Saturday, 11 June 2011

Top 10 Sexy Cokctails

These Cokctails (missplet with an intent) are good real good...

1. Orgasm
There are a couple of variations of the Orgasm (Screaming - with Galliano, and Multiple - with Strawberry Liqueur), all of which give you a cheeky thrill when ordering at a bar. A definite favourite.
What's in it? One part each Cointreau and Baileys. Shake and pour over ice in a short glass (you can also omit the ice and layer in a shot glass).

2. C**k Sucking Cowboy
Leaning towards downright dirty, the C**k Sucking Cowboy is among the more lewdly-named cocktails. Modesty often has this warm little shot abbreviated to just 'Cowboy'. A good party starter.
What's in it? Two parts butterscotch Schnapps, one part Baileys. Layer in a shot glass.

3. Menage a Trois
This homage to all things French is an alluring invention. Best ordered in a seriously swanky bar while decked out in your sexy best, the Menage a Trois is oh so tres magnifique!
What's in it? Half part each Monin Triple Lime liqueur, Cointreau, Champagne. Chill and strain liqueurs into a flute glass, top with Champagne.

4. Sex on the Beach
Here's a cheeky and fruity little baby that's probably a whole lot more satisfying than the actual act of its name. Minus the grit, it's a good one to order while on holiday … on a tropical island … in beach-side bar.
What's in it? Two parts each Midori and pineapple juice, one part each Vodka and Strawberry Liqueur, dash of grenadine, ice. Blend and serve in a standard cocktail glass.

5. Long (Sloe) Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall
Sloe or Slow depending if you're using the sloe berry-infused gin or just regular gin, this classic's name is a very fitting one. Close your eyes after one, maybe two, of these and you may actually need that wall.
What's in it? One part each Southern Comfort and Vodka, half part each Galliano and (Sloe) Gin, four parts orange juice, ice. Build in a tall glass.

6. Slippery Nipple
This sweet little nip is among the most luscious of lip ticklers you'll find on a cocktail menu. Swap white Sambuca for black and you've got the equally titillating Black Nipple.
What's in it? One part each white Sambuca and Baileys. Layer in a shot glass.

7. Wet Spot
This concoction won the Sydney Cocktail Championships in 1993 and was created by Tracy Phelan of the Rooty Hill RSL. Rooty Hill … funny, eh! But seriously, what you've got here is a rich and sweet little reward.
What's in it? One part each Midori, Apple Juice, cream and passionfruit pulp, half part Frangelio, ice. Shake and strain all but pulp. Serve in a standard cocktail glass with pulp floated on top.

8. Between the Sheets
A stiff Brandy fires up most people's disposition - mix it with a couple of pals close by on the top shelf and you've got something that will really get your amorous side going.
What's in it? One part each Brandy, Bacardi and Cointreau, half part lemon. Shake and serve in a standard cocktail glass.

9. Blue Negligee
If you don't actually own a blue negligee before having this cocktail, you may be inspired to go out and by one. It'll then become your standard uniform for any revisits to this delicious little number.
What's in it? One part each Green Chartreuse, Parfait Amour, Ouzo, ice. Stir and stain into a standard cocktail glass.

10. Bosom Caresser
Could this cocktail be a girl's best friend? Sweet and warm this drink lights a fire in all the right places and is more intimate than a night in with Johnny Depp, or maybe George Clooney … well, maybe not.
What's in it? One part Brandy, half part orange Curacao, an egg yolk, dash of grenadine, ice. Shake and strain into a standard cocktail glass.

Wednesday, 1 September 2010

There was a time not too long ago, when he was in love, and in a dream, a dream now in a vapor of air mixed with the essence of camphor and raunchy stench of excreta made famous by an organ only arguably seconded by the brain. He was lying , not by choice, well there was never a better liar, but he lay there all battered more by morals than by the men who chose to take him on. Kevin knew that his life was all but leaving him as he heard the sirens of the ambulances and the heavy breaths of the paramedics on his lips. At least they had the courtesy to chew gum....

Five weeks ago the Bank of Schrimartz on the west bank of the Thames was just another high street branch, neglected , lowdown and predictably slow. Forgotten by the Lords who laid the very foundation stone and the decadent society that surrounded it. The Thames, makes it way through some of the most enviable sands in the world, and though it is the the Thames that glorifies these lands, some believe they had. Families that owned the lands along this great river

Questions & Answers

Its about time I started writing more, while I was tempted to pen in a few of my favorite recipes instead the chance to punt at love and it nuances is more interesting.
So I wrote a poem instead:

I come with questions , but all questions need not be answered,
I come again with them, unanswered they remain cancered,
Malignant as they are, some still remain despite your carefully thought answers,
Only your love,your memoriy is the cure, and in that I believe,
No questions remain, no answers sought after for a mile,
Just be the reason for my smile

Friday, 12 February 2010

If it only it were true

I wokeup to the dream thinking to my self, "if it only it were true". Dreaming is for the few they say, many dream (barring the occasional nightmares) , and for some it is all about making their dream come true. Never do we ponder whether that dream was ever meant to be true. Just a thought, not an attempt to demotivate those from pursuing them... to their obvious doom.

Unfortunately there is no way of knowing unless one pursues the dream. And nothing excited me more than pursuing this one.

Off my bed, its a fresh start to a day where one expects it to be better than the previous one and ironically dependent on how the the previous day went. A smile trying to push past the past , I pushed on to the next hour that involved my usual rigmarole of taking the slow lift down my rundown apartment. I was embroiled in thoughts that ran from a pending grocery list to what the odds might be for the mare called Lazy Luck at the 3:30 race. I was confused and troubled, the dream bothered me no end, she (not Lazy Luck) was honking profusely as I fumbled my way into her car. She and her new car were in my dream too. All too real. Besides the painful honking at the passing herd of cows, well it was a dream not a freaking nightmare. I knew her from my days as a young-I-Love-You, but had lost her along the way. Why ?, I have no clue.Does not matter, and not the mainline of the story, after 11 years of living different lives we were together, a brand new start. Or so I thought.

No more story, she fucked me :p,

Sunday, 1 November 2009

The Photographer

The last picture he took was of her smile, of her lips, that had endured the burden of his,for a while now.

Widening with every blink , her lips rose , rose and fell.He kissed her,He felt it stop, between his lips, her life, for once he had kept his promise.Walking away with a tear in his eye, and a smile on his face,he had, his last photograph.

I saw him lying next this story, I had to read this, before I called in the police and eventually the morgue. He called himself The Photographer. A reason that intrigued me as he bore no semblance of a person whose life was spent behind the lights of glamour and the depths of a dark room.

PS: Sadly,This story will remain incomplete as the wind blew those letters away

Monday, 19 October 2009

The wind, re'wind'

Kicking you into this ... which is otherwise one bore , watered down story of love

It was morning, not the like the one I was used to , not associated with the usual rota of brushing teeth and a visit to the shower. It was going to be much more difficult this time,her smell refused to leave me, the soap suds tried to wash away the raw aroma of her flesh, but they failed, miserably. She lay across my bed , the one we had shared for years, now, with new red satin sheets, reminiscent of the scent of red that was made famous by her.

The scent that had deserted and haunted me for years, was it back for good ? I do not know, but for whatever it offered in this meaningless life I was leading , she did bring that spark that if neglected, would burn me. And for once, I did not mind the burn, not one bit , it only fuelled a desire of being together again with one you had lost years ago, an opportunity to curb your ego and your raw desire to really stand up and say, this is who I am. And I want you to know who I am ( "Iris", as made famous by the Goo Goo Dolls. Dolls ? What were they thinking, Guns, was fine, but Dolls ?).

Every sense and every part of me ached under the shower, knowing what I had known, and that if she ever came back I would go through this exact moment, a state of indecisiveness and driven by a past (aka flashback). Mine would be a short flashback, a short period I had with her, so long ago, but still I identify my life as AH (After Her) and BH (Before Her) .
(PS: I am going to TM this, LOL)

Back to my flashback, which I classified as hot water that had abandoned me just when I turned my broad back to it. Why is that you miss the best things in life when you have your back turned to it ? Could not relate to anything better.The airport was bustling with its usual demeanour of trying to hide a pot-pourri of joy of those lost souls meeting and the heart break of those leaving. Some indifferent to all this, waiting for a chance to get on to flight for a meeting that they really cared a damn about. The corporate world, got to make a separate fight pattern for them. Mingling with us lowly mortals, it corrupts the sounds of silence, the joy of belonging, the pain of waiting for a loved one , or watching them disappear behind the security gates. For me it was a moment that I truly believe is an epitome in my existence, for I was waiting for someone who was the absolute diva. Rising, from otherwise a decaying sense,I saw her.

It was for a moment (an entire lifetime could be written to dedicate that moment) eclipsed by the heads and searching eyes other passengers , that I saw her and I saw her and I saw her, redundant words, but I saw her. I saw her in her Lee jeans and Levis top crumpled with the arduous journey that preceded what her itinerary that now held for her nothing but, excitement, intimacy, wonder, exploration and some elite surprises meeting someone whose life she had changed forever. But if nothing lasts forever what's the word forever for ?

She looked so beautiful, sculpted by time, that had left its mark in a way that only poets can describe and I am not one. And I smiled, a silent smile, lest should she hear me hidden behind the bunch of roses and those those tall pillars the Airport. Would she recognise me after all these years ? Would her eyes search for me as if waiting for a loved one or that of a distraught passenger waiting for her tour operator to show up. The cars song played in my ears 'Who's gonna drive her home tonight ?

Were those eyes longing for her lover or the tour operator ? Sach Ka Saamna...

I had done my waiting , as Adonis , four months with Persephone, four with Aphrodite, and it was my last four months with LOVE. And she, to my otherwise cocked up feeling, smiled, in a world gone silent, bellowed , "Get them red heads to me you son of a....". And I said to myself screw Shakespeare....Love is simple and red.... and as raw as she was... and hopefully this time forever (50 years is fine, screw "forever") would last....

Someone Somewhere