The other day, Adriene accused me of drinking a lot. We compared notes, and she realized that I talk about alcohol way more than I drink it. [My drinking days are largely left as hazy college memories. Ahhh ... good times.] I haven’t had a beer since I was in Portland a couple weeks ago, and that was a pretty rare occasion. Every third or fourth Tuesday, I’ll get really hacked at something going on with work and pick up a six- or 12-pack of Yuengling on my way to The Granades’, where it largely is consumed by people not named me. [I won't point any fingers, but his name starts with a pirate's favorite letter and ends in ick.
]
But tonight, the Granades, Kings, and Creekmores, May anniversaries all, went out for dinner, so I was unable to crack open a beer while watching Veronica Mars. Instead, I came home, talked to the folks, puttered around a while, went and got dinner around nine, and came home to fix the foofiest thing I’ve had since I made Impeachement Punch back in college: a glass of OJ with a healthy shot of peach schnapps.
No, tonight was not a whiskey night, despite having a good bottle of Jameson in the house.
You may find yourself asking, What was in Impeachment Punch? Good question. Anthony and I devised it while sitting in the student section at a hockey game one night…
- One part amaretto
- Two parts peach schnapps
- One part peppermint schnapps
- One part sour mix
- Four parts orange juice
If feeling particularly evil, add:
- Three parts vodka
- One part triple sec
Mixed well, the first part of Impeachment Punch tastes largely like orange juice [although slightly minty and slightly cherry]; when throwing a never-to-be-forgotten party at Club Todder—ahhh, the mere mention of that phrase brings back memories—I joked about treating it like a screwdriver. Todd wordlessly handed me the vodka and waited for me to pour in a liberal amount before handing me the triple sec. We just laughed. The girls? They loved it.
[I think the funniest part of that night was the next morning, putting on my T-shirt before getting up to work on cleaning up the house. My white T-shirt reeked of beer. I was confused, because I didn't spill a drop. I then realized why: I had sweated the aromatics out.]
Right now, my parents are reading this and thinking: “Wow, we’re glad he didn’t write about this much in college. We would have been very worried.”
Right now, Todd is reading this and thinking, “That drink is pussy!”
Right now, Anthony, the One-Beer Wonderboy, is no longer reading this, having passed out at the mere mention of Impeachment Punch. Lightweight.