Well I feel like SUCH an ass. I love bloody marys almost more than life itself. If someone said, “Do you choose a conflict free life with no natural disasters and Adrian Grenier as your lover, or this delicious spicy bloody mary?”, I’d be incapacitated for like, 30 min at least, deciding. Ultimately I’d like to think I’d choose a life free of tidal waves and tornadoes, but I really can’t be sure. That’s how deep my love for bloody marys goes.
Nothing else compliments Huevos rancheros (my new obsession) like the bloody mary. It’s warm and comforting and has frickin FOOD (OK, celery) in it. I love any drink with food involved. Martinis are really just an excuse to eat 17 olives without judgement from my peers. And, let’s be real, sangria is really just Manischewitz poured atop a fruit salad. Think about it.
So, considering my appreciation for all things bloody and most things mary, it’s kinda unacceptable that I missed the drink’s 75th birthday yesterday! WTF?! There was even a celebration in Times Square at 11:30 a.m., RIGHT around the corner from my office, and I was all, “Oh no, I prefer to do work. You all enjoy your wonderful cocktails. Leave me to my Outlook.”
I once saw a birthday card with a baby’s bare butt on the front, and the inside said, “Sorry I’m a little behind. Happy Birthday!” I wish I had that card right now. Although maybe it’s a little absurd to buy a greeting card for a drink. Or is it?
