Friday, October 19, 2007

Hurricane Trouble

* 1.5 ounces light rum
* 1.5 ounces dark rum
* 1 ounce orange juice
* 1 ounce fresh lime juice
* 1/4 cup passion fruit juice
* 1 teaspoon superfine sugar
* 1 teaspoon grenadine
* Cherries with stems, and orange slice to garnish
* Ice cubes
Let me tell you something about this cocktail: It is my kryptonite. Probably a significant number of other people recall the lure ("Refreshing!" "Fruity!") and the stealthy way the rum sneaks up behind you, whistling distractedly, and konks you over the head precisely when you think, "What's all the hubbub with this drink? It's yummy. I don't need no stinking limits!"

Gin=Sick, like Ebola Sick
Whiskey=New, Unwanted Friends
Shots=You Doing Unbelievably Stupid Things

I've only been falling-down-gibberish-blather drunk a handful of times in my life, mostly because alcohol was always readily available to me at home. There was no mystique, really, so I didn't have that "Girls Gone Wild" college experience with booze. Oh, and I had a 21 fake ID when I was 15 and went out clubbing with my sisters. Seeing adults behaving badly was an excellent deterrent.

Guess what I drank those handful of slobbering idiot times? Hurricanes.

One time, on my birthday, I had a luau party. This was a challenge because my birthday is in March, the snowiest month in Denver. There was indeed a blizzard, but my friends rallied and wore their coconut bras, grass skirts and aloha shirts under their parkas. The bar owners were absolutely charmed by us, and announced a drink special in my honor. Hurricanes for $2! Whee!

So I woke up the next morning in a strange bed, next to a strange person, naked, and oh yes: my very best thong hanging limply on the ceiling fan. This is where I point out that (minus rum-based tropical cocktails) I am not one of those girls. Nope, not. I'm a serial monogamist and abjectly terrified of one night stands.

So you'd think I would learn, eh? Well, Superfly and I went to a new karaoke place, and the regular gang was all there. The server tells us it's Ladies Night and Hurricanes are $2. I'll bet the Hawaiian girls are cursing me right now for talking them into it. Supey correctly predicted the outcome, of course. I am hungover like a sumbitch and have no memory of driving home and going to bed.

Forget roofies, guys. If you want that girl retarded and naked, buy them a few Hurricanes!

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Blogger LisaBinDaCity said...

Hurricanes are MAJOR trouble. I have some very vivid, (sorta,) memories in New Orleans to prove it ;-)

7:38 AM  
Blogger Absinthe said...

The last outdoor music festival I attended (which was in New Orleans, btw) was sponsored by Southern Comfort. We kept ordering hurricanes in those giNORMously long container tubes that drag the ground when you walk. I saw the Beastie Boys do a legendary show (plus they are the 3 men I first considered marrying at age 10), and really only remember screaming out the lyrics to "Hold it Now, Hit it" at the top of my lungs. And I'm pretty sure they didn't do that song.
There was also a scuffle involving me, a random frat guy, and a rent-a-cop. No idea how it ended.
Hurricanes are from the devil himself.

9:45 PM  

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