visit she brought me one of my other secret loves, a bottle of somewhat rare and stunningly complex, and delicious Fino Sherry from Valdespino, La Bota de Fino. Simply the most amazing Fino I have ever had and I keep nursing the damn thing, not wanting to finish it…as if knowing that my girl crush gifted bottle in the fridge is there, just sitting there waiting, I can change a shitty day into a sumptuous one. Got’s it bad for sure….
Nine: Although My Looks And Language Might Be Severe
I’m actually a giant softy. The giant part I’m sure you could tell but the squishy, tearing up during cartoon movies, the puddling when I get a hug from my wee neighbors or someone says something truly sweet to me….well not sure everyone knew about that.
Gonna end with nine. Just to break the rules even more, I mean, who stops at nine?! And because I need to get my chunky, softy, Sherry loving ass to work! Thank you again for the Style Award Sara, you are simply the sweetest!