Dan and I got home from our one-night honeymoon at the beach to find five silver or gold bags waiting for us in the mailroom. More champagne – of sorts. Only one bottle met our snobby standards: a Taittinger Prestige Rose. The others were destined for more Kir Royales – either that or re-gifting.

"Mmmmmm! Champ-AGG-nee!" I squealed in the voice of Curly from The Three Stooges each time Dan opened a package. (Note to youth: see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thethreestooges .) I do a pretty good Curly, but by the fourth time it was wearing very thin. "Stop doing that," Dan said. "I can’t help it," I replied. "It’s Pavlovian." "That’s bullshit," he said. "You’re just trying to irritate me." (I silently admitted that he was correct.) "And I’m sick of Kir Royales," he continued edgily, "so don’t make any more. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I don’t know why we don’t have more sophisticated friends." He stomped toward the bedroom.

"Then I’ll make Queer Royales," I declared, having no idea what the drink would contain.

"OK, I’ll bite," he said. "What’s in a Queer Royale?"

Sudden inspiration: "Creme de Violette!"

"I love you," Dan said as he marched back into the living room to kiss me. "Put a bottle of this... this... ‘cava’ in the freezer while we unpack."

"Cava is dead to us," I announced for at least the 75th time.

"There’s a clause in our pre-nup that says that if you say ‘cava is dead to us’ one more time you get nothing in the divorce settlement," he said as he stripped off his shirt. It was a sight I’ve seen daily for 10 years, and it still produced a rush. I couldn’t wait to curl up next to him in bed and grope him.

I dialed Chen’s Sichuan and placed our usual order: seafood dumplings and Chicken with Peanuts for Dan, who doesn’t like heat, and the spicy tripe appetizer and the Fiery Shredded Pork for me.

By the time Dan came out of the shower and dressed, the food had already arrived, the biking delivery boy leaving a trail of petrified pedestrians and drivers alike from his race to our building. I put two new, tall Waterford champagne flutes on the table (getting married is a blast!), each with a few drops of Creme de Violette already poured. I popped the cork (just like Fyedka; see above) and poured.

The resulting color was strange; gold and violet don’t blend well. But the taste was superb. We polished off the doctored cava during dinner.

"I love our cheap friends," said a tipsy, happy Dan as I poked the last piece of blistering-hot pork in my mouth.

"Let’s go to bed," I said, still chewing. "Now."

"Brush your teeth for the full two minutes and I’ll consider it," said Dan as he reached into my boxers from the bottom. So this is what they mean by "second honeymoon."

The Queer Royale

1 bottle of cava, prosecco, or other champagne variant

A few drops of Creme de Violette

Put a few drops of the crème de violette in as many champagne flutes as you have guests, then carefully pour in the ersatz champagne so that the flute doesn’t overflow. Keep as much fizz as possible.

Do I Contradict Myself? I Contain Many Drinks: The TinaTini

The housemates season just got to me, along with a few of my last cocktail du weekend du season, which I invented minutes before Unhappy Hour began. The words "beware of dog" were written all over my face. I’d had it with everyone but Dan – Jack Fogg and his ego, Sammy and his perfect little body, Phil Levine and all the fawning Asian geisha boys who’d passed through the house for the last four months... . I was sick of myself, too – the humiliating blend I’d become of one of the losers at open mic night at some comedy club: the Little Red Hen, Max the bartender and Shirley Booth as "Hazel."

It was too breezy for the beach, but the deck was sunny and protected from the wind, so there they were, all lined up on chaises like Atlantis boys with body hair. (Question: Do you really have to wax everything off to go on an Atlantis cruise?)

My creation was simple: Absolut Pears with a little ginger liqueur mixed in. I added a touch of homemade ginger syrup, but it would be fine without it. But what would I call it?

As housemate after housemate trooped past wearing Speedos, in my half-inebriated state I became aroused, then angry. So I belligerently rejected all their naming suggestions, which were uniformly based on the suffix "tini." This abomination drives me crazy. Just because a drink is vodka-based and destined for a classic cocktail glass does not mean it must be called, in this case for example, a Gingertini.

Then Jack Fogg brought up the rear (so to speak) and redeemed every snotty thing he ever said by violating my strict anti-tini law and dubbing the new ginger cocktail The TinaTini in honor of Tina Louise.

The TinaTinis tasted better and better the more of them I consumed. At the end of the main course, I made a little joke at Phil Levine’s expense: "And who would like a nice bowl of homemade ginge’ rice queen – I mean ginger ice cream!" There were giggles from Jack and Sammy, a glare from Dan, and a lawyerly, eye-to-eye stare-down from the victim of my petit bon mot, bulldog Phil.

"Why is my attraction to Asian men so hilarious to you?" he asked me point-blank. "Do you think it’s about girly-boy guys with 28-inch waists as if I’d really like 11-year-old white kids but make do with legal-age Asians or is it the old dick-size canard, ’cause I tell you what, you asshole, I’ve had Asian guys with dicks bigger than yours, lots, ha."

"I’m slorry, Phil," I squealed. "I guess I don’ know’nough’boudit." I offered my hand in drunken friendship.

Did he really refuse to shake my hand? I let it sort of wave in the air, just like the late Queen Mum. I was in no shape for backtalk. "I’smorry again, Philip," I managed to get out, "but now’s not the time for shoshiography – shoshilogy, I mean." At which point, I am told, I leaned back in my chair and fell asleep.

If you’re not able to try these recipes at home, then ask your favorite bartender to make them for you!

The TinaTini

1 oz. Absolut Pears

1 tablespoon Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur

ginger syrup to taste (optional)

For every ounce of Absolute Pears you pour into a shaker full of ice, add one tablespoon Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur and, if you have any, ginger syrup to taste. Shake. Serve.

The TinaTini

1 oz. Absolut Pears

1 tablespoon Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur

ginger syrup to taste (optional)

For every ounce of Absolute Pears you pour into a shaker full of ice, add one tablespoon Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur and, if you have any, ginger syrup to taste. Shake. Serve.