Greetings all, and welcome to the inaugural installment of Girl Drink Drunk. Just a little background: what will become a regular feature ’round these parts was inspired by a Kids In the Hall sketch from many years ago (you can watch it at the end of the post, don’t worry) about a man sucked into the beautiful but dangerous world of…fruity, creamy, frothy, pretty, umbrella-ed, bedazzled, crazy straw-ed and decorative creatures with various ways of hanging from the side of a glass-ed girl drinks.
It made me wonder, are all those girl drinks actually girly, or will they really knock you on your ass? Ah, the perfect opportunity for a little investigative reporting. In the future, you find me stepping up to the bar, as well as my crack team of girl drink testers. Please enjoy…and drink responsibly, even when girly.
9:40 p.m.: The air is refreshingly brisk on the Double Wide patio as I sit down with the BF and BFF for the first sip of the venue’s original recipe: the Hurritang. The DW touts it on a table card with this: “Forget the Big Easy. The party starts here with our version of the Hurricane. After a few of these even FEMA can’t help you.”
Oh, shit. FEMA can't even help themselves, so...
9:45 p.m.: BF Jake disses the concoction (about 2 oz. rum, splash of pineapple juice, splash of grenadine, with Tang replacing the 2 oz. of orange and other juices), despite his love of aeronautics and space-related movies. Opts for water and iPhone play. BFF Jen and I overhear a girl describe hers as tasting like “melted Push-Up.”
10:05 p.m.: Halfway through. Feeling it in the forehead but otherwise normal.
10:15 p.m.: Jen finishes, steals Jake’s shunned girl drink. Girl talk commences.
10:25 p.m.: Second round for me, plus water because I realize that I’ve actually just quoted a line from Undercover Blues and then explained why it’s funny. Jen cites Ellen…which she’s never seen. On a not very scientific scale of 1 to 10 with 5 being tipsy, Jen claims a 5.5 after 1.75 Hurritangs. I’m at 6.5 after 1.25. You follow?
Odd, since neither of us would be this affected by two vodka and tonics.
10:35 p.m.: Jen writes in my notes that she would like another drink. Her handwriting is uncharacteristically slurred. There is an abrupt shift from girl talk to the suddenly crucial matter of where one can procure a corn broom in England.
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10:45 p.m.: Jen heads into Round 3. I’m halfway through 2. Thank goodness I ate a full meal, what with the half glass of rum. It’s seeming like I’m a lightweight but we determine collectively it’s gotta be the sugar. Missy, a girl from the next table, gives the Hurritang “3 stars for hot mess” and says while she went to University of Florida and knows how to drink, she can only drink “maybe two” Hurritangs.
10:55 p.m.: Jen officially declares that she’s in a “make-out mood.” Jake and I assume this means she would like to leave soon and be hanging out with someone other than us. Drunk cigarette count: 1. Jen’s professional smoker cigarette count: 4.
11:15 p.m.: Paid up, we head out. Both Jen and I are at an approximate 8 on the unscientific scale. We’re giggly, which is rare. We’re silly, which is rare. Jake is, thankfully, driving. And…I’m unaware that my beloved camera has just fallen out of my purse. So, if anyone happened to find a Nikon CoolPix at the Double Wide Wednesday night, e-mail this girl drink drunk. --Merritt Martin