Recipe for Jack and Coke at the Beloved Blurbodoocery

Wake up at 5:30 AM and drive 12 miles in light traffic to a crowded public staircase where the beautiful people of Hollywood pay personal trainers to kick their flabby SAG asses up and down a grueling 170 stairs.

Snicker as you pass the Tori Spellings, Andie MacDowells, and various odd commercial extras you recognize but can’t quite put a name to, because you climb stairs for free and would never be seen wearing such a thick pair of off-white tube socks.

Run up those stairs 12 times, or until you pass out in a bubbling pool of your own vomit, whichever comes first.

At 7:00 AM, drive 12 miles home in heavy traffic while chugging one half gallon of water, hoping that Bob Edwards has nothing but good news to report. Avoid hitting random pedestrians who feel it their right to cross at intersections whenever and wherever they want to, but never in designated areas or with any sense of urgency.

At 8:00 AM, after 30 minutes of brutal stomach and arm exercises, eat everything on the top two shelves in your pantry, including the Hostess Twinkies you bought on sale last night at the grocery store. Instead of feeling guilty for the indulgence, feel proud that you planned ahead.

At 9:00 AM, drive 45 minutes to work in traffic you only thought existed in movies. Try not to bludgeon the short Jewish women, elderly and innocent, who are physically incapable of seeing over the dashboard in their 1967 Buick Le Sabres.

Arrive to work an hour late, visibly irritated at having caught every red light on your carefully planned out and strategically short-cutted way to the office. Spend the next nine hours working for the most insane person you have ever witnessed outside of Dateline NBC. Be treated like a 14-year-old intern who has just learned how to wipe her own ass.

Drive 45 minutes home with the same lovable Jewish contingent. Forgive yourself for even considering turning off the radio and belting Pearl Jam’s “Alive” out the open window to the beat of your air-drum flailing.

6 cubes of ice
8 ounces Jack Daniels
One can Coke Classic
One lime

Fill two glasses with three ice cubes each. Pour four ounces of Jack Daniels into one glass, four ounces into another. Squeeze one half of lime into each glass. Leave the Coke Classic unopened on countertop, as the Coke Classic will only hinder restorative powers of the whiskey.

Drink with your lover. Repeat as necessary.