On any given drinking day with me, I’ll dare friends to shotgun beers with me, talk to attractive chicks or play games of Super Danger Darts. How do you play Super Double D? Put your hands around the bullseye and trust that your friends don’t hit you with sharp pointy projectiles. Here’s a photo:
(Playing Super Danger Darts)
On many occasions, I’ve said, "I’ve always wanted to get rip-roaring girl drunk. You know, drink a bunch of Zima, wine coolers and cocktails with fruit and umbrellas and shit in them."
I’m always met with this response: "You’ll get so hungover you’ll die."
Well, it should be noted that I’m invincible. But my hangovers can get pretty nasty. However, I do write and seem to be fairly brilliant when I’m so under-the-weather I’m nearly blind.
So it takes a lot of balls to call one of my bluffs, but it was a female who took me up on one of my usual bullshit ideas. Go figure.
Then one night Gina sacked up and said, "This Thursday let’s get a bunch of wine coolers, drink them in the mall parking lot and watch The Crazies."
And I said, "Shit." But I always believe an incredibly bad idea that grows even more awful must be carried out.
Three of my favorite things happen to be girls, sugar and booze so how bad could a few Seagram’s Wine Coolers be?
I’ve never drunk a wine cooler, but it was my responsibility to buy them. When I walked into the first liquor store, I just looked for bottles with gold or purple tinfoil wrapping, which is all I could remember about high school girls drinking wine coolers. That, and the fact they seemed to grow sluttier with every sip of confectionery cocktail.
I looked around for them, so I figured I’d buy Boone’s Farm Wine (or whatever the eff it’s called), but another girl told me that’s not a wine cooler, and would surely send me off to a death-inducing hangover.
So instead of asking somebody where I could find proper wine coolers, I just drove to the next liquor store and looked again with no luck. I gritted my teeth, and asked the liquor store counter clerk where the wine coolers were. He snickered, "Right over there, where we keep that pussy Bud Light Lime stuff and Smirnoff Ice."
"I lost a bet," was all I could think of to say to save my manhood.
"Sure. Or you’re dating a 16-year-old girl," he laughed. My head hung low. "Or you’re something else…"
I still couldn’t find the bottles with tinfoil wrappers, so I just picked up the brightest colors. Strawberry Daquiri, Hawaiian Passion and even a Kahlua White Russian.
I cashed out. As I exited, the clerk said, "I think Victoria’s Secret is having a pink sale if you’ve got some babysitting money left over." I would have punched him, but I deserved the verbal abuse. And it was all in good fun. And that’s what guys do: break each other’s balls. I’d have done it to him.
I returned home, and waited for Gina to pick me up. I figure, when you’re getting Girl Drunk, you may as well let a female drive you around town. We pulled into the parking lot and I presented the booty: ten bucks worth of wine coolers. I twisted the top off and took my first drink of a blue concoction that looked more like Windex than something alcoholic—but I’m guessing window cleaner is healthier to drink in excess.
And…YEEEE-OUCH! It was like sticking electrodes to my nuts. No, I’m not being overdramatic, I have a cracked tooth. So it actually did cause me bloody murder pain.
After that, I gingerly sipped my wine cooler and made sure to avoid the injured tooth. Maybe I should have brought a dental dam—whatever the hell those things are for. As my date and I sat drinking in her car I remembered the other thing about wine coolers: you’re not supposed to taste the alcohol. Which is true. I couldn’t. So I read the label on the sky blue bottle.
All with the average alcohol content of about 4 percent. I’m used to drinking 80 to 100 proof whiskey or vodka, so getting drunk off this shit was going to be a stretch. I kept gulping it down, hoping to feel the oncoming buzz. Instead I experienced something around the sorts of a diabetic shock.
We went to the movie and snuck in some more coolies, which is what the "cool" kids called this wine cooler shit. After continuing to drink for 101 crappy minutes, Gina took me home. (The Crazies pretty much sucked.) After six bottles of Wild Mango Fusion Passion I was hoping to feel intoxicated, or at least slutty. But all I wanted to do was brush my teeth and make myself barf. Then brush my teeth again.
So the next time I make a bluff, I hope to hell nobody calls me out on it.