The Drinking Girl’s Guide to Hell: Annual Self-Pity Edition!!


If a single middle-aged woman doesn’t leave her house to take out her trash for three months, does it make a sound?

I’m sure those nosy nellies at the EPA could answer that, if they weren’t so busy fiddling with their respirators.

My point is, winter in a small northern town can be endlessly seamy…er, seemingly endless. The parched Christmas tree slumps dishearteningly over the woodstove. The cats refuse their gumdrops, demanding fresh meat. The floor lamp stops speaking to me. And to top it off, just this morning, as I started out on a quick, undoubtedly fatal trip to Liquor-All, my car screamed and sputtered and broke into pieces in the driveway like a drunken toddler. Sadly, Liquor-All would have to wait.

One could get all whiney about a situation like this, but really, what good would it do, now that 911 has blocked my calls? Just as our ancestors survived with nothing to eat except something questionable in Saran Wrap, so can I. Of course, the question remains: I need wine.

Which brings me to my next point. Those of you who, out of morbid curiosity or acute boredom, have been following my posts no doubt recall that my original goal was to offer simple recipes for one that one could cook for oneself if one were completely alone and without hope — and aren’t we all? Naturally, over the course of time, the witless dinosaurs evolved into my exes, and this blog evolved into a desperate plea for help…. I mean, a collection of cocktails that could be made with little money and even less effort by absolutely anyone with low standards.

Today, I would like to turn back the clock to those heady days of preparing food items and eating them alone on the kitchen floor, a time of innocence when the refrigerator was used for something other than hiding evidence. But don’t worry! We’ll start off with an easy one. I like to call this:

Basic Nourishment for Single Middle-Aged Woman with Alcohol Dependency 


1/3 carton freezer-crystal flavored ice cream
6 or 7 blue-cheese stuffed olives, cheese dislodged and floating in olive juice
2 fingers peanut butter
A couple spoons of dry muesli
Powdered macaroni cheese stirred into yogurt, cause maybe it’ll be like dip?
Top layer of wedding cake from 1986


1. Consume ingredients in any order while staring at smudge on wall where dead mosquito used to be.
2. Drink wine.
3. Weep.

Wow, that was fun! And guess what? We get to do it again tomorrow!! And the day after that! And the day after that. And, actually, every day until we fall into a senseless heap and silently rot while the cats eat our faces off.

Hasta fuego!

Tomorrow: Second Annual Self-Pity Edition!!

The Drinking Girls’ Guide to Hell: SOTU Rebuttal!

Never one to miss an opportunity for a drinking game, even if it involves having to think of something other than myself, I had a lovely morning tuning into a relapse of the president’s speech, which I had forgotten all about until my next-door neighbor got all political and live-telephoned me some thoughts about the state of the mound of used kitty litter in my backyard, to which I say you find a plumber whose insurance company will let him come to my house again and I’ll gladly take my personal grooming back indoors, thank you very much!

My point is, a drinking game is only as good as the amount of liquor that’s being drankened. Here’s one of my favorites.

  1. Choose a few key terms that you think might come up in the speech, and refill your basin of wine whenever they’re said. For example, this morning I chose the terms “the” “but” and “to”. And “and”. But if you’re having trouble coming up with specific words like these, feel free to just use letters. For an extra challenge, use all of them!
  2. What speech?


Now that you’ve done your political duty and are ready to start the day, why not put all those highfalutin words into action and bypass your recalcitrant, do-nothing consciousness with some executive orders of your own? Feel free to give these a try.

  1. I’m sticking to my all-of-the-above energy strategy by ignoring both the gas leak and the handy, solar-friendly roof opening I made during that flaming rum ball incident.
  2. Finish the job on immigration reform so that talented individuals like me can get temporary permission to cross state lines and take part in Liquor-All’s Shots-for-Tots FUNraiser.
  3. It’s time to do away with workplace policies that belong in a Mad Men episode, except for those snazzy bar-carts.
  4. Raise wages for hard-working people with full-time jobs, like me. Ha! Just kidding.

Well, that’s just about when I passed out on the floor… er, turned off the set. Since it’s nearly breakfast time, how about raising our glass to the greatest nation in the country with a patriotic cocktail? This one should make you see stars ‘n stripes!

jello 2

Land of the Free Drinks

Four score and seven years ago, when I became old enough to buy myself a nice bottle of bathtub gin, I realized that my slender income would cover either a steady supply of alcohol or a career in hypochondria — but not both. Bootstrap-puller that I am, I set forth upon this new nation’s happy hours to pilfer as much voluntary liquor as I could find. Along the way, I learned a few tricks, which I share with you now.


Large empty container
Large outerwear
Large underwear
Low expectations
Bad manners


  1. 2:00 pm, distillery tour. After you sample, ask to buy a few cases. Fill your tupperware while cases are being fetched. Leave in a huff when your Diskount-Chopper FLex-piration card is declined. (American value upheld: Justice!)
  2. 4:00 pm, grocery store wine tasting. Once you’ve been to the table a few times and that perky customer service lady starts to look nervous, you’re going to have to get creative. Try drawing a face on your hat and walking in backwards. (American value upheld: Ingenuity!)
  3. 5:00 pm, bar. Steal people’s drinks. (American value upheld: Spunkiness!)
  4. 7:00 pm, neighbors’ recycling bins. Someone must have thrown out some expired NyQuil, right? (American value upheld: Civic responsibility!)
  5. 8:00, home. Maybe you can squeeze some more wine out of last night’s box. (American value upheld: Irrational belief system!)

Sweet dreams, America!

Tomorrow: Deportation — How Likely Is It, Really?

The Drinking Girl’s Guide to Hell: You Say Hospital, I Say Very Bad Place to Have a Hangover


Here’s the first thing you need to know about hospitals: happy hour sucks.

Luckily, the hospital I frequent most frequently is just around the corner from a lovely all-night liquor store that carries a number of screw-top bottles in convenient purse sizes, assuming your purse isn’t one of those puny 13-gallon kitchen trash bags but more of a leaf-n-lawn type.

On my most recent visit, having smuggled my clanking luggage up the escalator to the Fall Risk Department, I set about finding an empty window seat in which to lie back, relax, and ring for the stewardess to bring me my complimentary sedative. As usual, I had to wait and wait while the nurses dealt with all sorts of yelling and hysterics, but once they finally got me to calm down I began to luxuriate in the extravagance of a fresh diaper as waves of sleepiness took hold of me and I…..

Where was I?

Now, the one thing you must know before you check into your local Sisters of Mercy Day Spa is that leaving can be a tricky business. Before they untie those restraints, you’re probably going to have to answer a few questions. Here’s a little practice quiz to get you started:

  1. How much alcohol do you drink in a day? a) some; b) most; c) all.
  2. Do you have any illegal substances in your home? a) yes, my ex’s new girlfriend; b) maybe, she was here a minute ago; c) no, damn worthless “chew-proof” leashes.
  3. If you felt the urge to harm someone you were close to until that night they dumped you for their 22-year-old assistant, leaving you to shovel snow off your roof at 3:00 in the morning drunk and wearing the same stained flannel nightgown you’ve had on for six days, what would you do? a) yes.

How many did you get right?

Unfortunately, coming home from a hospital staycation can be a bummer. Let’s ease the transition into the “working” week with a nice cocktail to remind us of those happy days of morphine pumps, roomy gowns, and free bendy straws.

The Corpse Sedater


Diazepam 10 mg t q4h prn
NyQuil 32 oz po tid
Ethanol 5oo mL IV ad lib
Leftover Christmas candy 750 gr whenever I fucking feel like it


  1. Avoid exposure to sunlight by keeping head under covers at all times.
  2. Do not operate heavy machinery like last time.
  3. Limit contact with the elderly and infirm, because gross!
  4. Refill as needed every 24 hours or as soon as you wake up, whichever comes first.

Get Well Sooner or Later!!!

Tomorrow: Lobotomy for Dummies

The “Race to Cure Crankiness”: My Post-a-Day Journey into Irrelevance

IMG_1115It seems that every time you take your head out from under the covers these days someone is “running to end masochism” or “biking for better hygiene” or whatnot, and raking in the cash. Naturally, one begins to think, why not me? Sadly, that doesn’t seem likely, as I have yet to find anyone willing to make me the beneficiary of their “swim around the planet so some whiney bitch can get a facelift and a decent bottle of single malt” fundraiser.

Well guess what? I’m going to start my own damn fundraiser! And give myself my own damn facelift! Here’s how the first part is going to work: Every day for the next YEAR I am going to write an entry in this, my idiot blog. And when it’s all over, the day after tomorrow, I’m going to pay myself a dollar for every day I succeeded in my challenge!! Which adds up to 2 dollars!! That’s enough for a dollar store knife and a pack of bandaids, which means I’m halfway to my goal!

Please join me in this critical endeavor by reading some of my crap, and together we can make our children just a little bit safer from the trauma of being yelled at by an ill-tempered middle-aged woman with a hangover and a really bad turkey neck.

On behalf of me, I thank you.

Note: All proceeds from this challenge over and above the goal will be donated to the liquor store of my choice, in exchange for liquor.