You are what you drink

I'm not sure if it's politically correct to judge people based on their drinking habits. But I know I'm guilty of it. And most serious imbibers are probably at fault.

For starters, I don't trust a person who doesn't drink. Sorry. Won't date a teetotaler or vote for politicians who tout their own abstinence. I will make exceptions for folks who are "drying out" or "on the wagon" — but even then I have my limits.

Like the great H. L Mencken said during the dark days of The Dry Law: "A prohibitionist is the sort of man one couldn't care to drink with, even if he drank."

I also assess the opposite sex based on their alcohol consumption. For instance, if a woman sits down next to me and orders a Jameson-and-soda, both her sex appeal and compatibility factor just doubled. On the other hand, if the same woman orders a Johnnie Walker Blue, she still gets the sex points but the compatibility quotient is shot. I simply don't have the bank account to hang with a woman who makes a habit of ordering $20 glasses of scotch.

What does your drink of choice disclose? Here's my highly subjective list of what certain adult beverages divulge about the women ordering them. Next week's "You Are What You Drink" will evaluate men's drinking decisions, which means I'll have to come clean about being a closet chardonnay consumer.

Cosmo/Cosmopolitan (vodka/cointreau/lime, cranberry). Carrie Bradshaw's drink of choice is once again the libation du jour for every single woman in the United States thanks to the Sex and the City flick. (I'd be curious to see numbers on the uptick in Cosmos bought and sold the weekend the film opened.) But what can a cocktail this outrageously popular reveal about the women drinking them?

Well, one could surmise that the consumer is a follower, a woman who might be more easily talked into hooking up than say, the mysterious woman sipping a Beefeater-and-tonic. On the other hand, maybe the woman just enjoys the taste of a Cosmo. After all, they are quite delicious.

Martini (3 parts gin — or vodka, I guess — 1 part dry or sweet vermouth). I'm partial to dirty martinis — which include olive brine in place or in conjunction with the vermouth — so I'm most impressed when a woman orders a "dirty" or "dusty" martini. In general, women who drink martinis have class and a taste for spirits. The martini woman is someone who can drink all night and keep her shit together. That said, if she orders an appletini, you might have a better chance of bedding her, but she's going to be infinitely less cool.

Irish Car Bomb. (Guinness, Jameson, Bailey's Irish Cream). I don't care if you could park a Buick on her ass, she's cross-eyed and has an IQ of 23, if a woman approaches you at the bar and asks if you're up for an Irish Car Bomb, she's a keeper. Anyone can slam a Jägerbomb, Snow Cone or the latest energy-drink-and-spirits combination. But it takes a seasoned imbiber to choke down an Irish Car Bomb and appreciate its chocolatey taste. Once the tall shot glass teeming with Jameson and Bailey's plunges into the Guinness, the beer automatically starts to overflow, and you only have a matter of seconds to guzzle all 12 ounces of liquid cheer before the Bailey's curdles like bad milk.

Michelob Ultra Light. A complete fraud. This gal doesn't even enjoy drinking. Or else she's too worried about her figure to have fun. Either way, she's a party pooper, the kind of woman who, if you got serious with her, would eventually harp on you for coming home and pouring yourself a highball — or having a glass of wine at lunch or even a few beers at the ball game. (So what if it's your kid's Little League game?) Because nothing tastes less like actual beer — and more like golf course retention pond water — than Michelob Ultra Light. Give me a good night of drinking, say, Guinness, and I'd be willing to wager that my morning piss could beat Michelob Ultra Light in a blind taste test.

Wine. If the woman approaches the bar and says, "I'm in the mood for a Bordeaux; what do you have for under $12 a glass?" she's cool. Not so much so if she orders a Kendall Jackson. Of course, you have to be careful she's not a Super Wine Snob, or she'll glare down her pointy nose at you lest you ever order a rum-and-coke or PBR. And steer clear of white zin drinkers. They're either white trash or underage.