So, remember that time (last night) when I forgot why I don’t drink vodka anymore (because it is the devil’s brew) and then I woke up the next day (this afternoon) at 4pm to dry heaving and makeup on my pillow? No? Well, luckily I’m here to tell you all about it!
To make matters worse, I had just come back from a 2 week trip to Mumbai, so there was (and still is) no food in the house. There were only the staples of non-perishable items that are never really meant to be consumed, except when accompanied by something I actually want to eat and/or in times of dire emergencies. There were no accompaniments so, you know where this is headed.
Oatmeal was too gross to even look at, let alone eat. I had about 10 noodles of my pasta, before it made a reappearance on my bathroom floor (my poor maid is going to hate me in the morning). But, I have been eating Honey Nut Cheerios for the past 30 minutes and, I believe, if I click my heels together and say talaq three times while pointing to my stomach I’ll be able to divorce myself of this evil elixir living inside me.
I say all this to say, that I’m too old for this shit! Someone, anyone, if you see me drinking before October 1, please slap that drink out of my hand. I really mean it. Knock the glass onto the floor and then tell me to clean it up. If you ever see me drinking vodka at any point in my life, please remind me that vodka is made of the devil’s tears (a gross and destructive bi-product of depraved repugnance). Not only should you knock over the glass, you should attempt to break it this time and tell me if I ever drink vodka again you will make me walk on glass barefoot as punishment, you will carve a scarlet letter V into my hand to remind me of my transgression, and then you’ll make me live on a diet of iceberg lettuce and cottage cheese until my system has fully recovered from the malice I have done it.
Please understand this is my cry for support – not attention. You have been warned. If I am allowed to drink this crap again, I am liable to recover (2 days later) and write ‘traitor’ in red lipstick (and waterproof mascara) on the windshield of whoever allowed me to do this to myself, again. The person who encouraged me to drink this fatal liquid, shall remain nameless this time (damned Canadians). And since I didn’t make this declaration before this present incident I feel obliged to spare her the above stated repercussions (but her ass is on probation!).
Just to make myself clear, after October 1, 2012:
The below pictured varieties of liquid evilness are exemplars (not meant to be exhaustive). Prohibited items include, but are not limited to, those seen here. Let me remind you, anything in this category of alcohol is NEVER OK. Not tomorrow. Not the year after my last kid has graduated from high school. Not the day that I hear Charlie Sheen has stopped smoking crack. Not in a funky bottle. Not in a club. Not with a catchy Absolut Slogan. Not even if Puff Daddy himself is pouring it into Lil’ Jon’s crunk cup. Not in Russia. Not in the 48 contiguous states, nor in Guam. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever am I allowed to drink Vodka again. Got it?