Ode to Vodka

Recently I read Chelsea Handler's “My Horizontal Life.” After nearly peeing my pants of laughter from her countless bedside adventures, I just knew I had to pick up her latest book, “Are You There Vodka? It’s me, Chelsea.” As if the title didn’t give it away, Ms. Handler is quite the fan of vodka and it got me thinking about my own adoration for the clear substance.

Back in high school, my sophomore Biology teacher told us the only types of soda she let her kids drink were Sprite, 7UP and basically anything without color. Her reasoning was, “There must be less crap in it since it didn’t have that awful caramel color to it.” I’ve decided to adopt this same theory when it comes to choosing my alcohols.

There was a brief stint where I cheated on my beloved vodka with his cousin, gin. It was a short affair ending the night after purchasing the Popov equivalent of gin at Albertson’s at the bargain price of $5.99. Long story short, it just didn’t work out. Vodka has stayed faithful to me and I plan on reciprocating that love.

I’ve never been a fan of SoCo, I’m not bad ass enough to drink Jack Daniels, Jager is just plain nasty and our dear friend Jose Cuervo makes me do horrible things such as puke on motor homes in Podunk towns after singing karaoke in a in a bar filled with stuffed ducks, bears and elk. Case and point: Biggs, California (population 1,793). But that story is set for another blog posting.

Although I’ve spent many mornings wondering just why I thought it was a good idea to take my last shot of the night while singing, “Friends In Low Places,” I’ve never once questioned my relationship with vodka. Grey Goose in all its glory both gets the job done and is also a preventative agent for morning hangovers. My new found awakening has inspired this posting and better yet, awarded itself praise for being with me on some of the best times I’ll never remember. So here’s to you, vodka, and all of your friends: Soda, Tonic, OJ and Collins. Cheers!