My email to the Franzia Boxed Wine company

To:  info@franzia.com
Subject: A Proposition and a Toast

Dear Team Franzia,

I am writing this email to you as both a wine enthusiast and fan of your boxed wine line of adult beverages.  What started has a joke has grown into a fond appreciation for your brand and product, and I only wish I could go back in time to tell 21 year old me to slow down and smell the grape mash.   No need to rush through it in a game of Easter Wine Pong (which was amazing, by the way), rather sit back and let the notes hit you like the boozy kiss they were intended to be.

Yes, my college debauchery ended up fermenting into true fandom, like the sour grapes that one day make a fine box of wine.  To prove my commitment to your product, I am attaching a photo from the 2013 Somerville Jingle Bell 5k  (and one taken at home, just for funzies).  To be clear, I’m the one in the box of Crisp White. I don’t often like to toot my own horn, but let’s just say I was the toast of the town that day.   Of all the high fives and awkward hugs I received, never was there a bad word for Franzia.  There was nothing but love for your brand of boxed wine, and as I ran around Boston that day, there were plenty of other people who became fans, too.   Which got me thinking….

Franzia email answerer, I hope you’re sitting down, because I have an idea that will blow the proverbial cork out of your bottle, or rather, the wine bladder out of your box.  

Imagine, if you will, a Franzia sponsored semi-decent athlete, competing in local races adorned in your brand.  It would be best if said athlete was not of rock-hard stature, because when they finish more towards the back of the pack without placing in the top 10, 15, 20, maybe even 40% of their competitors, it's all good, because they're going to sit down to a nice box of wine (amongst friends, we can add those in there if you're concerned about promoting over-consumption).  I know what you’re thinking….”WOW great idea, but WHO ON EARTH would be both an amateur athlete not of a god-like physique who can also appreciate our great products?!”.  Fear not, my ambrosia producing friends, for I am ready and able to slosh around town in a box of wine, ready to usher in the next generation of wine aficionados from the Millennial era and point them in your celebrated direction.

But for reals, thanks for the boss wine and solid green production practices that your company partakes in.  Super cool.  And just kidding about being a Franzia-sponsored athlete.**

From the bottom of the bottle, er…box,

Amanda

**Unless you think it’s awesome, then I’m totally in.  You now have my contact details, consider me standing by ;)

Et tu, husband?

"Don't worry, babe, no one is dressing up!"

I stared at the Christmas party e-vite again.

"...But it says casual or formal dress, what does that even mean?  How can you have both like that?"

"Seriously, the higher-ups are trying to get as many people there as possible. All the floor workers are going and they all said they aren't dressing up. You can totally wear that Christmas sweater and leggings. Hell, you might even be *too* dressy looking like that."  He winked. "This is going to be super casual."

A few hours later we were walking up to the venue.  I adjusted my bright red reindeer sweater and Christmas themed leggings as we approached the Quail Hallow Country Club. Our arrival was a half hour into cocktail hour, perfect to avoid too much small talk.  He had on dress jeans and a velvet blazer, which he meant to wear as a joke, though it fit him well and looked formal, all things considered.  I chuckled, imagining him standing out next to everyone else in hoodies and casuals clothes.

He held the door open for me and we entered the room set up for "Casino Night".  The staff, in suits, was putting some final touches on tables and adjusting chairs.  We were told the rest of the company was in the "Main Ballroom". I started to feel uneasy. "...Usually casino nights are dressy, isn't thi-"
I stopped short.  As we came to the top of the staircase, below us lay the ENTIRE Perkin-Harper Company, ENTIRELY dressed up.  CEOs, their wives, the employees of all levels, gathered around crystal glassware and formal table settings.  There were tuxedos and ballgowns and cocktail dresses, but not one hoodie or sneaker as previously promised.  There was, however, one Christmas sweater, and it had actual bells on it.  I gasped and instinctively took several steps backwards, my sweater jingled softly.  As realization slowly fell over me, and I turned to my betrayer.  He looked confused, and also a little frightened.

"Dude..."  I hissed.  "I thought you said this was CASUAL".

"Well it said so on the invi-

"THIS IS NOT CASUAL."   I crept to the edge of the staircase again.  "JESUS CHRIST, THEY ALL HAVE BALLGOWNS."

We started our descent.  Everyone turned to look at who had just arrived.  Smiles faded to confused looks, then away from us, quickly. Soon, I was being introduced to co-workers and their well appointed wives.

"Amanda, this is Greg, he's on that big project I was telling you about."

"Hey Amanda! Nice to meet you."  Greg's handshake was a little too enthusiastic.  The bells adorning my sweater jingled aggressively.

"This is my wife Charlotte -".

Charlotte extended her thin hand.  "SO nice to meet you!"  She was trying, but couldn't hide her judgmental "up-down" glance of the Christmas themed dumpster fire that stood before her.

After a few more awkward exchanges where Rudolf and the gang met major players on my husband's team, I went to the bar for a gin and tonic.  The bar tender, dressed more formal than myself, sent the rocks glass over.

Bless her, she made it strong and didn't even take my complimentary drink ticket.

Klean Kanteen Review

A little review I left on Amazon:

Stars: 5

Subject:  Almost gave 3 stars for as many degree burns as it gave my mouth hole

Review:  Can we please start selling these with a warning?  Some sort of red alert label stuck to the cover you must see and acknowledge before breaking the seal?  How many countless drinking vessels have we encountered in a lifetime that conditioned us to believe that heat retaining technology doesn't exist for civilians?  Satan's canteen here is no joke. It was a late summer morning. I boiled some water for tea and decided I was going to take the long way to work.  I let that devil mug ride in my car's cup holder for almost an hour before I remembered it and went for what surely was to be a swig of lukewarm hibiscus flavored water. SIKE.  BURN TOWN, BABY.  HOPE YOU DIDN'T WANT TO TASTE ANYTHING FOR A MONTH. How many holiday gifted, off-brand, company logo bedazzled, hot/cold thermoses do we have sitting in our cupboards at this very moment that can't hold a degree for five minutes?  And then Klean Kanteen walks up in here, all in its "fun" colors and cute alliteration, and we're supposed to take it seriously?  WELL YOU BEST BE DOING SO.  It's been MONTHS now later and I still can't taste sour things correctly, it's like a blind spot on my tongue.  Seekers of warm beverage vessels, HEED MY WARNING.  The Klean Kanteen will be the only witness as pure lava disintegrates your esophagus while you flail and claw at your chest and throat, eventually grabbing onto the back of a chair and praying to your god for mercy.

Overall, dank thermos, just remember to let your coffee sit for 5 hours first.

"Mac n' Cheetos" a mac n' cheese snack: review

It'd been a bad day. I only needed paper towels. But there I was, answering the frozen snack aisle's siren call with no nutritional value in sight. Staring at my reflection in the wall freezer's glass, I wondered where I had gone wrong.

I grabbed a box of the Mac n' Cheetos and shoved it into the cart next to the booze and ice cream and headed for the check out, looking around me to ensure no one saw my shame. I didn't make eye contact with the cashier. I could see in my peripheral that she smirked knowingly.

Back at the house, I fired up the oven to the instructed 450*. I carefully laid out my frozen purchases. The orange color was not created by Jesus or nature. In 11 short minutes I was staring at 24 "c" shaped forms, some had split their shells and were oozing cheese.

Overall, the outer shell of cheeto dust was crispy and cheeto like. The inner cheese was as expected, much like Kraft mac n' cheese powder you re-liquify with some sort of dairy product, and included whole macaroni noodles. However, the liquid cheese quickly coagulated faster than a rattle snake victim's blood. These treats were not meant to be savored, but rather inhaled to fill a deep internal hole.

If you didn't hate yourself before eating these, you will soon after.

Summary: 3/5 stars, would buy again if they were on sale.

Shell Shock

I’ll take a burrito bowl, he said.

My internal record scratched. The *FUCK*, I yelled out loud. The burrito warmer looked up from her tacos. Families glared. In the distance, the ice machine shat more ice. After an awkward smile and apologizing glances all around, I hissed out the corner of my mouth when in the history of ever have you not ordered a full-on burrito?!

Unfazed, he shrugged. Just thought maybe I’d try something new.

Something new!? You’re getting a burrito BOWL. You. HERE.

I was approaching hysterics.

I heard you get more meat when you get the bowl. I tried it last week, it was pretty good.

BUT YOU GET ZERO TORTILLA!! I shrieked. YOU’VE DONE THIS BEFORE?!

The staff member in charge of the salsa was growing impatient, as was the line behind me. I shook my head and went through the motions of my reliable-assed order of a burrito. 

Is this how other women know their husbands are cheating?