UnMotivationalPosters

O Potato of my swooning and love-dazzled soul, thy carbohydrates may make my doctor weep, thy incarnations may by and large be palatable and interesting only when forced to copulate with the unhealthiest of accompaniments. Thou mayest creep me out by growing things out of thine eyes but thy truest, purest gift remains, O Potato, the shining jewel of my wet bar. 

Once I went to lunch at my Ukrainian friend’s mom’s house. I don’t remember what the hell we ate but I do know that his mom, a tiny little woman, gave me the shit for not being able to keep up with her at vodka shots. By the time we were around eight or so I thought I had finally won.

“Ha-HAH, Tiny Woman!” I cried, exulting in the fact that she was now sideways.

“Sit back up, you’re going to spill your drink.” Oh, I was sideways. I would have shaken my fist if it wasn’t clutching a shot glass.

Which leads me to this delightful, heartwarming image:

Vodka: Welcome at the party in my pants any time!

I checked out the Wikipedia entry on vodka and it said a bunch of mildly interesting stuff, and led me to want to read a book called Taras Bulba which is an important Russian historical novel (featuring vodka) with a title that sounds like a child with a lisp talking about the bits of Tara Reid that we didn’t see on the red carpet (yet). I can’t say I learned a whole lot about vodka but based on what I’ve read, I haven’t done such a good job giving up potatoes for Lent.

When it comes to getting my drink on, I’m a vodka girl. Give me a (real dirty) martini, give me a screwdriver, give me some sort of Russian (served by a Russian?). Hell, at home I give myself vodka and chocolate milk. Before you diss my drink choice just look at the recipe for a White Russian. What? Hersheys and Kahlua are both brown!

It’s the best alcohol for mixing with “whatever you have handy”. I’ve never heard of anyone enjoying a gin and cranberry juice (I could be wrong, there could be a sick bastard or two out there) but vodka and cranberry is something I’ve seen serially gulped by girls at the bar, presumably in the hopes of having horrible heartburn several hours later. It goes great with Kool-Aid, particularly if you just leave out the water and mix in an equivalent amount of vodka. And if you love flavors, vodka can be had in hojillions of flavors. Gin? Lime. Mint (Disgusting. Is that like the menthol cigarette of spirits?). Barf (Okay maybe not a real flavor but how far off am I really?).

After all of that pointless going on, what’s left to say? Some words of wisdom. My advice is don’t get Popov. If you’re poor, get some beer, or some Wild Irish Rose. Don’t ruin the vodka experience by drinking something that can be had for $4 a gallon at the store in a plastic jug. Be serious, people. Save up and spend the money to at least get something that costs $10. And no, I don’t mean a BIG jug of Popov either. Have some self-respect, ffs.

I’ve got myself all riled up now and with none currently in the house, I might have to go get some vodka so I can have some screwdrivers in the morning while I cook bacon and eggs. Watch for news of a fire. If it’s alcohol-related, that’s me. I’ll play you out…

Starchy sovereign of my heart, tempter of dieters and preferred canvas of bacon, cheese, and sour cream artists, how thou redeem’st thyself in my eyes, in my heart, in my belly, and in my increasingly fuzzy brain. Thy treasure I will hide inside myself, taking it even unto my very lips and eventually my bloodstream, to relinquish only after I can no longer keep the room from spinning.