Flibbertigibbet

I Wanna Take You to a Gay Bar! GAY BAR! GAY BAR!

Last night, Pink Martini and I did a little pub crawl.

We started sort of early on the East Side at a little Irish Pub (complete with real Irish people!) called Molly's. We both had burgers and I tried a really watery English beer. I don't remember the name but it wasn't that great.

Then, we headed to Beauty Bar. That was a mistake. It was crawling with hipsters.

Have I told you about Pink Martini? She's a punk chick with lots of tattoos. Last night she was rockin' a pair of jeans, a tank top and a pink sweater. I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather motocross-style jacket.

To say that we were out of place at Beauty Bar is to underestimate how hipster hipsters can be. And it was PACKED full of them.

So, after a quick whiskey and coke, we ditched that place and headed down to 14th street to a place without a name. It was a pool bar and I had some beer with a name I don't think I can spell. It was something like "ylingling." It was very flavorful.

The next stop was a place across the street from the no-name place to another no-name place.

This new place was very posh. Some hipsters managed to sneak in, but it looked like they were weekend hipsters because they had decent haircuts and some of their clothes actually matched.

Pink Martini and I sat in a couple of overstuffed chairs and chatted before kicking it over to the next, no-name place. I kind of liked this bar, but the problem was that there was almost no one there. It was cool, though, because it was an overtly mixed crowd of straight people and gay people.

The new place sucked. It was overflowing with college kids. It was dark, loud, and the crowd was obnoxious. Again, this crowd was definitely mixed between straight and gay, but the gay was nervous and in denial. And did I mention they were college kids? I hate those.

So, we bitched about the idiots around us from a sofa under a big window for a little bit and I decided it was getting late and I needed to head up and across town. Pink Martini and I started the stroll back to her place.

We started back and we passed a place called "Nowhere Bar." Pink Martini asked if I had ever been and I said I hadn't, so she said we should drop in for a bit to look around.

It was a gay bar.

A big, hairy, mostly old, gay bar. Although, that is a little closer to my speed than the college kids, I really wonder where the big, hairy, low-to-mid-30's gay bar is. Ok maybe not SO hairy, but you get my meaning.

The crowd at Nowhere Bar was kind of scary.

Here's what I decided I want: A mostly gay bar that has fair to good lighting and doesn't play the music TOO loudly with maybe some real Irish people and some people actually paying attention to the game on television. But the crowd shouldn't be TOO self-conscious; it's not necessary to get dressed up in your best leather jock strap/mis-matched vintage shirt/drunken bimbo to go out, meet nice people, have a couple of drinks that aren't $15 for 6 oz of fluid, and enjoy yourself.