Consequently, I'm mulling over making myself a martini.

The only problem with that scenario is that I make really, really bad martinis.

Actually, I was never really much for martinis. A little too James Bond for my taste. I'm more of a slightly sweet, not overly dry, sip-on-all-night wine girl myself.

I guess I like my wine like I like my men.

However, friends of ours took us to this cute, little martini bar in Old City in Philly. At first, I didn't want to try one - because I don't like liquor.

Lick her?? I hardly know her. Ba-da-dum. Yeah, bad joke. But cut me some slack, jack. I have a little cabin fever.

Anyway, everyone ordered a martini. Which was probably the appropriate thing to do given it was a martini bar and all. So, caving into peer pressure, I ordered one.

And yes, before you ask, - if they all jumped off a bridge ... I would too. Don't blame my following the crowd on having a herd mentality - it's all just a matter of etiquette, really. Well, not so much etiquette as, if you knew my friends, and they were willing to expend their energy to actually jump off a bridge - there must be something very appealing about it. Like gold at the bottom. Or a gaggle of Victoria Secret models.

So, I ordered the most benign, fruitiest martini they had. Something involving apples.

By the way, this one drink cost $8.00. Eight dollars!!! For. One. Drink.

I was expecting a vat of martini for that price. Or, at the very least, a respectable bowl size.

Instead, this little, itzy bitzy glass comes out. Which wasn't even an entire glass. It was all stem with a little saucer at the very tip.

Even the glass was pretentious.

If I would have cupped my hands together and told them to pour the drink in there, it would have probably amounted to more.

But, nonetheless, I had this exorbitantly priced, apple infused, vodka based, far-too-trendy-for-it's-own-good drink in front of me.

That I felt obligated to consume.

Hey, it was eight dollars. And, being the working girl that I am, that's alot of money to let go to waste.

And by "working girl", I simply mean a girl who works. Not the kind that stands on street corners and is voted most likely to be featured on COPS. Just to clarify.

Well, I took a drink. To my surprise, it was quite tasty.

Although I would prefer a chocolate, peanut butter cup Dairy Queen blizzard over an apple martini any day - it really wasn't too bad.

Besides, I don't think many bars in Philadelphia serve chocolate blizzards. They don't really have the same ring of sophistication to them.

Can you believe I just wrote an entire entry about my desire to make a martini? This is how boring my life is. Even my diary entries are uneventful.

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