#231. Shotgun A Beer

I don't like beer.

I didn't grow up in a household with much alcohol. We had a wine rack and liquor cabinet, but they were never used. I certainly never thought about sneaking anything out of it. They were like the antiques and porcelain figurines around our house - part of the decor/mess combination I grew up in, not actual bottles of liquid you would drink. I think I saw my mother maybe drink wine twice outside of religious ceremonies from ages 1-17 of my life. Alcohol was so not a part of my existence that even in the throws of the endless infant/child/teenage/college/now/always rebellion and power struggle between myself and my parents I never once even had the idea to go get wasted or drink anything, really. My sister and I came home one day a few years ago and found a six pack in the fridge and quite literally both stared at it in befuddlement until we discovered it was part of a halloween costume my dad wore to a party.

Christian eventually drank the beer.

I was also straight-edge until I was 21. Absolutely no alcohol of any kind in any quantity once I had the understanding of what it was. I've still never smoked a cigarette, or any tobacco, or done any drugs. I'm even trying to stay away from caffeine more now and I take pain medication SUPER rarely (though I do when needed), and only over the counter stuff. I had my first drink on my 21st birthday in Steve Bragale's basement and I'm pretty sure it was a Mike's hard Lemon or Limeade. I've been drunk twice in my life and I don't like it, and I've been buzzed a few more times than that (I'm starting to get the appeal, five years into it). Suffice it to say, drinking is not a substantial part of my life and if I never drank alcohol again it would be no great loss. I'm still getting used to the fact that my friends just keep beer stocked around the house. All the time. Cause they drink it. Every day.

So if I'm not drinking to get drunk, then I'm doing it for taste. And I HATE the taste of beer. IPAs in particular (dear god), but I'm just not a fan. People say it's an acquired taste but as a very wise sixteen year old character in a play I recently directed said "Who'd want to acquire this?" I can manage a few sips, and there are a few beers that I'm just neutral on, but I find nothing "enjoyable" or "refreshing" about them - though I really appreciate hearing people who do love beer talking about all the different varieties, etc. Any interest I have in beer is of a purely intellectual kind. Leave me to my fuzzy navels, mojitos, and pineapple/rum/sprite combinations.

If I'm a pay to poison myself, it's gonna taste GOOD.

So it may come as no surprise that I have never shotgunned a beer.

Until now.

Last night I met up with Max Nova and Sarah Davis to power down a can of alcohol in the most hose like way possible. None of us had ever done so before. Sarah backed out (and took pictures). Max and I went for it.

Going in, I had both strengths and weaknesses:

Weakness - I hate beer.

Strength - my superhuman ability to consume gargantuan amounts of liquids in record time, from water to ginger ale.

I felt ready.

My Enemy.

We stood at the sink, ready for anything. Max went first, and proceeded to shoot beer all over himself and his sink.

It's like a mini fireworks display.

Eventually he got the hang of it.

Even when shotgunning a beer, Max keeps etiquette in mind.

And then... it was my turn.

Man vs. Beer

And you know what? I rocked it. Given the speed of the beverage traveling down my gullet I could barely taste it. No need for my Root Beer chaser. No spillage. Just pure liquid consumption and epic can crunching and posing. A world I was born to rule.

True Metal Radio.

Because here's the thing - it's not like I've ever needed a reason to chug something.

That's just what I do.

Now I have to do a keg stand a body shot.

Bring it on.

We Crush You.

#65. Order hot wings with the spiciest sauce at a wing joint. Eat em all.

I was in so much pain and it was all Matthew McConaughey's fault.

Christian and I were hanging out around the apartment, lightly drinking, and coming up with new adventures for the blog (as I'm still only at 225 of 300) when we ended up in a bet about whether Matthew McConaughey, the undisputed master of the shirtless scene, was the Black Rider in Community. I was convinced he was. Christian knew otherwise. $5 was briefly on the table, but the stakes could be higher. Finally it was decided that if I lost, I had to do the first of the 300 that night. If I won, stakes would be decided later.

Turns out it was Josh Holloway from Lost. That's embarrassing.

They both have square jaws.

I lost. Christian won.

Shit was on.

We narrowed the list down to 7 things we could reasonably accomplish at 10:30pm on a Thursday night with no planning. And that brought us to Buffalo Wild Wings for #65.

We met up with Chris Holst and Sarah Davis, and met our waiter (Sean). We explained the situation, the 300 tasks, and that this was the kickoff. Christian decided to join me, despite still spitting blood from what sounded like a brutal dental appointment earlier in the day. We would each take the wing challenge.

Sean the waiter got really into it.

Sean the waiter getting really into it.

Turns out that Thursday is Boneless Thursdays - 5 wing orders for $3. Perfect. Less wings than the usual 6 (I have to finish the order) and $2 cheaper. The hottest wing there is Blazing. I tend to run towards medium. But I had a plan. I immediately made sure they had chocolate milk at the ready (they did), to coat my tongue and counter the acid. Extra blue cheese dipping sauce. My tongue and I were at the ready.

Sean started off by trying to scare the shit out of us by talking about how our lips would burn, our throats would burn, and asking if I had any ulcers. I said I'd find out. Christian remained bad-assedly unimpressed. I become slightly less unimpressed. Sean the waiter then brought us warm up cups of Wild sauce, the penultimate sauce before Blazing, just to get a quick taste test. Christian's was a smiley face. Mine a sad face. It was hot, but bearable. Low level flavor, strong follow through. Really stayed on the tongue.

Then the wings came, lathered in blazing hot glory. I was saddened to find that my chocolate milk, my would be salvation, wasn't even a glass - just a juice box carton.

No time to complain.

It was Wing Time.

A toast to Blazing Glory.

At first, slathered in Blue Cheese and fortified with what little Chocolate Milk I had, it wasn't so bad. But then the aftertaste set in. Not really an aftertaste. More like an after sensation.

Of burning.

Holy crap it was hot.

I acquitted myself well, I think. By wing 4 tears were gently streaming down my face. But they were manly tears, born of fire. And oh, was there fire. Not that immediate fire. Like burning embers in a grill. On my tongue, in my throat, in my stomach. The dull sensation of burning. By the end I was shoveling in blue cheese with every chew, just hoping for the sweet relief of that white creamy salvation, my tiny carton of milk decimated in the middle of wing one.

Christian on the other hand totally rocked it, looking none the worse for wear. Man's mouth is a champ.

This is literally moments before the tears.

Sean brought us an old wing master's remedy that he learned from a small Spanish woman in a bar - lukewarm coffee. It helped, but not nearly enough. My mouth was a burning flame, my throat the throat of a dragon. I was in a LOT of pain.

Then, finally - a giant glass of real chocolate milk.

I downed half of it and IMMEDIATELY felt better.

All wings were vanquished. And while my tummy still has slight aftershocks (I'm taking some tums before I pass out), and my tongue has the slight numbness of a hard fought battle, the first task is done.

A really great night, big thanks to Chris for taking the pictures, Sarah for joining us, and Christian for being my first team up.

One down, 299 to go.