Bar Belle: Praying to the porcelain god
Although I’m not condoning it, we’ve all been there. The room spins. Vision is blurred. Sweat drips from your brow, saliva from your mouth. The only thing that feels right is the cool, hard tile of your bathroom floor. A fierce tidal wave forms at the base of your esophagus. Make it stop. Make it all stop.
Hours later you awake on the bathroom floor, gazing at the ceiling, confused. Where am I? How did I get here? Why am I still in my clothes (or, on occasion, Where are my clothes?)? Why does my mouth taste like Smurf ass? When’s the last time I mopped the floor?
We then wipe up hours of regret and remorse as we scrub the room, trying our hardest to erase the incident from our mind. No matter how hard we clean house, it just won’t go away. You may utter those three words you’re feeling with your entire mind, body and soul: “Never drinking again.” But next Saturday will roll up, and you’ll be standing in the bathroom once more — this time on two feet. Painting your eyes and straightening your hair … anticipating what the night holds.
I experienced “the incident” a few weeks ago. Certainly didn’t mean for it to happen, and it doesn’t happen often, but on the bright side, I ended up with a beautiful new shag rug in my bedroom. Yeah, I wasn’t even able to make it to the toilet, so I deposited my bar tab on an old blue rug I’ve had since college. No harm, no foul. I quickly assessed the debauchery and learned from my mistakes. 1) Eat dinner. 2) Avoid the mixture of sweet tea and bourbon (aka the “Todd Tea” from Monkey Wrench). 3) Don’t have more than one mixed drink at the Back Door before 6 p.m. 4) Water is your friend, not your enemy. 5) Take shots sparingly.
I know what you’re thinking: The Bar Belle can’t hold her liquor? Well, sometimes it just gets the best of us, and I’m the first to fess up to my setbacks. I believe it’s also a good refresher course to occasionally cross the line -— just to remind yourself where exactly that line sits. I’ll be staying far away from the line for awhile — at least until my upcoming Gettin’ Drunky in Kentucky pub crawl (mark your calendars: Sept. 12).
The Great Whisk(e)y Debate
Canadian whisky’s got nothing on us. Our bourbon is sweeter, more flavorful, it tastes better and, let’s face it, it’s just far superior to anything our neighbors to the north could produce (save Shania Twain). I’m willing to put my liver on the line as collateral.
Next Wednesday’s debate between bourbon advocate Bernie Lubbers and Canadian whisky ambassador Dan Tullio promises to be a fun, informative and entertaining discussion on all things whisk(e)y. There will also be a tasting of Canadian Club and Knob Creek — so you can decide for yourself which spirit you want knocking around your rocks glass. The free event is on Aug. 19 at the Jefferson Club, 500 W. Jefferson St. Doors open at 6 p.m., and the debate starts at 7. (This is the only time you’ll hear me rooting for Kentucky.)
Drunk Texts of the Week
• “The kidney calling the liver black”
• “Omg, my friend is totally puking!”
• “Amy found a quarter in her hot dog”
• “My hot dog is made of hard quarter”
• “Whr is ur vajayjay? Oprah said she wnted to c it!”
• “Bitches r crazy”
• “R u a vampire?”
• “At killers concert … I see bad hair”
Keep sending me your drunk texts to: firstname.lastname@example.org. Promise I won’t reveal the source … unless you buy me drinks.