Vodka Soda Quotes

She thinks, I want an orange soda. And I want vodka to mix into the orange soda. And while we're at it, I'd also like to stop being able to see how people are going to bite it. Oh, and a pony. I definitely want a goddamn pony.

At pub. Vodka sodass ar twi pounds I screwed upp gonna drink everything all the vofka sodas

What the hell was your pal Bertin demanding?” he asked. “Sipping syrup?” “It’s a cocktail he prefers when he gets, ah, overly excited.” “A cocktail?” “Of sorts. Lemon–lime soda, vodka, codeine in solution, and a Jolly Rancher candy.” “A what?” “Bertin prefers the watermelon–flavored variety.” D’Agosta shook his head. “Christ. Only in Louisiana.” “Actually, I understand the concoction originated in Houston.

In the early days of Booker and Dax, when Arnold was still working behind the bar every night, a guy came in and ordered a vodka and soda. It’s arguably the dumbest mixed drink ever invented.

I gather from Audrius that that concoction contains ten different ingredients. In addition to vodka, rum, brandy, and grenadine, it boasts an extraction of rose, a dash of bitters, and a melted lollipop. But a cocktail is not meant to be a mélange. It is not a potpourri or an Easter parade. At its best, a cocktail should be crisp, elegant, sincere—and limited to two ingredients.” “Just two?” “Yes. But they must be two ingredients that complement each other; that laugh at each other’s jokes and make allowances for each other’s faults; and that never shout over each other in conversation. Like gin and tonic,” he said, pointing to his drink. “Or bourbon and water . . . Or whiskey and soda . . .” Shaking his head, he raised his glass and drank from it. “Excuse me for expounding.

Johnny, be a dear and bring me a vodka soda with lots of lemons.” She sits back at the piano bench and starts to play “When I Fall in Love.” John starts toward me and I point at him. “Stop right there, John Ambrose McClaren. Do you have my name?” “No! I swear I don’t. I have--I’m not saying who I have.” He pauses. “Wait a minute. Do you have mine?” I shake my head, innocent as a little lost lamb. He still looks suspicious, so I busy myself with making Stormy’s drink. I know just how she likes it. I drop in three ice cubes, an eight-second pour of vodka, and a splash of soda water. Then I squeeze three lemon slices and drop them in the glass. “Here,” I say, holding out the glass. “You can put it on the table,” he says. “John! I’m telling you, I don’t have your name!” He shakes his head. “Table.” I set the glass back down. “I can’t believe you don’t believe me. I feel like I remember you being a trusting kind of person who sees the good in people.” Sober as a judge, John says, “Just…stay on your side of the table.” Shoot. How am I supposed to take him out if he makes me stay ten feet away all night? Airily I say, “Fine by me. I don’t know if I believe you, either, so! I mean, this is a pretty big coincidence, you showing up here.” “Stormy guilted me into coming!” I snap my head in Stormy’s direction. She’s still playing the piano, looking over at us with a big smile. Mr. Morales sidles up to the bar and says, “May I have this dance, Lara Jean?” “You may,” I say. To John I warn, “Don’t you dare come close to me.” He throws his hands out like he’s warding me off. “Don’t you come close to me!

(nobody actually likes vodka, soda and fresh lime, but they were necessary if she wanted to fit into this weekend’s wardrobe)

Homemade Mouthwash   Equipment needed: Measuring Spoon, Measuring Cup, Eye Dropper, Pint Jar w/ Lid   Ingredients: 8 oz of filtered water (or water that has been boiled and cooled) 1 tsp of baking soda 4 drops of Peppermint Essential Oil 4 drops of Tea Tree Oil 5 drops of liquid stevia (if desired) 1 tsp of vodka (if desired)   Directions: Place all of the ingredients into the jar. Apply lid and shake to mix. Shake well before each use.

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It’s vodka and soda.” I winced, but free liquor was free liquor. It tasted like carbonated rubbing alcohol with a squeeze of lime, and it burned immediately going down.

well. They find Brooke—okay, wow—in the center of a circle of Chads. (Dru-Ann can’t remember what a group of Chads is called. It’s either a privilege or an inheritance.) These boys are wearing white pants, pastel polos, belts needlepointed for them by their rich, idle mothers, and loafers without socks. They’re sloshing their vodka sodas around, cheering on their new mascot, Brooke.

Beck, listen to me. Benji is an asshole. Okay?" I want to scream YES but I sit. Still. Benji. "Listen, Beck," Chana rails on. "Some guys are assholes and you have to accept that. You can buy him all the books in the world and he's still gonna be Benji. He'll never be Benjamin or, God forbid, Ben because he doesn't have to, because he's a permanent man-baby, okay? He and his club soda can fuck off and so can his stupid ass name. I mean seriously, Benji? Is he kidding? And the way he says it. Like it's Asian or French. Ben Geeee. Dude, just fuck off." Lynn sigh. "I never thought about it that much. Benji. Ben Gee. Gee, Ben." There's a little laughter now and I am learning things about Benji. I don't like it but I have to accept it. Benji is real and I get another vodka soda. Benji.

Are you Russian?” “To the core.” “Well then, let me say at the outset that I am positively enamored with your country. I love your funny alphabet and those little pastries stuffed with meat. But your nation’s notion of a cocktail is rather unnerving. . . .” “How so?” The captain pointed discreetly down the bar to where a bushy-eyebrowed apparatchik was chatting with a young brunette. Both of them were holding drinks in a striking shade of magenta. “I gather from Audrius that that concoction contains ten different ingredients. In addition to vodka, rum, brandy, and grenadine, it boasts an extraction of rose, a dash of bitters, and a melted lollipop. But a cocktail is not meant to be a mélange. It is not a potpourri or an Easter parade. At its best, a cocktail should be crisp, elegant, sincere—and limited to two ingredients.” “Just two?” “Yes. But they must be two ingredients that complement each other; that laugh at each other’s jokes and make allowances for each other’s faults; and that never shout over each other in conversation. Like gin and tonic,” he said, pointing to his drink. “Or bourbon and water . . . Or whiskey and soda . . .” Shaking his head, he raised his glass and drank from it. “Excuse me for expounding.” “That’s quite all right.” The