I think my most commonly asked question at work is “What’s fun to do tonight?” I usually try to respond with “me” or something similar. I mean, really, I would prefer if you stayed at my bar and threw your money at me. But I understand the need to wander. So, I’ve decided to do a bar review, of all the gay bars in the area. Every bar has a personality. It’s like being in high school. The Abbey would be one of those socialite kids that everyone thinks is perfect, but she’s secretly snorting cocaine out of her Jesus necklace. Motherlode would probably be that really fat art fag that, when he grows up, will be a little eccentric, but gorgeous. Rage is the jock who failed his senior year and had to be in high school for another year. Fiesta is the cool kid that everyone loves. Mickys is the cool kid that everyone’s afraid of.
You get the picture.
So, without further ado (what does that even mean?) here’s the second part of my gay bar review. I hope you enjoy it. If not, get drunk and read it again.
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What can I say about The Abbey? The drinks are so expensive that you basically have to have a credit score of 720 or higher to be served. And I’m pretty sure that you have to sign a form when you walk in that says something to the extent of “I hereby give you full custody of my soul, and I will forever worship you, my dark lord.”
This is the bar that you go to when you want to be seen, which is incredibly ironic because everyone looks exactly the same in there—like a bunch of queens with too much money and drugs on their hands. This is the place where you hope to see a D-list celebrity. This is the place you go to to be ignored by the ridiculously gorgeous wait staff. If you want to spend more money in an evening than I make in a week, then please, by all means, spend your evening at this bar.
That being said, wow is this place beautiful or what? I mean, come on, if I can just fag out for a minute, okay? It’s so pretty, I love almost everything about the space. And the one time I used to bathroom there, I was tickled pink by the bathroom service. And, I must say, as long as you’ve already promised them your first born son, you might as well check out their brunch—it’s, as the northern Californians say, “hella” fun. They have a great patio, and during the day you can scope out all sorts of sexy men that want absolutely nothing to do with you, unless you drive a fancy car or have a bag of cocaine in your pocket.
(By the way, if the owners of The Abbey ever came to me and offered me a job, I would eat my words faster than I eat my McDonalds, which is really fast. I bet those bartenders make a shit ton of money off all of those rich suckers.)
Here Bar is like that guy that you keep going out on dates with, hoping that he’ll get better, but really he’s just not that great in bed and doesn’t look so cute in the daylight. I keep going there, but I really don’t know why. It’s not all that much fun, and it tries to act like it’s The Abbey, but it’s really just mediocre. Their drinks are still too damn expensive, considering they make them so weak my grandma couldn’t get drunk there. The strippers look like they just weren’t quite good enough to be working at Mickeys. Sometimes they have a drag or comedy show or something like that, but every time I’ve gone to it, it’s so disorganized that you can literally hear the groans from all 5 people who they convinced to come see it.
They have a nice patio, but I almost always trip on those stupid steps, or hit my head on that fucking tree growing out of the middle of nowhere. Seriously, why the fuck is there a giant tree in the middle of the patio? Can’t they at least cut some of those low hanging branches or something? Jesus.
How is East West even open? Seriously, does anyone know? Anyone? I only go in there to pee when the lines at Trunks or Eleven are too long, because I know that I won’t have to wait in a line and the bathrooms make me feel like I’m in a secret underground lair. The only reason I’m even mentioning them is because the one time I’ve seen that place have anyone in it at all is when the lesbians took it over, and I don’t want to piss of the lesbians.
