I have what you might call a turbulent relationship with tequila. Lately. The Channu-rita. Man. I got problems, and they're blue murder.
I'm feeling something a little more un-challenging this week. This one's simple like Vixen, but not half as hot... I mean you serve it chi... ok, what? I'm four shots deep, and sometimes I just need to snuggle something that ain't too discriminating. I can't have layers?
1/2 ounce orange liqueur
Champagne (pronounce "Moet" or "Dom Perignon" phonetically, please)
a splash of cranberry juice
Put that stuff in a fluted glass. Raise your pinky.
Do *not* smoke these. Weekend: gone.
The beauty of this is that unlike its namesake or my last drink recipe, it's not poisonous. You can put away like 15 and still be good to fly, though probably not good to be pulled over. Key distinction.
Optional: throw in a splash of St. Germain. That one's called the Pamela. The $20 on my nightstand says that's a really important story, but it's all a blur of schoolgirl outf-OK WHOA, just came back. Not talking about that anymore. If anyone needs me I'll be in the rumpus room. Sobbing.