For The Girls Who Drink Whatever The Hell They Want

Several articles have been circulating recently along the theme of, “For the Girls Who Drink __.” My cursor loves these posts. Before I know what’s happening, my devious little cursor has opened the article, and directs my eyes to the text. With every article, I find myself grasping at the straws of identity with which I totally relate. However, I relate to them in the same way that I relate to the astrological sign sites. Within each piece I find nuggets of truth, which I latch onto with the enthusiasm of a lost soul who has finally found a home, and for one simple reason: it’s so much easier to have someone tell me who I am than to have to figure that out for myself.

I drink whiskey, so I’m supposed to be sophisticated and mysterious? Okay, sure. I need to like classic literature and vintage typewriters? I mean, I can work with that I guess. Pride and Prejudice was good. But sometimes I drink vodka, and I’ve been known to drink both red and white wine. Do I define myself by whichever drink I consume the most? The one I drink on special occasions? Or is my least favorite more telling? What’s the psychic formula?

On weekday mornings I wake up with a nice, huge cup of coffee (half a sugar packet, and a splash of soy milk). Then halfway through Mondays, I’ll probably need a second cup of caffeinated encouragement to propel me through to five o’clock. If the day’s particularly trying, I might nuke a whiskey sour and wallow for a bit, contemplating my life choices and exactly what led me to being a working professional who still sneaks Sprite into a water cup. On weekends when I’m planning on doing absolutely nothing but ordering in and watching Netflix, I might go for a cup of green tea in the morning, and a glass of wine in the evening.

The point being, I drink whiskey, I drink vodka, I drink beer, wine, lemonade, Pellegrino, tap water, and the occasional Shirley Temple. (Don’t worry, Mom. I don’t drink them all at once.)

So this article is for me, the girl who constantly changes her mind on everything from her favorite movie to her favorite drink, and this can be for anyone else of a similar mind. I’m not trying to lasso you into a label.

I wish I could define myself by a particular drink, a particular place, a movie, a color, whatever, and know who I am without an ounce of doubt. But I can’t, at least not yet. And that’s okay.