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Sparkle (1)
Not That Kind of Girl: The kind who is a monstrously-amped energy fiend who pounds those tiny bottles of liquid truckstop meth dubbed as single-shot energy drinks.
I am usually verging on the obnoxious edge of extreme perkiness already.
I am not huge on pumping chemicals into my body. Heck, it wasn't 'til this year that I even started taking aspirin.
The Scene: The office at the un-witching hour of 2:30, when every 9-to-5er's cube is magically transformed into a lead coffin for productivity. But not anymore! After seeing about fifty ads for it on Hulu, I finally broke down and bought a two-pack of 5-Hour Energy: a single shot of PURE! LIQUID! ENERGY!
Can I just say how much I love that my co-worker has taken my bloggy weirdness in stride. After I bought the shots, I ran into the office and shouted: "Dude, I'm going to get TOTALLY AMPED! For the blog!" Then, during the whole afternoon, as I took pics of bottles, chugged creepy artificial fluids, and literally walked into walls, she just shrugged like, "Well, yeah, obviously this is what's happening."
All afternoon, I sneaked glances at the lurid sunset-hued bottles and giggled gleefully to myself. Forget the concoction itself -- just looking at it was an anticipation orgy! When 2:30 finally rolled around, I was all but vibrating as I screwed off the cap, delicately wiped away the weird brown spots on the bottle lip, then gulped it down.
The instructions on the box suggested half a bottle as a single serving; full bottle for MAXIMUM ENERGY. I hardly need tell you which I chose.
As for how it went? Huh. I wisely opened up a blank Word Doc to jot my tasting notes, lest the experience leave me too psyched out of my damn mind to recall the effects of this magical brew. I'll let those notes (reprinted here in full) speak for themselves:
Thoughts upon opening and consuming a bottle of 5-Hour Energy:
2:31: that smells weirdly good.
2:32: oh god, the burning. like each individual pore in my throat is snorting a line of coke at once.
2:35: whoa, what would that even sound like? do snorts have pitches?
2:43: huh, there was obviously mold on the lip of the bottle. checking the crags of my chapped lips. there's probably spore build-up.
2:51: gentle cloudy-eyed bewilderment, like a mall pet-store puppy.
2:57: oh god it's like getting too stoned: you want to undo it but the only cure is time. also, i'm monstrously hungry right now.
2:59: no, think, goddamnit. stay focused.
3:12: so much sadness. it's like a big shaggy monster hugging me too tightly from behind. i love you too, sadness monster. even if you're deformed like a puppy mill sheepdog.
3:15: i should have finished those muzzy tapes when i was seven years old. i'd know french by now.
3:24: ennui.
3:30: seriously? four hours left of this crap?
Yeah, so I'm not sure whom they tested this snake oil on or whether my body's completely broken but, dude, forget perilous psychitude -- ten minutes after ingesting the shot, I was so fuzzy that I could barely think. And, worse, the few thoughts that filtered through were friggin' melancholy. We're talking Chekhovianly sad.
After an hour, the jittering kicked in, and I'd lost the mental capability to continue tapping out unfocused notes. Instead, moved around the office purposelessly, shambling into walls and lowing balefully like the captive grizzly in a podunk county circus.
Apparently, I'm really big on the near-death-animal visual today. What can I say? 5-Hour Energy took a glorious, majestic creature and sucked out its pride, its vitality, its very essence. I'd totally like to use this opportunity to rail against the perils of modernity but, dude, I need a dang nap.
The Verdict: Technically, 5-Hour Energy makes good on its promise to eliminate that 2:30 in the afternoon feeling. Unfortunately, it does so by replacing it with a 2:30 in the morning, spilling white wine all over your pajamas, dry-sobbing over pictures of your Great Lost Love, pre-anxiety attack feeling.
Screw you, 5-Hour Energy. Go peddle your jittery sad-juice elsewhere.















