Jackson Free Press

Many of us have suffered through a night where we stoop to liquor and dark lighting to lick our wounds and rebuild our faith in life and love. Unfortunately, there are precious few road maps to the potential scumminess of the promising drinking partner with whom you share the bar and a wink. In the interest of those we love, (The JFP readers), Greggs and Johnson offer up an opposing he said/she said on what you can tell about a member of the opposite sex from what they choose to drink. In a world of deception, of push-up bras and hair plugs, the drink tells all.

JOHNSON:
Guinness: There are four types of Guinness women. First, I understand that untold numbers of women in Ireland guzzle Guinness for strength, and give us progeny as improbably ugly as "The Edge" of U2. Second are dazed 24-year-olds who graduated from college with a degree in getting down, with post-graduate work in an alcoholic's spare tire. Third are brawny 30-somethings who smoke American Spirit cigarettes. They may or may not have tattoos. Fourth, there are women who have their spirituality, that religion of the American on the go. They are Wiccans or Celts or Methodists who will recount with unblinking eyes their "journey" and the tumultuous affair they had with a married man in Byram. Approach Guinness women with extreme caution.

GREGGS:
Guinness: Unfortunately, there are only two types of men that drink Guinness. The first type usually enjoys hiking and other things that make me sweat, like "camping." High-heeled shoes usually upset them and they become filled with self-righteous indignation at the amount of time it takes to put on a decent face of make-up. They often want to compare their Trek bicycles and the best store for purchasing a kayak. The second type of Guinness man? Well, there's more than a sporting chance he owns a dream catcher. His home usually smells of lavender and bullsh*t. He will leave on "vision quests" for the weekend, allowing time for you to rifle through his belongings. While "accidentally" snooping, look in the bedroom closet: I'll bet you a homemade kilt you'll find a poster of a noble-looking wolf laying around.

JOHNSON:
Cosmopolitan: The National Institutes of Health has released research showing that flavored vodkas have increased the likelihood that a woman will "put out" by 37 percent. Unfortunately, the likelihood that she'll puke on you has risen by 14 percent, but those are odds most men will take. Cosmopolitans and their flavored-martini ilk are essentially vodka wine coolers. The appeal is the same, because that syrupy sweetness hides the bite of booze. The advent of flavored vodkas has unleashed the firepower of a martini for women who could not stand the taste. And what woman can resist the glamor of holding a rose-colored martini while showing off a new dress? When one cosmopolitan becomes three, she will likely want to show off much more. Whether she's a guileless 20-something or a boozy divorcée with a wicked smile, the cosmopolitan lets her do what she wants to do. I hope I don't have to tell you what that is.

GREGGS:
Cosmopolitan: I can't actually remember the last time I saw a man drink a Cosmopolitan. Whenever it was, I'm pretty sure that the man had a lovely haircut. He also owned a small puffy dog, several large throw pillows and a boyfriend named "Bruce." No straight man should ever throw back a Cosmo, no matter how metrosexual he claims to be. "Sex and the City" has proven beyond any reasonable doubt that these drinks are fit only for numb women and their gay counterparts. I did have one experience with an apple martini-wielding male that grazed the edges of heterosexuality, but his name was "Pat," and he may well have had breasts at one time. What man in his right mind holds something pink and then attempts to convince you that he is a fully functioning heterosexual? We are in Mississippi, for Christ's sake.

JOHNSON:
Scotch: There are two varieties of female scotch drinkers. First are what people in Milwaukee call "North Shore Nancies," who are rich housewives in their 50s from the northern, affluent suburbs. They live in sprawling brick micro-mansions in communities like White Fish Bay, which everyone called "White Folks Bay." These women acquired a taste for scotch by raiding their husbands' liquor cabinets, and God knows they had cause. Now, they have settled into comfortable resentment, wielding Dewars and water with a twist. Second, there are women you will beg to break your heart, who have braved romantic delight and disillusionment, who chain-smoke and gaze at you with wary affection while they drink Dalwhinnie with two cubes of ice. If you find such an angel, sacrifice for her.

GREGGS:
Scotch: There also happen to be two types of male scotch drinkers. The first kind has a law degree and a good grasp on alcoholism. He owns a copy of the preppy handbook and actually went to a Rites of Spring party last March. His mother will call incessantly and inquire about your tennis game. His ex-wife has had at least one unsuccessful hospitalization for exhaustion, and his ungrateful children spend too much money attempting to look dirty so that daddy will hate them. The second type of guy that drinks scotch is probably dark and employed in the arts. He speaks with an accent and strokes my hair while softly whispering "Bella Mia." He waxes any unseemly body hair and uses sandalwood lotion on his other parts. Right now, he's in my bedroom and has two first-class tickets to Paris.

JOHNSON:
Absolut Currant and seltzer with a splash of cranberry, just the merest drizzle of grenadine and two twists of lime:
What an a**h*le.

GREGGS:
Absolut Currant and seltzer with a splash of cranberry, just the merest drizzle of grenadine and two twists of lime:
Agreed. Total a**h*le.