I’m a Little Whiskey Girl

I didn’t start drinking alcohol until the last week of my freshman year of college when I had like 3 cranberry vodkas at The College of New Jersey and watched a dog get drunk and it was one of the most hilarious nights of my entire existence (though I was sad for the dog). After that, me and my also-nondrinking-future-roommate, Lisa, established a stringent once-a-month rule for drinking because we’re lame and because we were both on athletic teams with 48 hour rules which was pretty limiting anyway.

But, at some point during that year (my sophomore year), amidst drinking our “favorite” – cheapest and lowest in calorie – concoction of Fruit2O (flavored water, my friends, we consistently made alcoholic beverages with FLAVORED WATER) and flavored vodka, I discovered what can only be called a passion for the elusive elixir that is whiskey. Mmm.

Yes, whiskey is typically for those seasoned, hard drinkers who have had tough lives and need a taste of something just as tough. And yes, whiskey is typically a man’s drink. But do I look like I care? The answer is no.

And the whiskey helped me come to that conclusion.

Because not only is whiskey delicious, it also helps you come to conclusions. It brings forth epiphanies. And for some people, it brings forth vomit. However, I’m not one of those people.
I just think whiskey is delicious.

I am not a fan of those fruity drinks that most girls enjoy. They taste like sugar. I like my drinks how I like my men – strong. (HA). Whiskey is, by far, my drink of choice. On the rocks, in a (diet) coke, or in black coffee, it cannot be resisted.

Perhaps my tastebuds are paying homage to my grandfathers. I once found a tiny bottle (MY FAVORITE) of whiskey in our cupboard that belonged to my dad’s dad, looooong loooooooooong after he was no longer living. My mom handed it over to me like a present from beyond the grave, straight to my liver. My mom’s dad is also a whiskey fan and will (not that) begrudgingly forfeit an ancient bottle to me while grumbling furiously and saying a lot of swear words which, if you ask me, means he needs more whiskey.

The smell of whiskey is akin to the smell of coffee brewing or cookies baking in the oven – you know good things are coming. I recently found out that Tim McGraw has a cologne (who knew?!) called McGraw (surprisingly) which is comprised of, among other things: moss, sandalwood, and AGED WHISKEY (available at Walmart and Kohl’s… seriously). So, immediately, I was like OMG, I NEED TO FIND THIS. I WANT A MAN THAT SMELLS LIKE THIS. THIS IS AMAZINGGGGGG.

You know you have a problem when you think the idea of a man smelling like alcohol becomes appealing. Because who doesn’t want to cuddle up to someone who smells like an alcoholic, right? AM I RIGHT?! Yes. I am. Dab some Jameson’s on your neck and I guess I’ll be yours forever.

But let’s be clear. I’m not sharing my bottle of whiskey. No, you have to be extra special for that to happen – I refuse to share with just anyone. Now, I’m going to go drink my Jack and (diet) Coke in peace. Thankyouverymuch.

– Sarah #2

Peer Pressure at its Finest

My peep, Amanda, was supposed to run a 5k with me, but she didn’t sign up in time. We figured something out, but then we were faced with the impossible task of making plans to actually run it. Turns out, we have pretty different ideas of how to prepare for a race.

Amanda: maybe you should just come and we could get wasted on friday
Amanda: and then walk it?
Me: HAHAHAh. i’ll consider that.
Amanda: ok cause there is a free concert on friday. i want you to go with me
Me: i’ll think about it
Amanda: either way we are going the decision is to drink or not
Me: well how late is it going to be?
Amanda: late sarah late
Amanda: you are 24 don’t cry me a river
Me: hahaha, maybe i will stay somewhere else
Amanda: no. who will you run with then?
Me: no one. my ipod
Amanda: see you have to go with me
Amanda: wahahahaha

First of all, that’s her evil laugh. Second of all, she was serious. Anyway, I drove down to Amanda’s on Friday night and though it’s supposed to take an hour and a half, it took two and half hours. So, when I walked in the door, Laura and Amanda immediately asked me if I wanted wine and I said yes. Then we had a delicious pasta party and made our way to the Raven’s stadium to pick up our race packets. Laura was wearing blue pajama pants with stars on them. Amanda was wearing pink pajama pants with white polka dots. I was wearing sweatpants. People judged us. A lot.

We spent most of this period of time complaining about how far we had to walk to pick up all our stuff, speculating as to whether the race course would have hills, and trying to figure out who was running the marathon and who wasn’t. After spending half an hour surrounded by hardcore runners whilst dressed in our pajamas, we returned home… where we drank more wine, ate Tostitos and Harry & David dip, and watched E! until midnight when we figured we should probably go to sleep. That’s how we prepared for a race.

Miraculously, Amanda woke up on time and we bid adieu to Laura and left by 6:30am. We got there remarkably early and gathered a mountain of free items; however, we never ate any breakfast other than a free sample of a Dunkin Donuts pumpkin spice latte (delicious). We walked around way too much and finally sat on a curb and judged people’s outfits. Note: Spandex leggings by themselves are not a wise decision. We don’t care what you look like.

Guess which one of us is actually excited to run.

We watched the marathon take off and planned our own future marathon experience. By this I mean that we already know what we want to wear and it involves pink shoelaces. We lined up at the starting mark and Amanda immediately became excited because the first song on her iPod was Britney which obviously meant good things.

So, we ran. We ran through the ghetto. (I wish I were kidding). We ran through a smell akin to that of Jersey. (Again, I wish I were kidding). We ran through Camden Yards (where I almost threw up from the lack of food). And, at some point, I ran away from Amanda because she stopped running. Then we were done. Amanda saw someone barf. We celebrated by eating a free banana. And I ate free crab soup (Amanda thought it was a gross idea at 10am). And then we drank FREE BEER. Only in Baltimore would you run a race and receive 2 free beers for your effort. We then proceeded to sit down and drink said beers in the middle of a parking lot after perusing the Under Armour store.

Free Under Armour shirt and free beer equals happiness

Anyway, the race was super fun. Maybe the best one I’ve ever done. And even better because I got to be drunk at 10am. Then, instead of napping like normal people, we proceeded to drink a lot and stay out until 3am. Because that’s the type of runners we are. The ones who don’t take it seriously and drink before AND after running and stay up for 21 hours because we’re on a runner’s high that can only be satiated with alcohol. And cheese fries. That happened.

This story explains how we went from this:

To this:

That’s just how we roll. Next year we’re doing the relay. And we’re going to wear matching outfits. Join us!

– Sarah #2

P.S. Definitely ask Amanda for her version of how the race went. It’s inappropriate and offensive but hilarious.