Bar Belle: Just say no to Jemima

You're a nice lady, but …

Once upon a time, about four score and seven years ago, the Bar Belle got tired of the drink. “I’m fat,” she said as she stood in front of the mirror grabbing her spare tire. “I’m hungover. I’m tired of swallowing. There’s got to be more to partying than alcohol.” As she gazed into her bloody mary that morning, she noticed the specs of pepper forming words: “Don’t listen to Jemima.”

“What the hell does that mean,” she said as she poured more syrup over her bourbon pancakes. Once she sat the bottle down, it began to speak. “Oh, don’t listen to that crazy, old bloody mary,” Aunt Jemima said. “I’m here to show you, child, that there are other ways to party than chugging that nasty beer. Your belly is gonna be as full as mine if you don’t step away from the booze.”

“But how, Aunt Jemima, am I going to have fun without Miller Lite? And my world would be empty without Maker’s Mark!”

“Hush, child, and let me teach you some tricks.” Just then, Jemima pulled out a black briefcase from under her dress. She popped it open and whispered, “Where do we start?”

“Drugs? My mom told me to stay away from drugs,” the Bar Belle said in defiance.

Aunt Jemima flashed a devilish grin and winked. “Let’s not call them drugs, child. These are party pills. Now are you with me, or are you gonna stay fat?”

Over the next 24 hours, Aunt Jemima introduced the Bar Belle to several recreational pharmaceuticals. She encouraged her to keep a medicinal diary of her thoughts, feelings, activities, because she probably wouldn’t be able to remember when she woke up. Here are those notes.

The Meth Belle

Haven’t slept in days, but damn, my apartment is sooo clean … oh shit, I just lost a tooth. And another one. When do I get my $$ from the Tooth Fairy? I need more of this redneck dust.

The Chronic Belle

Yumm, these brownies are like soooo good or something. Are these Doritos Mexican or Italian? I’m going to party it up by sitting on this couch and not showering for days. Isn’t it crazy that Michael Jackson is dead … I just can’t bring my capillaries to believe it.

The Coke Belle

Yes. No. Maybe. What? Gotta do it now. Right. Now. But what am I doing? Journaling? Now. Writing right now. Right. Write. I am so awesome. Damn I’m fine. Going for a 32-mile jog.

The X Belle

OMG, I love this pen. It’s so round and smooth. It feels so good on my lips. I love this diary. I just want to touch every page. I need a glowstick.

The Acid Belle

Aww, look at that cute little leprechaun. Or is it a unicorn? Come here, little guy. Uh oh, it has fangs and is now running after me. How did I get on the roof of my house?

After the 24th hour, the Bar Belle comfortably rested for six days in a coma. When she awoke, she had little recollection of her encounter with Aunt Jemima. She read the startling scribbles in her journal, went to the dentist to get her teeth fixed, drank 7 gallons of detox tea and vowed to never touch booger sugar, etc., again. She also threw out her empty bottle of maple syrup, which was strangely glowing red and was hot to the touch. As she cracked open that first can of PBR, she sat back, smiled and said, “There’s no place like home.”

Sober Texts of the Week:

•Hey, do you wanna go to lunch?

•On my way!

•Staff meeting canceled.

•I lov u

•Gotta work

•Can you let the dog out?




•Paper or plastic?

•Hurry, am idol starts in 20!

•Why do I work here again?