The 4 Elements of Game Changing Liquid Life Ruiner

So.... I like to booze. As do my friends. I don't think it's a secret.


I know this is the type of blog that Adam H. Newman will criticize me for and say things like "Oh, wow, you're so cool because you drink! Tell everyone how much you love the sauce!" and what not, but A) It's summer! B) He wishes he was this cool. and C) I'm a grown ass woman, I do what I want. So, suck it.

I hang out with a group of people where I live. Everyone lives at or within a mile of an apartment complex next to a bunch of restaurants, shops and bars. Our numbers can grow anywhere from 4 to 20 deep at any given moment. We are all pretty close in age, enjoy the company of one another, and have a lot of fun together. It's constant shenanigans. At the moment, I hang out with 3 guys from the group pretty much on the reg. I talk to or see at least 1 out of the 3 every single day without fail. We are all single, extremely tolerant of each other, and have similar drinking priorities. It's a summer foursome made in immature people heaven. For now, we will call them Travis Mackleroy, Rik Yaml, and The Flick. They are also known as... the other 3 elements.


It all started when....

A few weeks ago, Rik, Travis and The Flick drag me to a bar in our town. I say drag, because on this particular Saturday, I was brutally hung over and knew I wouldn't be drinking. Or so I thought. I also enjoy this particular place because it's cheap, there's decent music, and my inner skeeze usually comes out via a rousing game of bar truth or dare. Anyhoo.

We have ordered beers, consumed part inside, and decide to move out to the patio. I have barely choked down a half a draft and Rik is feeling similarly p-wordish. The boys are checking out waitresses, I'm wing manning, casually eye raping college boys walking in, there's a girl throwing up in a trash can on the other side of the patio. It's pretty much a regular, chill Saturday evening. Out of nowhere, Travis, who can handle a ridiculous amount of booze on a regular basis, apparently decides he hates/loves all of us and is going to change our night/lives. He says he's getting himself, Rik and me a shot. I remind him that I hate shots and I'm feeling like a toddler with this hangover. He says not to fear because I'll "like it, it's got peach schnapps, coconut rum and ...(jokingly) a line of cocaine in it". I roll my eyes at his impish grin and excited hand wringing, agree to the shot and say I'm going to the restroom first.

When I return, the shot is on the table. It's obviously a double, it's huge, it's brownish in color. Travis looks like it's Christmas morning, Flick looks sad/jealous (because he is driving and doesn't have one) and Rik looks as if he's mentally writing his will. This is when they explain to me that it's a shot called Liquid Cocaine. I figure that I have only had one beer, one shot won't make me vom. Plus, with a name that dumb, it's bound to contain Red Bull and be super weak. I have no idea why Travis looks so thrilled. We take the shot. I don't think it's that bad, better than tequila. Here are some things that happen in the hour that follows:

- I learn it has no Red Bull... but does contain equal parts Jagermeister, Goldschlager, Rumple Minze and Bacardi 151.

- I begin to panic.

- My face turns redder than usual and I feel warm. I ask if my ears are as red as they seem to me. Rik declares he feels warm as well. We suspect that one shot is getting us drunk.

- I give a waitress a napkin with the phone numbers and a short physical description of all 3 boys I'm with and tell her "just in case". Whatever the fuck that means.

- I ask Flick if I look as drunk as I think I'm getting. He says "Let's hurry up and go, I'm so thirsty. I want that."

- Rik leans over and confirms; we took one shot and it's getting both of us drunk from the inside out rather quickly. I compare it to the time I ate a pot brownie at Coachella and lost my mind for 48 straight hours. I think at this point I have one more beer.

- I start planning a Tucker Max style attack on any half way decent looking college dude with blue eyes. The boys encourage this, but don't point any out as they fear it will make them appear homosexual.

- We decide to go to a bar within walking distance from home because 3 of us are now hammered and Flick is sober and wearing a frown. He shows us how fast his new car can get us to more drinks.

- Travis can't stop smiling.

- The bartender at Bar Louie tells us they don't make that shot because they don't carry Bacardi 151. We tell them this is unacceptable and walk over the ghetto pizza place/bar around the corner. They make 3 more shots. I can't handle another one. I have some Malibu and Coke.

- Lights out. I think I had some Twisted Tea at Yaml's place after this, but it's unclear.

- We decide that we want to be able to feel like this at any given moment and decide to purchase bottles of the evil ingredients. We make it safely to beds... somewhere.

This is where it actually becomes childish, believe it or not. Cut to a few weeks later, we eventually all pick up said bottles of booze. The first night we have them all together, we agree on some ground rules for consuming this death juice. We compare ourselves to the 4 elements of the Earth, though nobody decides who is what. It matters not. The shot of evil awesomeness can only be taken if all 4 of us are present. Much like the movie The 5th Element. I guess our 5th element would be stupidity or poor judgement. Also, nobody else can do the shot unless all 4 elements are present and agree. We are stingy with our super hardcore booze, apparently.

I will just say this... having this shot in a shot glass, in a bar, poured by a sober bartender is VERY different than Rik mixing it up in his "extremely baller" cocktail shaker set after a few beers and pouring it in Solo cups. I'm unsure of how many I had, but the night looked VERY different than the first night I consumed Liquid Evil. Here's a ... sketchy at best look into that night....

- The boys start asking me why I'm wearing a Canadian tuxedo (I was wearing a denim shirt) and telling me that my flats looked like shit with my shorts and to put heels on.

- Kicking a small stuffed soccer ball around Rik's apartment like a combination of Pele and the Tasmanian Devil.

- Going to a bar to eat and thinking fried pickles and jalapeno corn bread was a suitable dinner. Let's not mention the side dish of Coors Light.

- Stopping to get more beer after that bar and thinking Bud Light Lime cans was the best choice. I still have no idea where this case of beer is now.

- Black out. Don't remember going back to the apartments, where I put that beer, or how we got to the next bar. One that serves huge goblets of beer for $3. Thank Goodness!

- Lights back on. Our friend, Squint, who never ever goes out has a huge emotional conversation with me in a separate room that nobody but us is drinking in that I barely remember. I have some of his giant beer.

- Don't remember leaving that drinking room, but end up back in the main room of the bar just in time to see that most of the people we are with are going to need a cab home. Soon.


- Somehow manage to save a cab number in my cell phone. Don't know where I got the number, what cab company, if I reached them, what I said to them, but a cab does indeed come to pick up Yaml and I.


- Black out. Don't remember the cab ride, paying the driver or getting dropped off at Bar Louie.


- Lights back on. I realize that the 15 or so people that we were with have now completely split up and Yaml and I left Travis and Flick at the last bar. Fuck them, I'm sure I told them a cab was coming. I swear I remember Travis waving good bye. I look around and notice that Yaml has now also bailed, and our other friend (let's call him Smash) is too drunk to live. I decide not to worry about him, a guy with him looks pretty alive. I think I had a conversation with him about divorce about 20 minutes earlier. I'm not sure why.


- I decide it's time to go find Yaml. Black out. Don't remember walking out of the bar or taking my shoes off, but...


- Lights back on. I am walking on sod, barefoot, carrying my heels and having a discussion on the phone regarding the pain the sidewalk was causing my feet so I needed to walk in the grass. I have to look at the phone to see who I'm talking to. It's a boy. Shocker. We will call him Richie Tedco. I can't remember if he called me. I feel like I opened the phone to call Yaml, but I'm happy talking to Richie so I keep it up.


- Black out. Don't remember how, but I made it to the bottom of the stairs to Yaml's apartment.


- Lights back on. I am sitting on the stairs having a fantastic time listening to Richie laugh at me over the phone. I look up and see that Yaml's lights are off, but can't imagine he's in bed. I decide he will have to eventually run into me on his stairs and decide to keep chatting. I think I'm planning a trip to see Richie. Hell, it's only an 11 hour drive.


- Smash and his friend round the corner to Smash's apartment and stop in their tracks when they see me on the stairs laughing. This worries me so I look down to make sure I'm still clothed. I am, just missing shoes. I decide they're drunk asses and I'm a civilized human, waiting for my friend Rik, having the phone time of my life. I tell them to keep moving.


- Black out. Don't remember the conversation ending. I'm not worried as Richie Tedco is not the type of guy to fret about how I got off the phone with him. He gets me.


- Lights briefly back on. I'm sitting on Smash's couch talking to his friend about divorce again. I don't know why. The Flick calls my phone. I ignore it because I TOLD them to get in the damn cab. Smash falls onto his coffee table and kicks an entire glass of water onto his Wii and TV as his friend is trying to get him to have another beer. I half ass wipe it up, but decide that sitting back down seems like a better idea. Lights back out... for good.


I awake the next day in shambles. I am still at Smash's. There is a TV on. Loud. I am still drunk. My head hurts so bad I want to rip it off. I am sensing vom coming. Smash decides smoking will help everything. I disagree so I go outside to throw up. Nothing happens, but I do see Travis and Flick. Flick's hair looks like he slept on a park bench. Travis is still smiling. I hate them. When I decide I won't throw up on Smash's water logged Wii, I go back in side and collect my things to go as he's droning on about Bob Evans. The though of bacon nearly sends me over the edge. The only reason I make it home without barfing is because I decide that throwing up in my perfect, suburban neighborhood is unAmerican. And humiliating. There are kids around playing soccer. I spend the next hour standing in my bathroom debating whether to just vom or go back to the couch. Couch wins. I stay there.


After about 7 straight hours of DVR catch up, I am mentally aware enough to trace the route of this crippling hangover back to Liquid Cocaine. I speak with Richie and he says our conversation was awesome and I was hilarious. I asked what the hell we talked about and his response is "A lot of stuff, but you talked about something called a 'game changer' for about 20 minutes straight".


Liquid Cocaine, game changer indeed. Last time I judge a shot by it's name.









Or is it.....