Dating and Drinking

The Bowery.

2005-12-22T14:13:00.000-05:00

You know a bar is good, if a bit annoying, when the bartender won't make you a mint julep because they don't have a tin cup.

Such is the case at The Bowery.

That's right. No tin cup, no mint julep.

I would rather have no mint julep than a bad one, so I guess that it's okay even though I really really really wanted a mint julep, which, as I had pointed out to me by the friend I was drinking with, is a limeless mojito made with bourbon. How clever! Wait, and without club soda too. I am going to use that the next time I want one. Except then I will be annoying and ask for a tin cup.

Cocktail nerds.

In any case, the waiter was very nice and well-informed (and easy on the eyes), and the dirty martinis and Manhattans we had instead were quite good.

And apparently, I can still get drunk - the trick is to not eat dinner beforehand.

The Bar.

2005-12-18T12:02:00.000-05:00

So Jen already wrote about her interactions with the idiot I shall call The Old Sketchball. I have to admit, I didn't really hear that conversation she had with him, because 1) I do not choose to talk to strangers in bars unless there are extenuating circumstances and 2) I was busy trying to flag down the bartender for a drink because it had been a whole car drive since I had last had alcohol. But I did see him, and he was totally that older vaguely sketchy guy. Ergh. Bad news.

After she finally got rid of him, we did observe him leering at some girls who were dancing and well, just leering at any female in the bar in general. Icky! Skeezy old leery guy! Go away!

Then, most unfortunately, later in the night, the Old Sketchball interrupted a very fine conversation that ScarlettAce and I were having, as Jen was talking to his friend and so that meant that we had to talk to him? I failed to see the logic there, especially as ScarlettAce and I were having oodles of fun making fun of other people. Wasn't there some other group of girls he could go harrass?

No.

Dammit.

And he is a sterling example of why I don't talk to guys in bars: because the conversation SUCKS, and I am one who needs good conversation. And I am at my punchiest in bars when I am annoyed. Especially when the guy in question has been earlier spotted being an ogler and on top of it, was rude to a friend. Here is an example of the idiocy ScarlettAce and I had to go through. I am withholding the majority of my internal commentary because it will be more fun for you to groan and roll your eyes without my prompting. (Obviously, this is not verbatim, but it does give you a general idea.)

Me: So, where are you from?
The Old Sketchball: Oh, that's such a hard question to answer.
Me: ??????
ScarlettAce: So then, what do you do?
TOS: Oh, I don't really want to talk about it.
Me: What. Do. You. Do?
TOS: I work in The Industry.*
ScarlettAce: What do you do in The Industry?
TOS: Oh, well, I'm a producer.
ScarlettAce: What have you worked on recently?
TOS: Well, just too many projects to name.
Me: So, where did you say you were from?
TOS: Well, I guess Prague.
Me: Hm. How long did you live there?
TOS: Oh, about three years.
Me: Huh. Three years. Where did you live before that?
TOS: Paris.
Me: Oh! How long did you live there?
TOS: Two months, and I hated it.
Me: Where in Paris did you live?
TOS: Do you know Paris?
Me: Yes, I lived there for six months.
TOS: Well, I lived off of Rue Mouffetard, which is in the Latin Quarter, you know.
Me: I. Said. I. Know. Paris. So, before Paris was...?
TOS: Denver.
ScarlettAce: So, what brings you to this bar?
TOS: That is such a good question! My friend over there.
ScarlettAce: How did you meet him?
TOS: We're working on one of the same projects.
ScarlettAce: What project?
TOS: I can't really talk about it.
Me: So where are you from originally?
TOS: Cleveland, Ohio.

So the conversation continues in this vein, with The Old Sketchball being all vague and evasive and boooooring and about as stimulating as a burnt out light bulb. I think I am being too nice to him in my portrayal of him. The conversation was Much Worse.

*When a guy says he works in The Industry but can't back up his claim with any concrete details, it's like a big fat red flag is waved. Such a poseur. Go away, asswipe.

And HOW HARD is it to answer the question, "Where are you from?" Even if you're an army brat, you have an easy answer: "I was an army brat". There is no reason to beat around the bush like that. And you don't get to claim you're from a city when you've lived there for only three years!

Incidentally, The Bar? Such a cute place - no attitude, and great music. I'll go back in a heartbeat, as long as the Old Sketchball isn't there. But this is LA. And if they're not old sketchballs, they'll be wannabe Industry people. Sigh.

(For some reason, I can't make that blank space at the top of this post go away. Okay, I guess you don't see it in IE, but I use Firefox, and it's there, grr. )

PITA

2005-10-10T16:06:00.000-04:00

This one should have been up a while ago, but I had to get over the incedent so I could write objectively.

So... the guy from Eastern Standard, a month later:

I get an email asking for me to give him a chance and go out with him... so I agree and we set a date. He says he will get back to me about everything in terms of when exactly and where.

Day of:
noon: nothing
four: I email (because you know he has his Blackberry on him) and say nicely that he needs to let me know what is going on.
five: I give up and watch TV for the rest of the night.

Thats the whole story. I thought I would give him time to write to me and produce someone's death certificate to validate his behavior, but no.

Bottom line... once again... follow through. If you say you are going to do something do it, and if plans change... any form of blow-off communication is acceptable.

Now I am off on a date... must go! This is bound to be a much better story....

I think my response was better.

2005-10-07T13:53:00.000-04:00

[scene: extreme speed dating]

There’s the siren again. “Hi,” he says and shakes my hand. “I’m Carl, I’m thirty-five, and I work in advertising. I like the basic things in life like long walks and Sunday lunches, and I hate pretentious foreign films. What about you?”

Taken aback by this bonsai approach, I widen my eyes slightly and take a deep breath, preparing to rise to the challenge. “I’m Jess.” I tap my badge. “I’m thirty-four, work in television, hate long walks, and love foreign films. But I’m with you on the Sunday lunches.” He laughs and I find myself feeling quite attracted to him. My spirits rise slightly, heartened that maybe this speed=dating business isn’t going to be such a damp squib after all.

With a sudden bolt of courage I didn’t know I could muster, I reach into my pocket and take out one of my calling cards. “So if you fancy sharing a roast one Sunday, here’s my card.” I hand it over and feel encouraged when he quickly accepts it, stuffing it into his shirt pocket.

He places his elbows on the table and leans forward, a conspiratorial look on his face. “So…” His voice is low. “What’s your favorite sexual position?”

At first, I’m not sure if I have heard him correctly above the din. But his leering expression suggests I have.

Both appalled and angry in equal measures, with one swift flick of m hand I reach into his shirt pocket and retrieve my card. “Forget it,” I snap. “You’re not my kind of guy.”

Excerpted from Love @ First Site, by Jane Monroe.

Bodega Wine Bar

2005-09-22T20:39:00.000-04:00

There are precious few places to go drinking in Pasadena. Correction: there are precious few places to go drinking in Pasadena that aren't pubs. I don't know why, but there is a large preponderance of pubs. And really, pubs aren't quite my scene.

Which is why I was so so happy when awine bar opened up in the area. While I initially didn't like it too much (I mean, I used to go to Bar Veloce in New York all the time - I was a hard sell), I became a quick convert.

From its inception in early 2003, I have beelined it to Bodega every time I went home on vacation. Last summer, I spent almost too much time there, getting to know the bartenders almost too well (and they were amazing, putting up with my hazy questions about what I wanted to drink), to the point that yeah, my last night there before I returned to Boston, I got wasted off an "unlimited" glass of wine that ended up costing me $5.

It's too too bad that that bartender isn't there anymore. Sigh. Although I didn't fancy him so much as the other one. Isn't that always the case?

It's a curious scene. Pasadena's just an odd social scene. It's not as trendy as LA, obviously, as it's far more suburby. And who would drive out to Pasadena just for a wine bar? Thus, you get a mix of locals, many of whom are kids home from college who don't want to head to the pubs, the occassional uber-intellectual from CalTech, and then.. well, it's just so hard to describe it. The best thing I can say is that it's just not that happening a scene, but it's enjoyable nonetheless because precisely because it's not a scene.

Which is not to say I haven't met my fair share of guys there. They're generally harmless and innocuous, good for some light conversation but nothing more. And the bartenders - well, I feel that I've already expressed my feelings regarding them, n'est-ce pas?

Unfortunately, they don't change the wine list as often as I'd like, which really is a pity because as a wine bar, I feel that it's their duty to have a list that rotates just a little more quickly as to keep the tastebuds of their clientele perked and interested. That's my only real quibble with the place. But it's such a cozy bar/lounge, that I can't help but return there time and time again.

The Extremes

2005-09-20T21:48:00.000-04:00

I have two very different Boston scenes to share...

1. Avalon

Location: Fenway, Cover: $15 (Saturday), Attire: slutty (yes, even the men), Bar: Full

So... Avalon... massive dance floor with platforms along the side, Euro dance music and three bars. There is an upstairs, but not going on much up there. I can't say it wasn't fun... dancing is great, as long as you are there with friends so you don't have to mingle with the clientelle. Let me put it this way: there was a woman with hair like dolly parton, wearing less than Christina Aguilera in any of her videos, and clear platform heels! I almost died when I saw her... then the bar started to fill up and I started to understand that those of us not wearing micro-minis were in the minority. The men were aggressive, wearing tight shirts, and wearing A LOT of cologne to cover up the BO from all the "dance moves".

2. Swing City

Location: VFW of Cambridge, Cover: $10 (Fridays only), Attire: casual, Bar: sufficient

Ok... so it is a pain to get to, and I definitely wouldn't call this the "in-crowd", but it was fun, and I was not at any point that there was a man in the room I couldn't beat-up if I really needed to. Another rule: never say no to a dance... this is a tough one, as not all of the men are... well, dry. There is a lot of sweating, but it is worth it. Most of the men are a lot of fun and want nothing more than a dance. My favorite were the really old, short, fat men that didn't speak any English. I have to admit that I laughed the whole night, and even the worst of these men would have held a door open for you.

Father's Office and Jones

2005-09-06T10:49:00.000-04:00

Thursday night before I flew to Oakland, I met up with Jen for dinner and drinks. Dinner! Yum! We went to Father's Office, which I had been dying to go to for forever because they apparently have Very Good Burgers. These are not your classic hamburgers, but rather burgers with caramelised onions, gruyere, Maytag blue cheese, arugula, and an applewood bacon compote. Scrumptious. Fries are served in a cute little grocery cart! And this amazing white sage beer, and I hate beer!

But we're not here to talk about food (Jen has pictures. Bug her for them. I want them too.) You see, at this place you order at the bar and then hover around tables in order to snatch one up. I generally hate this, as I far prefer making reservations for a guaranteed seat. Jen said that this way, you get to meet people. Sure, just like people keep claiming that they can meet people on planes. And no, there were no cute guys to be had (although there was this mean old couple that Jen took pictures of because they were mean!). There were, however, rude guys. This one guy walked in, and I totally recognised him! And I so rarely randomly run into people! Where I knew him from, however, was a bit trickier. From college? No. Grad school? No. Did I meet him at some industry party? No. Shit, did I go out with him once? Thankfully no. No, it turns out he sat next to FB at the wedding we went to over the summer and was in town on business. Small world. He was very nice, and said, "Hey, this is my friend I told you about who lives in LA, you should exhange emails or phone numbers and hang out sometime." See? Nice. His friend, however, came over and said, "I'll never call you and you'll never call me, so why don't we just not exchange numbers?" RUDE. RUDE RUDE RUDE. Obviously he is not in a business where he needs to know how to network, because that's just not kosher. Even if you don't have any intention of calling, you at least go through the motions. Plus, it wasn't like he was all that. No, he was not cute, short, balding, and wearing sneakers with his white athletic socks pulled up to mid-calf and shorts in a bar. Bad form all around. Bad bad form.

After that we zipped across town to Jones for more drinks. (And this is why I only got 2.5 hours of sleep before I flew up to Oakland). Jones is a cute swanky place, with lots of dark wood, dim lighting, couches, and booths. A nice touch are the mirrors angled so that from the bar, you can see any canoodling going on in the booths. Okay, maybe instead of "nice" I should say "voyeuristic". Jen says that George Clooney loves this place, and ah, I would have loved to have seen him. He is so hot for an older man. I would totally sleep with him. Unfortunately, there were no George Clooney sightings but there was this random Israeli guy who grabbed Jen and basically forced her [because I was having no part of this, obviously] to talk to him. Booooooring. Not cute. Looked sort of like Goofy. Drinks were decent, but the crowd was rather dull for a Thursday night. And so we left.

We'll figure out yet where the non-industry cute guys are or die trying.

Mixville and Good Luck Bar

2005-08-29T00:05:00.000-04:00

Back in LA! Hate moving! Love alcohol!

I am going to have that put on a bumper sticker.

Anyway, Saturday night was a wonderful reprieve from the mess that is my new apartment, as I met Jen for drinks in the Silverlake area. Our first stop was Mixville at the Edendale Grill, which was [sort of] easily identifable by the fact that it was the only place lit up with Christmas lights on that street. The bar itself was nice - dark woods, dim lighting, awesome ceiling, etcetc. And maybe it was an off night, or perhaps it was because we weren't sitting outside by all the smokers, but it was deader than a doorknob (or however the expression goes) on a Saturday night. Looked to be an early-30s crowd, although I'm none too good with guessing ages. Additionally, it took forever to get service, and heavens to Betsy, they didn't make mint juleps. Okay, while the latter may be forgiveable, the former certainly isn't. Blech.

Isn't it just so frustrating when you pay the valet guy $5 to park the car across the street from you? Sigh.

Since Mixville was just so dead, we decided to zip on over to Good Luck Bar, which I'd been wanting to go to for awhile. Done up to look like a Chinese bordello, there were lots of fruity drinks available. The crowd was interesting - lots of youngish girls, and some just odd guys. For instance - the guy with the muscle tee and the weird armband? As Jen put it, if you can see his pits and manboobs, it's just not good. And what was with the majority of the guys having odd facial hair? Then there was the guy with the puka shell necklace who talked to her about something, but I couldn't really hear, nor did I want in on the conversation, so I focused on my drink which was an interesting combination of coconut rum, cranberry juice, pineapple juice, and amaretto. You think it'd be too sweet, but the amaretto does a nice job of not only preventing an overly saccharine drink but also adding a layer of complexity.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any guys to be mean too - I was just too disinterested in everyone (okay, save the cute tall guy but I kept losing track of him) to even bother. But hey - at least the company I was with, if not the rest - was good! No, better than good!

The Liquor Store, my version

2005-08-23T23:20:00.000-04:00

I have to admit I didn't get to meet Gloria's cool guy at the end of the night, I was preoccupied by what seemed to be a great guy (yes, in Boston). We danced and talked about the fact that neither of us would ever be caught dead there normally. He was really fun, and great... and kept asking me if I wanted a drink (I was DD, so drank water, but at least he asked). So fast forward... I offered to give him a ride home, then hung out with him for a while after dropping everyone else off. We had fun. He kept saying "I really like you, you're fun." So... if you are expecting a happy ever after... stop now.

Next day: Soccer game so Gloria can say goodbye to Nicky. He says NOTHING, yes NOTHING to me. Okay, to give him credit, I didn't exactly walk up and say "Hi" or even get close to the bench, but I was there... and he didn't come over at all. I am a little bitter... so send text "Not even going to say hi. thats fine. whatever." Then I think better of it and call and say I was kidding (sort of) and I had a great time last night and I hope to hear from you, but it is okay if I don't. NOTHING...

So at this point normally I would give up and move on... then I get a text message
6:30pm , Monday that says "Sorry... I will give you a ring tonight..."
11:15pm: My call "Going to bed so don't worry about calling."

Today... ok... I should just let it go, right? So I am. But just because it made me feel better I sent one final text message that said "You suck." Done. No more.

Men: Please broker the conversation at the beginning of the night according to how you plan on following through (or not). I am okay never hearing from a guy as long as that is clear... but when you act one way, and do another... NOT EXCUSEABLE!!!

It's like a jungle out there.

2005-08-23T08:14:00.000-04:00

On my last night out in Boston, we ended up at the Liquor Store, located in that fine part of Boston, the Alley, where holy crap, there were more trashy bachelorette parties than you could shake a stick at. But this isn't so much about the bar itself, which was swelteringly hot and full of people who seemed to think that the floor was their trashcan. No, this is about the fine caliber of Boston men, which mercifully I won't have to deal with anytime in the near future.

The boyfriend? He was on FB's soccer team (yes, I finally got to meet his damn soccer team the day before I left. Good timing on his part. I feel as though this was on purpose, grr.). The reason I put a question mark there is that, well, he had a girlfriend. However, he spent about 95% of his time dancing (or grinding) with other girls. Were I her, I'd have been really mad and would've smacked him upside the head because four hours of beer pong does not make for a good excuse for ignoring one's significant other.

The fishers. There was a small elevated platform in the club, and these guys stood at the edge of it, perusing the crowd all night while attempting sad dance moves. Just as if they were fishing for girls. It was rather amusing watching them. I guess it worked, because later on I saw a couple of them with their fresh catches of the night.

The molester. Otherwise known as the Orange Shirt guy, because that's what he was wearing that night. Initially, he was amusing. Totally balls-to-the-wall, he was this crazy dancing maniac who would grab you for a quick spin. However, as the night wore on, and he got drunker (and ew sweatier, but that's not entirely his fault as it was soooo not climate controlled, the cheapskates), he progressed from being a mere dancing fiend to hello, sketchy grabby guy that I would have smacked or kneed in the groin had he not also been on FB's soccer team. I was fine with the close dancing. I was okay with the proximity to the sweatiness. I, however, was neither fine nor okay with the ass-grabbing, for it wasn't just ass-grabbing but more like ass-massaging in conjunction with a bad case of wandering hands. And I finally left when he full on tried to kiss me, and when that didn't work went for my cheek, and then my neck, and I was scared that he was next going to aim for my cleavage. FB? Not such a good protector, poophead.

The funny guy. Okay, this guy was actually decent and was perhaps the best guy of the night. No, definitely the best part of the night. He was my friend's financial advisor's friend (say that five times fast!). He was amusing and chatty, but the best part? I don't know how this came up, but I dared him to dance with the bouncer who was standing at one corner of the platform. "What's in it for me?" he asked. "You can say a girl dared you to dance with the bouncer and you did it," I replied. "From the back or front?" he inquired. "Front!" I answered, because hello, dancing with the bouncer from the back would have surely earned him a jab to the solar plexus, if not worse. Then the guy walked away, and I was like, hrm, am I that boring? That is so sad - besides, it's my domain to be the walker-awayer. But no, he went over and stood about 8 inches from the bouncer, facing him, and started to dance. The bouncer said nary a word, but instead quickly moved to another part of the platform as if his feet were on fire. I couldn't stop laughing. It was great.

Imaginary Speed Dating Conversations, part I.

2005-08-19T08:57:00.000-04:00

I hear in speed dating that there are certain rules, in that certain topics are off-limits - with good reason, perhaps. Because can you imagine? It would be horrible - or hysterical - depending on your point of view. For instance:

Man: So, what's your favourite sexual position?

Woman: One that doesn't involve you.

Man: Bitch.

Woman: Jackass.

[Both sit there, twiddling their thumbs and occassionally glaring at the other person until the rest of the seven minutes are up.]

And there you have it.

Eastern Standard

2005-08-17T22:37:00.000-04:00

After visiting the disappointing Foundation Lounge we stumbled in to Eastern Standard, a very nice traditional bar with a great restaurant attached.

So... we head to the end of the bar and two empty seats. I ask the guy standing next to the chair is minds if I take the seat. He SNAPS, yes SNAPS, and points at the seat as he commands "You are". From some men I would find this charming... but not from him. We joked around for a minute about me being a dog and him giving me commands. Then sat in the seat. What are you going to do? Stand just to spite him? As we found out later, that might not have been a bad idea.

While we are sitting there I try to start conversation, and somehow he ends up joking around about being a pedophile (and I am putting this as nicely as I can). I compare him to R.Kelly... he says I'm mean... I tell him he is a pervert. Conversation ends for a while. Then it starts again... he asks what I do, I tell him, then... without me asking he explains that he is a hedge fund manager. Ok, to be perfectly honest I have no idea what that is... but after he pulled out his Blackberry for the 10th time in 5 mintues, and mentioned again that he was going to Tokyo for work... I decided that I am not a fan. At least not of this one...

I must admit... I was a little mean after the pedophile conversation because I was offended. However, he mentioned how mean I was about every 10 seconds. So you figure he would walk away and leave us alone... but no, as he and his friend leave he asks for my email address. I am caught too off-guard to lie and give it to him. When I check my email the next morning he emailed me not 15 minutes after they left the bar and asked me out on a date. Why would he ask a girl that he thinks is mean out on a date? I declined, nicely. Don't think I will be dating a man that thinks pedophilia is funny.

To be completely fair after they left, some not-so-attractive but VERY nice men from various European countries talked to us. The bartender agreed that the guys at the end of the bar were ridiculous.

So, the moral...

For men: Never tell a girl that you would sleep with a 15-year-old if you could get away with it.
For women: Move to Europe.

The Foundation Lounge.

2005-08-13T12:59:00.000-04:00

After a delightful dinner (marred somewhat by the squabbling couple next to us. Note: Airing dirty laundry in public, while fascinating for eavesdroppers [and we weren't so much eavesdroppers as we were seated NEXT to them, thereby unable to actually avoid the argument] isn't so hot), Leigh and I went to The Foundation Lounge, a bar in the Hotel Commonwealth.

I really wanted to like the place. Really. It reminded me of the ubiquitous sleek dark hotel bars commonly found in New York, which I generally enjoy. And there are a dearth of places I'd go to repeatedly in Boston, and was hoping that perhaps this would make the list. Not so much. This place was full of people decked out in Red Sox gear, perhaps a result of the fact that there was just a game, but ew. Ew. It did not help that the drinks commanded steep prices and were not particularily inventive nor very good (too cloyingly sweet). And their bar menu was ridiculously overpriced! Bar menus to me should have the majority of their items under $10, because if I wanted to pay more per dish, I'd just eat in the restaurant. And service was slow, slow, slooooooow.

It perhaps says something when the most fascinating activity in the bar is not checking out other guys (or people in general), but trying to hack into the free (to hotel guests) wireless system with my palm pilot. It took a little work - they wanted to know the room number and we had to guess at several possibilities, but we prevailed. The system isn't so secure. Then we changed the password, because the system asked if we wanted to. Why not? Hopefully, the guests of that hotel room didn't want to actually access their wireless. It's silly when you don't have to enter in the old password. Not very smart. And then we checked our email and read websites and realised - oh, wait. This is what we can do at home, and we're supposed to be out meeting people. Oops.

Noir, again

2005-08-09T22:14:00.000-04:00

Ok, so this is more about people than bars... and about boys we would never date. These boys are definitely not stereotypical... and for very different reasons. One just got a scooter that is bright blue and silver and the other well... he is a story.

About a month ago we found ourselves at Les Zygomates, a wonderful Friensh restaurant in Boston with some friends, and friends of friends. One friend-of-a-friend was particularly offensive the entire night... from the constant checking of phone messages and flirting with the women at the table next to us, to the annoying slutty girl on which he drolled and fondeled all night. He was truly unbearable. So... fast forward... he is sitting with our friend at Grafton when we show up. Not good. Then he pulls a 180 and other than the fact that he gave TMI on a couple occassions, he was ok... sometimes they can suprise you... or he just took his meds.

At Noir, it was a normal night with cute puppies outside, and decent drinks. As always, old men that stare too much. Oh, and our scooter friend almost ran Gloria over. Not good.

At least Boston has great weather in the summer.

How not to meet women.

2005-08-08T10:58:00.000-04:00

"So, is this the thirty-year-old corner?"

There are very few contexts in which this sentence could be deemed appropriate. Possible scenarios include being at a (moderately expensive) wine tasting that has been arranged chronologically or perhaps looking at old classic cars. However, being neither wine nor old cars, this statement was found to be patently offensive to both Leigh and myself.

Backtrack. Friend-of-a-friend's birthday party = knowing nobody else there but the birthday girl. Which was fine, really, because meeting new people is always fun. Until we realised that even though this girl was turning 27, she didn't graduate from my alma mater until 2004, which meant that.. right, everyone there was right out of college. Except for the 40-year-old guy who had a clothing business, yet had perhaps the ugliest shirt known to mankind on.

Awesome.

Whatever. We had drinks, we were sitting in front of the fan and talking to each other, and all was fine. Until this ... guy.. plopped down next to me to try to strike up a conversation. Oooh oooh guess what he did? Haa! He was a 2-L at Hahvard law, which just makes me wonder, what is it about me that screams, "I love lawyers!" Really. I'd like to know, and please be honest. Is there an invisible neon sign over my head? To add the cherry on top, he also just graduated from my alma mater, and he was in AEPi, which brings me to my second question, what is it about me that screams "Yeah baby, I love AEPi" (because I don't, at all).

Predictably, he was boring to talk to. Plus, he had ugly shoes and an ugly belt on. So after a few polite but monosyllabic responses to all his damn questions, he finally left, only to come back over (as his friend had sat down on the other side of Leigh), only to ask, "So, is this the 30-year-old corner?"

Fucker. He's gonna get nowhere in life with that sort of stupidity.

Harvard Square in the Summer

2005-07-31T19:41:00.000-04:00

The scene in Harvard Square in the summer is very different than when school is in session. There is not really a "scene" anywhere, things are pretty quiet, which can be pleasant, but after our night out in Malden we were looking for something a little more. Our night ended up being:

Temple Bar (~1.5 hour, met friends, OK)
Cambridge Commons (~10 mins, live band, sketchy)
West Side Lounge (~5 min, bathroom stop, empty)
Noir (~1 hours, table outside, pleasant)
Hotel Party (~10 mins, people we didn't know and realized we didn't want to, there was wearing of just bathrobes... need I say more?)

So the night was not all that bad, the company we traveled with was fun, and we met some men at Noir that were nice enough... but nothing special. The martinis at Noir and Temple Bar were pretty good, but you do pay for what you get. Gloria claims that West Side Lounge is usually great. We will have to check it out again when school is in session and see if anything more is going on...

We are hurting today from all the drinking, but anything to try and find the places that make Boston #2... right now I am still thinking that second place is the first loser.

Noir

2005-07-31T17:32:00.000-04:00

Noir has to be one of my favourite bars in Cambridge. That it's within walking distance of my apartment is one of its biggest perks.

But the drinks. Oh, the drinks. They make a good cocktail here, and they're wonderfully inventive without being brow-wrinkingly weird. This new recent trend of using vanilla-flavoured vodka in every mixed drink needs to be outlawed. Vanilla does not go with everything. You can try, but sometimes (most of the time) it tastes wretched. Vanilla vodka + creme de cacao = good. Vanilla vodka + butterscotch schnapps + Frangelico = GROSS AND WHY WOULD YOU INFLICT SUCH PAIN ON THE DRINKING WORLD? (I did not order it. But one of my friends did (luckily, we didn't end up paying for it) and I tasted it and it was as nasty as it sounds.)

Back to the topic at hand. Noir makes a good mean cocktail. This last visit, I had a strawberry-basil martini, which seems to be a very popular drink around Boston of late. It sounds weird, but if done right, the basil adds a nice touch to the drink. You don't actually taste it, it more adds a light lingering aroma to the fresh strawberry puree. Oh, and I also had the limoncello martini, where the lovely sweetness of the limoncello is basically cut by vodka, making it lighter but also more potent. Limoncello martini = death in sweet lemon liquid form.

Noir is a swanky place, all dark red and black with dim lighting. Most of the Hahvard undergrads stay away, or at least the ones who are obviously undergrads, which is very nice indeed. Usually, I come here with Fake Boyfriend, so I never really get to check out the singles scene (because only a very dumb, or very perceptive, male will approach you if you're with another guy, and really, how often do you encounter the latter?). But this time, it was a larger group of us, and it was just as enjoyable, if not moreso.

I love Noir. It's a great place to hang out with friends, and it'd also be a great place for a date. Such a versatile bar! And they have food too, although I've never eaten there. Obviously, it means a return visit needs to be made in the near future. But not until this throbbing headache goes away. Damn those good martinis.

Hugh O'Neils, or The 'Burbs.

2005-07-30T10:21:00.000-04:00

Leigh, poor girl, has moved out to the suburbs of Boston. While I understand why she did it (all for the sake of one absolutely cute golden lab who loves me because every time I come over, I bring food), I feel sorry for her all the same, primarily due to the grand question - what do you do out there?

I suppose that my hometown is technically a suburb of Los Angeles, but in reality, it's really it's own city, with proper nightlife, even if said nightlife consists mainly of pubs, mercifully alleviated by a wine bar where I spent a little too much time last summer.

Where Leigh's moved - well, that's really the suburbs. Complete with requisite suburbian nightlife, which leaves so much to be desired. But you know what, we were going to be daring! We were going to go out in the 'burbs and see exactly what it had to offer.

Our one prerequisite is that the place had to have a website, so that we could get a general idea of what we were getting ourselves into. After I ixnayed this horribly cheesy-looking club nearish her apartment, amongst many other places (including one bar that proudly advertised Smirnoff Ice!!! and Mike's Hard Lemonade!!! as part of their fine liquor offerings) we finally settled on this bar, which didn't look so terrible if you're into Irish pubs. And we made sure that it wasn't 18+, but rather 21+, as the former would be just too much to handle.

Oh.My.God. The only time I've been a drinking establishment worse than this one was when I was in Puerto Rico, and for some reason we went to this totally shady place that "all" the Americans went to in a shady part of town, which was full of skanky Americans. It was horrible.

This place, however, was just a train wreck.

I can't really do the scene justice. It was just a mishmosh of people who you don't ever want to talk to in bars. My favourite was the guy who systematically hit on EVERY SINGLE GIRL in the bar. Or was it the short balding mid-30s guy in glasses who was "dancing" to the cheesy 80s music? Maybe it was the (gosh, I hope she was) pregnant girl wearing a shirt that completely exposed her stomach. Could've been the guy obviously picking his wedgie at the bar, or the one wearing a too-tight polo shirt and too much cologne. Then there were of course, the skankily-dressed girls who'd grind with any guy, you can't forget them.

We were there for just under an hour, which was perhaps about 55 minutes too long. But, at least we can say that we did it, that we checked out the local digs, and I will never ever have to go back. Give me the city any day.

And this is how it all began.

2005-07-28T00:04:00.000-04:00

Leigh: Check it out! Forbes.com ranked Boston the SECOND best place for singles!
Gloria: HAHAHAHAHAHA
Gloria: Perhaps if you are under 22 and ugly and not picky
Leigh: That's it. I'm going to set the record straight
Leigh: I'm going to create a blog that'll tell the truth
Gloria: Oooh. That's a good idea. And we can do it for all different cities, since soon I'll be moving to LA, which is apparently the 9th best city for singles
Gloria: Which is ONE BIG FAT LIE, since the only guys I met last summer were 33 and divorced
Leigh: We're going to tell the truth about these cities. I just have to stay single for this blog, which won't be that hard
Leigh: I live in Boston, after all

While perhaps that glossed over a lot of my misspellings due to the fact that I was typing with only one hand because I was busy eating a popsicle, and quite a few tangents - well, that's basically how this all started. Yes, Forbes just put out a list naming the best cities for singles. And it is the stupidest list in the world, perhaps even worse than US News's school rankings.

Now, if you look at Forbes's methodology, you'll immediately realise how faulty their measures are. (Hey, I didn't take a year's worth of stats for nothing.) In fact, the only really viable measure is perhaps the "cost of living alone" one. The rest? ALL CRAP.

But hey. We might as well write about our travails of being single - although, you shouldn't treat this entirely as such. Hopefully, we'll post cogent notes about bars and restaurants and other attractions so that you can use this as an informal city guide to wherever we currently are.

We'll keep open minds, don't worry. But it's not our fault if other company sucks. It makes for funny stories at least.