My big fat Greek Easter party

Right now I'd be blipping jealous of metempsychosisand supacat for being in foreign climes, except I'm completely soused on retsina and ouzo and this cocktail called "Night of Passion" Golitzinsky got out of the bartending recipe book I gave him for his birthday, involving passionfruit juice and Cointreau and industrial quantities of Bombay Sapphire, so complex feelings like jealousy are entirely beyond me. (Spelling is almost beyond me, I'm noticing, but spelling is a hindbrain function and goes after motor coordination, so I'd lose the ability to type before I lose the capacity to spell.) I figure more of you have watched "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" than have actually been to a Greek house party, so a word to the wise: the retsina headache begins before the ouzo even gets poured. ^^; And this from someone who has the proverbial hollow leg when it comes to alcoholic beverages.

Though I'm already home, and away from the booze and arcane dance steps. Currently blasting New Order from the computer speakers, actually, because by trial and error I've found that their albums best suit the entre-chien-et-loup hours between midnight and 9AM or so - when one's either just awake or not gone to bed at all - and preferably when there's some alcohol or mood enhancer working its way through one's system. Which... makes sense, I suppose.