I’ve got a bone to pick with you ladies. Especially the younger ones. You know, it used to be that a woman could go to a bar and order a vodka-cranberry without feeling like a total pussy for not downing bourbon like it’s what she puts in her breakfast cereal. However it seems those days are over because everywhere I look, women of all ages, are drinking whiskey as though they actually enjoy it. They’re nursing a Maker’s Mark on the rocks or savoring a Glenlivet neat. No coke. No water. Just whiskey. WTF!
Now, I kind of get women of a certain age doing this. If you’re someone who’s clocked a lot of hours at the bar over the years, it’s natural to reach a point where you no longer go out just to get drunk. At some stage, most of us advance enough in our drinking careers to appreciate liquor for the way that it tastes, rather than just the way it makes us feel. So of course there are women (like myself) who will truly appreciate the buttery body of a Chardonnay with dinner or the silky warmth of a digestif afterwards. However, whiskey is a whole different ballgame. It’s a special kind of lady who actually enjoys a Johnny Walker to the point that she can drink it straight. Quite frankly, it’s the kind that intimidates the hell out of me because a chick who can discern the difference between a single malt and a small batch is one who’s been some places and seen some shit. Don’t ask me why, that’s just the way it’s always been.
Girls straight out of college are stocking their cabinets with Bookers and Basil Hayden’s and it’s making my thirty-five year old ass look like a complete idiot when I show up to a party all like “Hey guys! Check out this Swedish Fish flavored vodka I found! If you mix it with Vitamin Water Zeros it’s only like three Weight Watchers points!” You might be wondering what the hell I’m doing hanging out with kids in their early twenties to begin with but remember, my most recent former job was full of them. In fact, one of my best friends is a twenty-two year old and every time I go to her place, all she has is Jack Daniels and fucking Cardhu! I’m sorry, but I feel like she’s missing a few steps here.
You don’t just leave high school and make a twelve year old scotch your signature beverage. It’s only fair that you earn your drinking stripes first in the form of throwing up a night’s worth of Malibu Bay Breezes and Slippery Nipple shots on at least a few dozen occasions. I mean, isn’t that part of what’s fun about being that age? That you can drink nothing but sugar and you won’t get fat and no one will judge you for it? But instead, they’re out there with me, putting my drinks to shame. Do you know how emasculating it is to have someone thirteen years your junior slamming liquids you could fuel a diesel engine with while you’re struggling to finish something that comes with six different kinds of fruit?
At first I thought maybe this whole whiskey thing was a front. Like it was something that girls were only doing in bars just to be cool. I couldn’t blame them for that. I’m guilty of it myself. I drink vodka sodas with a splash of pineapple. It’s mortifying. So whenever anyone asks me if I want a shot, I always go for a Jameson’s but only to slice the bitch factor of pretty much having had a Mai Tai in my hand all night. I don’t like it though. You’d never catch me tossing the stuff back in my living room. However recently I’ve been seeing pictures like this all over my Instagram:
Girls are infusing their own scotch now. At home! With scary things like habeneros. Then there’s women like this:
Meet Nicole Austin. She’s a whiskey consultant and master blender at King’s County Distillery and she even looks like a badass with her lumberjack shirt, brown leather jacket and green highlights. Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with women concocting their own whiskey blends at home or holding high ranking positions in the whiskey trade. In fact, I think it’s pretty awesome, it’s just super hard to compete with.
I’ve always fancied myself as kind of a tough girl, even going to great lengths over the years to perpetuate that image with things like weird haircuts and piercings at times. I got a tattoo for fuck’s sake! However, there’s only so far I’m willing to take it and being the kind of girl who drinks rye with anything, just simply is not within my ability.
I think I may have found a solution though.
That’s right. Moonshine! Suck on that whiskey drinkers! Or rather, don’t. This is what I’ve started drinking recently to keep up with you, so hands off, OK?
So yeah, moonshine. It wasn’t even legal until, I don’t know, is it legal? Well this kind is, I suppose, but the label does proclaim it was “made with the law on it’s heels”. You hear that? THE LAW. The best thing though, is that it tastes just like apple pie. This way, when I drink it, I don’t have to pop a blood vessel trying to maintain a face like it’s no different than gulping an iced tea, which is exactly what I do every time I shoot a Powers. Yet I can still say “Dude! last night was crazy! I drank half a bottle of moonshine. Oh, what? You were drinking whiskey? That’s cool. I guess.”
Mind you, the fact that it tastes just like apple pie is also the worst part about it. It’s easy to forget you’ve had five or six when what you’re drinking goes down like candy. If you’re not careful you’ll inevitably wake up the following morning in need of one or more forms of life support. You know, because of all the MOONSHINE.
But at the very least, I know one thing’s for sure. Between doing shots of whiskey to keep up appearances and now having jars of Midnight Moon within arm’s reach at all times, I’m bound to expire of liver failure any day now. And we all know how cool it is to die young! However at this point, I may even be too old for that.
Ah fuck it, Christmas is coming. Just pick me up a bottle of Midori.