Only a select few truly understand the unstable relationship that exists between the food additive Red Dye #40 and myself. It was mostly Jeff's family that was present for the infamous Bra-Removal-In-Front-of-a-Recently-Returned-Missionary-and-Hitting-My-Brother-In-Law-in-the-Face-with-it Incident. That was the result of the first attempt at the not to be repeated a third time "Red Dye #40 Party." The more ill fated "Red Dye #40 Party" attempt number two is still not spoken of openly in public, though my bra remained in place that time. Fortunately for me, the party in which Mountain Dew Code Red mass consumption occured had a small turnout. Only 5 people at most were present for the two hour poker tournament in which I began to bet the lives of millions of Jews and naming my pile of chips after famed Concentration Camps (for the record, I am not anti-semetic, at least not while Red Dye #40 free). This poker game was followed by none other than shirtless air hockey (I only stripped down to a tank top, but convinced the men to go topless), which really paled in comparison.
So you would think that I would have the forethought to not drink any more Red Dye #40 given its negative effects. This supposition of yours shows that (this being my first blog post) you obviously do not know me very well. Ah, not yet my friends.
For reasons really unknown to me, friends and family are quite often more than capable of forcing Red Dye #40 into my system in quantities that can only spell trouble. Most recently, a new addition to the family heard of the effects this chemical has on my brain, and has begged me to guzzle down Mountain Dew Code Red with a side of Swedish Fish for his entertainment. After many attempts to discourage him in this quest, I finally complied.
One hour after finishing my 48 ounces of Red Dye #40 and caffeine soda, the hyperactivity began to sink in. For the next hour, I tried unsuccessfully to move a family sized trampoline into the backyard to set it up by myself (starting at midnight). Unfortunately, Red Dye #40 acts like cocaine in my system, and not PCP and therefore, gives me no added strength or super powers.
Feeling defeated by the trampoline and its massive weight, I ran back into the house, and ripped off my t-shirt (don't worry, I had a tank top underneath) and stood in my sister in law's front room window staring blankly because as I explained, "That's what hot women do in movies," and I was feeling like one sexy bitch, although a sexy bitch who can't move a trampoline by herself. I ran in circles around the house, waited in the hallway to scream at anyone that had used the bathroom, and was convinced to do 35 pushups (stopping when I figured out they were trying to make me exercise instead of have fun).
Eventually, Jeff and I went home, because he was tired. So I stayed up until 4 in the morning trying unsuccessfully to take sexy nude photos of myself for no other reason than I, again, felt like a sexy bitch and that's what they do in the movies, right?
Ultimately, the natural conclusion to come to here is that Red Dye #40 makes me think of stupid ideas (based on what hot women do in movies?) that I cannot actually accomplish in a normal or sexy manner because I am too hyperactive to really pull anything off (well, anything except excess clothing). Bad idea, right?