chowyunsmut:
So. I'm horrified at the idea that I'm becoming slightly agoraphobic and possibly busphobic as well. Been chatting with a person on OKStupid, and after making it clear that I Do Not Want A THING, we decide to meet up for just chillin'. He sends me a few different options. He lives in Culver City, and there's fuck-all for bars near me where we both won't stand out like a sore thumb, so fine. I read through the options placed before me and choose
Roger's Exciting Tattle Tale Room. I like dive bars, I despise hipster bars, and I like the karaoke. This place seemed pretty much ideal.
It was.
Now granted, maybe I just lucked out on the night. Seems that all the bartenders (females, 5 of them) were there decorating for the holidays and getting right pissed. This led to them: doing Blowjob shots, putting whipped cream mustaches on themselves and each other, groping each other, rolling around and writhing (ostensibly to the music playing) on the pool tables*, and teasing us with ALMOST red-hot girl-on-girl action. Probably, this doesn't happen every night. Judging from the clientele, though (non-fancy, everybody seems to know each other and get along, am I really still in L.A.?), it seems as though this type of behaviour is not new or strange.
Somebody bought a round of shots for everyone in the bar. This was my first experience with the White Lifesaver. Pineapple jack is involved, but I'm pretty sure there's Buttershots or something as well. In any case, FUCKING DELICIOUS OKAY. And deadly, because one cannot taste the alcohol. It just tastes like caaaaaandy.
The girls were futzing with an iPod to choose their songs, and out of nowhere, DJ Tighty-Whitey stepped into the mix. Wound up dj-ing for about 1/2 hour or so before the KJ showed up. The bartender (Andrea, aka "Dr. Dre") refused to let me close out my tab unless I sang a song. She also wound up buying me a couple of shots.
I sang a song, surprised the person I was there with ("I did NOT expect to hear something like that come out of you" was, I believe, the comment), was allowed to close out my tab, and left. Thank goodness the person I met there (let's call him D.) was a gentleman and offered to bring me home, because I took on way more alcohol than normal and don't think that I could have negotiated the THREE buses it would have taken to get me home.
I did have to text one of my favourite bartenders during the evening to let her know that this was exactly the kind of place I could see her working in if she did that sort of work anymore. Not because of the girl-girl thing, or the excessive drunkenness thing, but because of whipped cream mustaches and the relaxed vibe of the place that still allows for the bartender to RULE HER DOMAIN WITH AN IRON FIST. Seemed like her kind of place.
Anyway, I love this bar, and I would go back any damn time with any one of you to show it to you. Just don't get all crazy, because if this place gets overrun by white belt wearing, emo hair having hipster toolbags, I will be PISSED AS HELL.
Also, karaoke 6 nights a week. Just sayin'.
* Before you get all "gaaah robblerobble" about the blatant pool table abuse, let me assure you that these particular pool tables are nothing to get excited about. "Barely serviceable" was one way I hear them described. So honestly, they suck as pool tables but they're awesome "stages". Chill. You ain't Minnesota Fats.