June 4, 2013
Berry Park vs. The Ides at The Wythe Hotel

The bartender at The Ides @ The Wythe Hotel was a total sourpuss, but who could blame the hip young chap?  Judging from the detritus that remained at his feet, he must’ve had a terribly busy Sunday Sunset shift.

Sunday Sunset:  The last socially acceptable time to indulge on the weekend in NYC if you have a typical nine to five, best done on a Brooklyn Rooftop.

My gang of idiots (none of us work typical nine to fives, presently) didn’t arrive at The Ides until well after dark, having spent the duration of the beautiful sunset at Berry Park. 

 Berry Park is a rooftop bar that has been a favorite of mine for years because they have pink wine on tap.  Also, I can usually find an ample supply of Cougiesnacks wandering around the semi-sportsbar interior, but on Sunday I felt that the tides were turning on this Billyburg rooftop.  The only interesting strangers I could find were clearly on Molly.  They were jamming out hard to late nineties R&B, and sweating, and looked like they’d been awake since Thursday night.  Also, one of them was wearing a Grateful Dead shirt…I had to deal with enough pseudo hippies growing up in whitebread Westchester so engaging this group was a no-go.

image

Just. Stop.

The crowd was better at The Ides, not to mention the view.  I’m basing my opinion of the crowd solely on the fact that a couple of 7 outta 10s hit on me.  Also, the unisex bathrooms at the Ides are far nicer than the toiletpaper-less cave that you have to wine pee in at Berry.  Bathroom layout is important.  Case and point:  Le Bain.

 With that having been said, this summer is off to a slow start in the snack department.  If things don’t start looking better I’m going to open a faux modeling agency call 5M: Miss M’s Mens Model Management.  I had the idea on the downtown N/R today, where I “discovered” two 6’2” wonders of chili lime boy-jerky toting their adorable little comp cards.  I wanted to be like: “How was your casting, I’m a really big agent,” but I chickened out when I realized I didn’t have any business cards.  One of them was complete Euro-trash and was wearing a windbreaker around his waist and he looked wide-eyed and new to New York.  I bet he regularly gets lost on the A Train.  You know what that means?  MISSED OPPORTUNITY.  

I’d write a missed connection for Windbreaker BeBe Zoolander on Craigslist if I thought he knew how to read… and wasn’t born in the 90’s.

 

June 13, 2012
Boom Boom Room vs. LeBain

Oh shit.  I accidentally wound up on the top of The Standard Hotel at 1 AM and I’m supposed to be up at 6 AM.  Is it better to call in sick from work because I’m at LeBain or Boom Boom?  

Let’s discuss based on last Thursday’s Debauchery.  It took me too long to post this ‘cus my job got in the way.  Shouldn’t happen again, since I quit today.  (I made a Po-Em.) 

Both are gay/straight friendly, so I’m not going to tell you where to go if you’re one gender or the other.  

I’m just going to present to you what you’ll find of either SEX when it comes to the people at Boom Boom vs. LeBain.

Girls At Boom Boom:

boomboom


(Most of the time wearing clothes) (Often sassy) (9 x’s out of 10 gorgeous)

Boys at Boom Boom:

yum

#someonestummyneedsabite #haithur #letsgo”lookattheview”inthebathroom

Girls at LeBain:

skanks

I smell yeast.  Oh, no, WAIT! that’s just all of those fine ladies’ chlamydia that I’m smellin’. (Scratch-n-sniff MacBook Air App.)  

On Thursday, when I was at LeBain, it was almost as if one of those Upper East Side bars like “Dorrians” **shudder** had explosive diarrhea all over the place.

Boys at LeBain:

panicdivision


That’s Panic Division circa 2007.  They have sideways haircuts, and wear statement hoodies.  

But, like, I wouldn’t DENY sleeping with one of them.  They probably have tattoos.

That’s all for now.  It is nice to know that I’ll never have to deal with smelling like LeBain jacuzzi again.

April 8, 2012
Park Bar on 15th and Union Square

Park Bar

15 East 15th Street, New York, NY 10003

(15th between Union Square West & 5th Ave)

Park Bar Image from Google

Image courtesy of PB’s Google Place Page…note that all of the other Google images are not of Park Bar, but of the adjacent restie.  #internetbatman

Obviously I used to frequent this place after slow nights on Sunday and Monday since I used to work at a tragic restie on 17th…

This past Friday, I dragged a dude with me to Park Bar and I was reminded of all of the reasons why I’ll endlessly bitch about Park Bar, and yet I’ll never stop making it my last stop before creeping back into my east village abode. 

Back when I was a whacktress, I used to avoid this place at all costs on the weekends, opting instead for the vomit-scented 119.  Why?  Because it was such a massive sausage fest. After eight hours of serving mojitos to chodes who thought that a restaurant that was hip in 1995 could still somehow be cool in 2007, I didn’t feel like encountering any more stripey shirt wearing I-bankers with inferiority complexes…and sometimes, on the weekend, you’ll find that sort of crowd at Park Bar.

The bartenders at Park Bar are cool in that “surly bartender doin’ my job” way.  If you’re acting like an idiot they’ll give you another glass of wine, but they’ll let you know that you’re being a weirdo, which I appreciate.  Drinks here are poured stiff.  They have those super-sized martini glasses. Order a martini and you’re basically presented with a dog bowl of vodka, if you’re into that sort of thing. 

A lot of the dudes here are more mature (SILVER FOXES) so if you are rebounding from your last relationship, make sure you like grey pubic hair before you come here to cry into your wine and then hunt for what I like to call  “a shoulder to cry on” or  ”a sympathetically stiff salami to sit on.”

What I Like:  Good wine, good value at happy hour (I think - I tend to not pay when I go to this bar because of all of the aforementioned silver foxes), window sills to perch on during the summer, adjacent sidewalk frequented by cute puppies, and that one time my friend Johnny the Fireman threw wet bar napkins at Julia Stiles from across the bar at this fine establishment.

What I Would Avoid:  SausageFest Saturdays, and the giant velvet curtain over the door that hits everyone in the face… so you have everyone’s skin cells all mixed in with your skin cells!  Also, my exboyfriends who frequent this bar.  I try to avoid them, too.

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