Bar Belle: I’m too sexy
Soo … the results are in for LEO’s first-ever sex survey, and it turns out some of you want to sleep with me — I scored pretty well, so to speak, in the “local celebs you’d like to bang” category. While I don’t consider myself a celebrity, I do whore myself out on occasion, namely for free drinks. I am definitely flattered to be on a list among the likes of Diane Sawyer, Laura Shine, Jennifer Lawrence, Jim James and Angie Fenton, but I’m totally calling bullshit. I call it the “Save the World Syndrome,” and here’s why.
When I was in high school, I joined the Environmental Club because I didn’t want to play with balls. And I wanted to save the whales. We really didn’t do much other than wear badass T-shirts with lions and zebras on them, and volunteer once a month at the recycling center. But one day during my senior year, I was assigned to pass out flyers for an upcoming rally as my classmates were coming to school. So my friend Ted and I stood out in the cold rain and passed out sheets of paper some tree died for. Coincidentally, the following week, we voted for our superlatives. Later that year, I was honored with the Class Clown title, a responsibility I take seriously to this day. However, my name showed up again on the list, right next to Ted’s — we were deemed Most Likely To Save The World.
While I was flattered, I was a bit confused. I recycle half-ass. I don’t even cut those plastic six-pack-bird-killers. After intensive, Erin Brockovich-style research, I surmised we were nominated because of that one day we passed out flyers. Now back to sex.
I administered the majority of our sex surveys — took them to happy hours, passed them around bars, smiled and winked politely while secretly looking at your answers. You wrote my name down because I handed you this survey, not because you really wanted to dot my Is and cross my Ts.
Let’s pretend, though, that you do want to bed the Belle. Do you really know what you’re getting into? Drunk dials are only the tip of the iceberg. You can expect late-night calls not of the booty variety but of the pick-my-drunk-ass-up kind. I sleep late. I leave my clothes all through the house as I beeline for the bed. I eat black beans. I expect foot rubs and cheese fries on a daily basis. I wake up with strangers and morning breath. I’ve got a pony keg where a six-pack should be. I leave the toilet seat up. My advice? Turn your sights on Ms. Fenton. She’s proper and shit.
Most days, I don’t think anyone reads this column except for my friends and a few lonely barflys. So it’s nice to hear from folks every now and then saying they like my stuff … almost as much as they liked Carl Brown. I recently heard from Staff Sgt. Joseph Meek, who is over in Iraq fighting the great desert war. He said he keeps up with his hometown by reading my drunken scribblings online and even has a copy of LEO mailed to him on the base — if it doesn’t get confiscated by security first. (I blame Pam Swisher.) So I wanted to give a shout-out to him and the boys of the 678th Fighting Wildcats of Bowman Field. I promised I’d grab a beer with him when he gets back, and he promised he’d buy it. That’s a win-win situation in my book. If only foreign relations were this simple.
Drunk Texts of the Week
• If we eat there, I wll need BP to install a blowout preventor on my ass
• I love reading your work. Its like we get to hang out; without me actually having to shower or get dressed
• Dont take strangers from candy. And make sure u dont take the stranger with the candy
• Vaginas dont hate people. People hate people.
• You know a party is awesome when your kitchen floor is a new color in the morning
• Just called my mom and she thought i was in jail
• Crop dustin in Target
Check out my daily reasons to drink at barbelle.leoweekly.com