The Liquid Weathervane – Part 2011
I was floating around the blogosphere one morning before work and found several articles on what your drink apparently says about you. I thought that was pretty inspired, but my brain, never completely content to just let something go as-is, started gnawing away on the idea. For some reason, I melded the concept with a kitchen magnet my mom used to have on the refrigerator, one of those that says, ‘Mom’s Mood is:’ and then is adjustable for a range between ‘Happy’ and ‘PMS,’ or something. So thank you, blogosphere, for the inspiration, and of course my usual tip o’ the hat to Coors (do you have my parking spot painted yet?).
The up-front disclaimer here of course is that we all must drink responsibly and that moderation is the key to enjoying adult beverages. Stop fucking laughing. More to the point of the blog today, to help celebrate the end of a truly shitty year, here is the “Beverage As A Liquid Weathervane” for yours truly:
Wine: I am at a function where it is served and nothing else is within arm’s reach. If wearing a tie, my mood is foul regardless of the wine type. Otherwise, if the wine is white I am dealing with the lack of access to my poison of choice and the mood is moderately indifferent. If the wine is red the mood is also indeterminate but I will be vomiting later.
Champagne: I am doing something romatic or at least appears that way, so GTFO of here. Now.
Whiskey: I have a massive sea of repressed anger surging in my heart and I want to get wrecked ASAP so I can unload it on innocent bystanders. Generally brown liquid = bad. Consumed straight, probably best you leave the county because I am channelling my inner Irish. If taken in shots with beer, prepare for entertainment at first, then leave for your own good. In the morning you can return to draw things on my face with a Sharpie and post to Facebook to pay me back for being such a dick.
Scotch: Like whiskey, but likely purchased while already intoxicated. Again, brown liquid = bad, and now I’m channelling my inner Scot, which is worse than my inner Irish. This category is reserved for when I don’t want anyone here nipping my shit and I can have it all to myself and my PTSD. You will get no Sharpie moment with scotch because it is too foul to stand more than a few hits.
Vodka: Used as a beer substitute but much faster, my mood is excellent, and the parts of my brain requiring self-medication will handle things by themselves, thanks. In the morning you will have to remind me of the stupid but harmless shit I said and did because it works like a mental eraser.
Part Two of course will follow on New Year’s, tomorrow, as a fitting kick-off to what will be an entirely too-dry year for me…