What Your Favorite Alcohol Says About You
You are a REAL MAN, dammit, and none of this mixed drinks crap — straight scotch for you. Drinking is an art and a finely crafted scotch is the medium, which you will gratuitously swish around before swallowing. You can often be seen discussing white privilege, membrane theory, or the cultural merits of rap music in dimly-lit bars with wooden tabletops. Your Scottish or Irish heritage will undoubtedly come up at some point. If you are male, it is likely you have a beard. If you are female, you have a steady job as well as a beard.
Let’s face it, you’re probably a girl. For one reason or another, you have decided to take a break from hard liquor and promise yourself you’ll “only have one glass” when you go out. Yeah okay. Tell that to the gyros you’ll be ordering after you’ve had seven. You will inevitably end the night laughing hysterically with an arm around one of your best friends, who curiously seems more and more like your soulmate every minute. Creative storage solutions make you hot.
You spend your free time reading Baudelaire or Emile Zola in windowsills, or else lounging around your refugee-chic apartment wearing a well-cultivated expression of ennui. Inspired by Moulin Rouge or Laren Stover’s Bohemian Manifesto, you have previously attempted to steep a bunch of wormwood and star anise in a bottle of vodka for three weeks, but were later too scared to test the results. You were super excited when they came out with Lucid and sometimes like to convince yourself that it does, in fact, make you hallucinate.
Come on, you don’t drink just anything. If it’s not handcrafted in small batches, artisanal, seasonal, or if it costs less than $10 per glass, it doesn’t go in your body. Peanut butter? Pshh, no. CASHEW BUTTER. It’s not a salad unless it involves kale, arugula and a champagne vinaigrette — iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing are for the birds. You secretly love your bike more than your significant other but will never admit to liking The Ready Set.
You are about as interesting as turkey on white. Either that or you are broke, which is excusable.
Opinionated and abrasive, you go out of your way to make sure your worldviews conflict with everyone else’s. If you do happen to agree with a point someone else makes, you will find some minute detail to disagree on. For some reason you hate vodka with a passion, but you do realize gin is essentially juniper-flavored vodka, right?
Jagermeister/Goldschlager/other scary German liqueur
You are the party. And as it happens, completely insane. Nothing’s fun unless it’s starting to tilt sideways, and you are just as likely to start systematically making out with people at the bar assembly line-style as you are to start Cossack dancing. Mixers be damned, you drink straight because you actually enjoy the tingly burn. It is also your staunch belief that anyone who drinks Jager bombs still has a curfew. You commonly refer to the cuts and bruises you acquire from any given night out as “battle scars.”
Times are tough, and you understand the value of money. Why spend your hard-earned cash on fancy drinks when you can get time-traveling bombed for around $6? Sure, Loko may taste like fruity iron shavings mixed with battery acid, but it also gets you the most blackout for your buck. On the off chance that you do buy drinks at the bar, you’ll be the one ordering straight shots of 151, and only with a Coke back if it’s free.
You’re either a European, an existentialist, or a sorority girl. If by some strange chance you happen to be all three, I salute you.
A | A | A
I believe in life there are defining moments that we will remember. Moments in which time stands still for just a second, and we know we will be play that moment in our head hundreds of times over later.
I could convince myself that you were the only one for me and losing you will leave me alone in this big world forever. But instead, I’ll just move on.
What happened in the case in Massachusetts and to tens of thousands of women around the country each year shouldn’t be labeled as upskirting — it’s sexual harassment.
An old friend of mine came to visit from the States; one of Karlyn’s Berlin buddies showed up and decided to stay for a month; an Austrian friend of Valentin’s crashed on our futon for a few weeks.