Bleeding Mimosa

 

I drink more champagne than the average bear, so it is not uncommon for people to ask me for unique cocktail recipes featuring my favorite beverage.  The weird thing is I really don’t have many because I like my champagne straight (sometimes out of the bottle). 

There are rare occasions when I will partake in a Mimosa, but very light on the OJ.   I like to tell the bartender, “Make it the color of sunshine.”

When I started The Champagne Diaries, I thought it might be #totesadorbs to feature fun champagne cocktails from time to time to keep with the theme of the blog.  I have searched high and low and have only located one so far that I would choose over plain bubbly:  The Bleeding Mimosa.  It looks relatively easy and is also pretty.  Bonus points if you find an ice cube tray with fun shapes.

The Recipe:

2 lb blood oranges, juiced

Champagne

1.       Pour blood orange juice into ice cube trays.

2.       Place in freezer until frozen, at least 6 hours.

3.       Fill champagne flutes with blood orange ice cubes, fill with champagne.

Here’s where I become Negative Nancy.  Although I would absolutely love to encounter this beverage at a brunch or bridal shower someday, the likelihood of me whipping this up in my own kitchen for myself or anyone else is non-existent for the following reasons:

1.        I have no idea what a blood orange is.

2.       If I located the blood orange, I would not make the effort to squeeze it into ice cube trays.

3.       If I had to wait 6 hours for the juice to freeze into cubes, the champagne would be gone by then. 

That being said, there are clearly many  ways to modify this recipe.  You could freeze regular OJ out of the carton or if you’re feeling especially creative, you could make grapefruit juice cubes.

If you do know what a blood orange is, have the patience to squeeze it and wait for it to freeze, I am always available for parties.

Reset Button

The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was pray to God.  I asked him to please reset me like one would an iPhone.  Things are out of control and it’s time to start over.  I wish I had a little button somewhere on me that I could hold down for 10 seconds and just reboot.

I’m cranky for several reasons:

1.  Laundry is so much work.  When we got married, Mike and I struck a deal that we would be responsible for our own laundry.  He is much more diligent than I am at this task.  When Dylan came along, I assumed the role of her laundress.  This was not a huge deal until she developed “opinions” about her clothes and will only wear 25% of her wardrobe.  This morning, she came into talk to me as I was getting ready, put her hands on her hips and said, “You think it’s about time you did some laundry?”  Why is my four year old tough talking me about housework?  Who is the mother here?  Why won’t she wear the cute dress with the whale on it?  Why does she want to dress like a character out of Monster High?  Is she going to be Goth?

 

2.        I’m living out of a suitcase.  I really need to get better at this travel thing.  My goal is to have little pouches of necessities that are pre-packed and restocked when supplies are low.  I’m talking about toiletries, Advil, Tums, iPhone charger and granola bars.  What I have is a green North Face backpack with headphones and an old Chapstick.  Each time I pack, I have to put so much effort into trying to remember all of these little things.  I’m constantly laying in a random hotel room with heartburn and no relief; worrying about whether or not my phone has enough battery to last me through the night so I can make it to the store to buy yet another charger to add to my collection.

 

3.       WTF did summer go?  Did I miss something?  I don’t have a summer glow and I didn’t eat nearly enough watermelon.  My beach vacation seems like it was a year ago.  This is definitely all my fault. 

 

4.       PMS.  Totally beyond my control but a contributing factor.

 

It has been a rainy Labor Day weekend and we all have a little cabin fever.  Rather than use this time constructively and finish the proposal I need to write for work, I have been drinking champagne and perusing Pinterest for Fall outfit inspiration.  Dylan has busied herself eating popsicles and practicing her letters and Mike has been paddle boarding in the rain.

Even though I’m not going back to school tomorrow, I am hoping to use this change of season as my restart button.  It’s time to stop being such a crab.  There are new clothes to buy, books to read and things to learn.  There are pumpkin patches to visit and Halloween costumes to make.  There are football games to watch and friends to see at tailgate parties.  And of course, there is champagne to drink.

The sun is peeking out from the clouds and we are going to enjoy our last day of summer on the boat.  Tonight I will hit my restart button before I go to bed.  The laundry will remain but my approach will be different.  Dylan’s back to school wardrobe will consist entirely of clothes that are her style, not mine.  When I travel to Philadelphia tomorrow, I will be prepared with snacks and Q-Tips.  And there will be a smile on my face.

Heavy Bones

I’m so fat I put mayonnaise on Tylenol.  I’m so fat my blood type is Ragu.  I’m so fat I eat Wheat Thicks.  You get the idea.  It is so fun getting fat but not fun being fat.  For one thing, you need twice as much sunscreen.  And pants and shorts are pretty much out of the question.  I like sundresses as much as the next girl, but enough is enough.

About two weeks ago, I was laying sloth-like in bed for what seemed like an eternity.  I was physically and mentally exhausted and, if I’m being honest, had a touch of the champagne flu.  Not my finest moment.  But as they say, from the ashes rises the Phoenix.

After catching up with the Kardashians and saying Yes to the Dress, I landed on an infomercial designed to motivate people like me—P90x3.  For 30 minutes, I was mesmerized by before and after photos, stories of triumph and hot bodies.  Needless to say, I was not feeling like a hottie still clad in jammies at noon on a Saturday.

Hmmmm…just 30 minutes a day for 90 days and I could be hot too?  After a quick calculation, I realized there are roughly 90 days until my 37^th birthday.   We could have something here.  I rolled over, grabbed my iPad and placed the order.

A huge part of the program is keeping track of your progress.  Before and after photos are a must.  In the depths of my closet, I located a black string bikini that has not seen the light of day since my last name was Holt.

Once dressed, I took a look in the mirror.  I looked like a tick with a farmers tan.  I called Mike in the bedroom to begin the ‘before” photo shoot. 

“You don’t look that bad,” were his words of encouragement.  Sadly, I was actually touched.  He took the photos and I made him swear that nobody would ever see them unless my progress was so amazing that I could use them to brag about how far I had come.

We had big plans to get up each day at 6 am and work out.  We are one week into the program and this is what has happened so far:

Monday:  Alarm went off and we did not wake up.  Ended up working out after work.

Tuesday: Same as above

Wednesday:  Success!  We got up in time to work out!

Thursday:  It was raining and too hard to get out of bed.  Evening work out.

Friday:  Mike was out of town but I completed morning workout.  I'm AWESOME!

Saturday:  Not yet but thinking about it.

84 days to go!  I’m really sore but happy I’m at least doing something.  It seems as though it takes way more time and effort to take off what you put on.  I miss the days when I had a kick ass metabolism and didn’t have to constantly worry about what I was putting in my body.  It’s amazing how you can change and not even notice it.  The other day I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw a big fat head.  How did my head get fat too?

I’m going to stay committed to this for the entire 90 days and see how far it gets me.  Even if I lose only five or ten pounds it’s worth it.  The availability of diet champagne would make this so much easier.

Brave Girls Club

About a year ago, I signed up for an email service on a Web site called The Brave Girls Club. Each morning, I wake up to an inspirational email that basically tells me I'm amazing, I'm productive and I need to take care of myself. More often than not, these emails hone in on exactly what I need to hear on any given day.

I felt that this morning's email was exceptionally poignant and I wanted to share it with all of you. If you want to sign up for the emails, you can do that here.




Dear Irreplaceable Girl,

Today is a great day to redefine what it means to be productive. Right now is the perfect time to redefine what is a meaningful accomplishment in your life.

Being a woman is tough work. Some days it may seem like you don't get anything done at all, when really you are making so many small and large strides towards everything that is good.

Just like plants and bulbs and seeds that seem like they are stagnant and stuck over the winter . . . the reality is that they have been doing the important work of readying themselves for the oncoming spring. It may LOOK like they suddenly sprout out of the ground, but they are only suddenly SHOWING all of the work and preparation and growth that has been going on for months and months.

You are phenomenal. Give yourself a break. Today, celebrate the silent, sometimes unseen steps that you are making every day of your life.

You are so loved.
xoxo

Happy Ending

It’s been a rough week.  Upon my return from a week-long sojourn to the Greenbrier (America’s Resort—not the rehab facility), my four year old Dylan caught a really nasty strep infection. 

Sunday, I was lounging poolside with a glass of champagne following a strenuous 18 holes on Old White.   

Monday, I was covered in vomit, delivering endless popsicles and ordering Barbie movies On Demand. 

Life is funny like that.

By Thursday night, I was physically and mentally exhausted.  When my husband Mike came home from work, I informed him that I was going down to Golden Fingers—the best kept secret in Pittsburgh.  I’m a huge fan of getting massages and this place is THE BEST.  For 68 dollars, you get an hour.  I will admit it is a little weird at first, but you get used to it. 

For one thing, they do kind of a “wet willy” in your ears with oil.  They also take those oily hands and run them through your hair during a scalp massage, so it’s best to not go after a fresh blowout.  Other than that, it’s perfect.

Thursday’s massage was something special.  The technician was applying the right amount of pressure, the music was soothing and the temperature of the room was sublime.  I could feel all of my tension melting away and I had achieved complete and total relaxation, which is not an easy feat these days. 

As a started to daydream, I realized that she had worked her way down my body and was now about five millimeters away from my butthole.  Talk about a dilemma.  Was this some sort of “happy ending” for the female clientele?  Do I say something or just go with it?

While I contemplated my next move, she started to concentrate on my hamstring and I couldn’t stop laughing.  Had I really just thought that was going to happen?

The rest of the massage was business as usual until the conclusion where she tapped me on the shoulder and said “OK Missy, get your clothes on.  I’m finished.” 

Missy?  Twenty minutes ago we were butt buddies and now I am just a “Missy” to you?

Regardless, I drove home feeling relaxed and ready to slip back into my Florence Nightingale role.  When I walked in the door, Dylan was patiently waiting as her Dad tried in vain to locate Barbie movies.  They both looked relieved to see me.

As we settled in for the night, Dylan watching Charm School and Mike and I browsing idly on our iPads, I turned my attention on debating whether or not I should buy red Hunter boots to emulate an outfit I saw on Pinterest.  I already have black ones.  Does one need more than one pair of Hunter boots?  As it turns out, the answer is YES if you live in Pittsburgh and it rains pretty much every day.

My little girl was feeling better and my new boots were on the way.  I couldn’t think of a better happy ending.

Hello Old Friend

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