Vodka: Friend or Foe?

Ask me in the morning.

I’ve never been one to pass up a good cocktail.

At the risk of sounding like a rummy, the truth is — I’ve been a drinker my whole life. I have the “gene,” folks. Yep. That gene. Got it from my late parents, who could both throw down at the drop of a hat.

I remember some pretty wild parties as a kid growing up in a suburb of Chicago. Booze-laden affairs where the cops were sometimes called. Luckily, one of my folks’ best friends was a cop, who was always bellied up to our basement bar. So, no harm, no foul.

When the parties were over, the fighting began. Vicious, expletive-hurled melees that lasted long into the wee hours. I would burrow under the covers and try to get back to sleep, but, it was hard.

When I was older and on my own, my friends and I would do the pub crawl almost every night. It didn’t matter that we had jobs to go to in the morning. Fuck it, we thought! That’s what you do when you’re “young.”

I often experimented with different alcohols, but I was never one for sweet drinks. From watching some of my friends, I knew that was the direct route to Hurl Town.

Too, I never “got” beer. How could somebody put down a six-pack, I wondered, and still stand? The bloating. The gas. All that freakin’ foam. No thanks.

My poison of choice was the “clear” tipple. Like 151 rum. You read that right: One hundred fifty proof rum. I used to order this in the bar where I met the guy who I would eventually marry. He was the bartender and couldn’t believe I drank that rotgut. Thankfully, I didn’t make a habit of it, or I wouldn’t be writing this, today. I’d be a pile of bones in a hole in the ground, somewhere.

After a fairly long stint with gin, which is my husband’s drink of choice, I eventually made my way to vodka. Although I loved the taste of gin, it didn’t love me.

Gin smacked me upside the head, with a vengeance.

Ahh…vodka. Clean. Smooth. And, without the high sugar content of other alcoholic beverages. Shit! Models drank vodka! How bad could it be?

“Vodka and cigarettes. Make it a meal!”

Vodka was also my parents’ favorite quaff. I don’t know how many large, economy-sized bottles they went through in their later years, but it was a shitload.

My dad would pour, drink, then pour a little more. At some point, I think he was oblivious to how much he was drinking.

At family gatherings, I would watch him out of the corner of my eye as he snuck “just a little bit more.”

He would yell at my mother for over-imbibing, but he was impervious to his own. Problem with booze.

When I first began my affair with vodka, I tried many different mixers. Grapefruit juice. Orange juice. Tonic.

At some point, the mixers took a back seat to the main event, and my affinity to vodka on the rocks “with a twist and a couple of stuffed olives,” was born.

That said, I won’t turn down an expertly-made martini. Shaken, stirred — I don’t give a damn.

Damn. That first sip is ambrosial. And the cool, heat of it as it slides down the throat is, well…

I do enjoy wine, as well, as I’m pretty much an equal-opportunity drinker, but I prefer vodka. It treats me better.

There are times when I fear I’ve become my parents. Especially, when I reach for the vodka in the large, economy-sized bottles. Until I get a job, I won’t be buying Tito’s anytime soon, unless I have a substantial lapse in judgment. Which, has been known to happen. Hard to believe, yeah?

Speaking of Tito’s, I was at my sister’s house a couple of weeks ago, watching her dogs while the family was out of town and I happened upon her huge vodka stash. When she left her former gig, several of her work buddies gifted her with huge bottles of Tito’s. Her laundry room was full of them! On the floor, the overhead shelves.

My hands started to itch. Should I take one? Would she notice? (Although she imbibes, she’s not the drinker her big sister is.)

I knew that, if I asked her, she’d say, “Sure! Go for it!” But, I restrained myself.

And then, on the way home, I stopped at the store and bought myself the usual. Unfortunately for me, sometimes quantity does trump quality.

That said, maybe Senor Tito is in my near future. I’ll sell a script. Make it big on Medium. Who knows?

Salut!

Sherry McGuinn is a longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

Thanks for reading. Let’s make it a double!

Check this out, too: