Aren't You Glad I Didn't Say Orange?

Now that I am of a certain age, I can legally drink.  When I say now, of course, I mean in the last couple of years.  Even though I come from various groups of people who have always had, ahem, healthy appetites for alcohol, I am moderate.  I drink infrequently, and usually only if it is at hand and cheap.  (Or, really, I should say, free.)

I took French for several years.  My second year I had French right before lunch, and I was always starving.  (And hating the class because that was my year of the worst French teacher I ever had.  Another story, another blog post.)  The poster you see to your left would hang in that classroom.  I would stare at it, wondering, what does Orangina taste like? 
Fast forward about four years: I have my first Orangina and fall completely in love. 
Fast forward to now: I'm writing a piece that mentions Orangina, and because I'm such a dismally bad speller, I have to Google it to figure out how to spell it.  I surf a little on their official site. 
And find an entire set of alcoholic recipes involving Orangina.  Isn't the Internet grand? 
So now I suppose I will have to buy some alcohol, if only to try some of these.  I'm eyeing the Parisian Sunset (because I've had such success with rum in Coke), Gina's Punch (for the same reason, plus my love of Grenadine), Le Sang Orange (which has a terrible name, making me think of orange-colored blood), and just for fun, a Twist and Shake.
Don't worry, I'll be responsible.  One drink at a time.  There's plenty of opportunities to try other delicious things.  And to encourage some of my friends, including my favorite teetotaler, Juicebox.