I have a confession to make.

 Sometimes I pretend to be classy, which is probably a mistake to begin with. Some of my friends make the mistake of believing me to actually BE classy, since you know I drink wine and all and wine is apparently classy when you are twenty-two. Unfortunately my lies crumble when I order mixed drinks in the summer time.

My name is Stark and I adore blended margaritas. With sugared rims. They are delicious tequila sno-cones and that is just about the best thing ever. You know what's worse? I like them with cheap tequila and even cheaper Margarita Mix from a plastic jug. Make my own sour mix? Naaaah. Too much trouble. Got to squeeze all them lemons. Besides, this way they are a pleasant green color usually associated with radioactivity, or maybe Denarians.

I also am now incapable of drinking spiced rum after a night of ill-advised consumption, during which there may or may not have been public nudity (woo college). This really appears to have spread to all forms of brown liquor, excepting firefly vodka, naturally. This means that when all of my manly friends are ordering Jack/rum and cokes or  scotch and ginger ale (boyfriend drinks these incessantly. I think they smell like paint thinner) I get a fruity pomegranite martini and contempt.

It could be worse, though. I drank a chocolate martini once in a gay bar in Philly. Never again. That stuff made me understand what it must be like to be diabetic.

I redeemed myself on that trip, though, by going to a fabulous bar called the Apothecary, which specializes in amazingly creative savory cocktails, such as the Booty Collins, the Sage Wisdom, and the Aviation. The Booty Collins comes in a pint glass, is lemon yellow, and tastes like delicious hate due to the cayenne pepper they put into it. The Sage Wisdom comes with cinnamon and a sage leaf and really does look like a potion. It is dusty green and opaque with a layer of sage foam, and it tastes, well, like sage and cinnamon.

Personally I liked the Clever Club, which was made with raspberry, simple syrup and egg whites and some manner of liquor. It was mild and fruity, the way I like them. I love me my sissy drinks. That is my confession.

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In unrelated news, my parents recently returned from France (pronounced "fraynst") and brought with them amazing things. Mother brought back three bottles of wine, a pink champagne, an Alsatian pinot gris, and some manner of Cotes du Rhone (The bottle is in French, you see, and I can't read it. It's a problem). My father brought back six cans of foie gras. Holy science. This  is going to be an awesome weekend.