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Bar lessons about hotness
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The middle one is not me.
My boyfriend was at a strip club tonight, leaving me footloose and fancy free. (Not to worry, it was for a Bachelor’s party. He doesn’t normally frequent strip clubs….that I know of. Although, the founder of EstablishedMen.com would have us believe that’s a good place to find a spouse.)
So my friend Glynnis* and I decided to do something new. In the past year, I’ve made Glynnis the Ethel to my Lucy, forcing her to speed date and go to sex toy parties, among other things. Tonight, we really stretched it and went to not one, but two new places: a new piano bar in Old town Scottsdale and a Toby Keith bar in Mesa.
I know what you’re thinking: How in the world would one possibly dress for both occasions? Well, it wasn’t easy, and we both opted for understated, me in a brown wrap shirt and heels that could pass as cowboy boots in a pinch, and her in a J Crew shirt that said “Scottsdale” with a charm necklace that spoke to the Bible Belt.
We decided to drive to the Toby Keith bar first because I was hungry and food is not generally available for the ladies at trendy Scottsdale bars. I had a burger with an egg on top but that’s not what’s important, what’s important is the following sentence.
Glynnis and I are Mesa Hot.
Yes, it’s true. Sure, we had to drive a few miles, and sure, the bar shared the same parking lot as The Great Bass Shop, but immediately upon exiting the car we were greeted with stares, whistles, and what I believe was the sound of angels clapping.
We walked into Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar and were seated immediately. I noticed men turning their head to stare at us. There were some other girls in what may have been slouchy Ugg/cowboy boots and miniskirts, but they did not seem to be serious competition. We left Toby Keith’s bar with our spirits high, excited to test out our newfound sexiness at the Scottsdale piano bar, Howl at the Moon.
Now, I love piano bars. But there’s a few things you need to know about Howl at the Moon. Firstly (if that is not a word, sorry, Glynnis was the designated driver tonight), it is a chain, and I may have been biased just knowing that because how could it compete with my first love, The Big Bang? And it couldn’t really. It wasn’t underground, and no one was singing. Well the piano players were singing, but the people in the audience seemed dumb-founded.
I’m not joking. Have you ever been to a piano bar? You know how throughout the night they will sing the Kenny Rogers song “You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me Lucille?” The lyrics are as follows:
You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille
With four hungry children and a crop in the field.
I’ve had some bad times, lived through some sad times
This time the hurtin’ won’t heal.
You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille
Well, in a non-douchey piano bar, after the lyrics “You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille” are sung, the audience yells “You bitch! You slut! You whore!”**
Welll...guess what? If you go to a trendy Old town Scottsdale bar, whose nearest neighbors are The Pussycat Lounge and Myst (Again, I am not making it up, I am guessing they call it “Myst” because “The Most Pretentious Club In Scottsdale” would take too many neon letters), nobody knows to yell the appropriate added lyrics. Nobody, that is, except Glynnis and myself.
That was mildly embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as what happened after we finally got a table. You see, the bar wasn’t too crowded, but people there, unlike people at The Big Bang, weren’t too big on sharing. So there were all these empty seats at tables with one or two people. We saw an empty table and started heading over, and someone quickly put their purse on it, so we just stood by the wall until I asked an older couple if we could sit with them (I figured they were going to leave soon, and they did). As soon as we had sat down, two girls walked in. They were, you know, Scottsdale Hot. Thin shoulders, thin nose, thin lips, and "thin" hair. I’ll admit it now: I do not understand how they flat iron their hair like that. Is it that my hair is too thick? Is it their extensions? Does the bleach (you see, they are mostly blondes) have something to do with it?
These are all mysteries I hope to have solved before I die. The point is, a bouncer immediately came over to the girls, asked if they needed a table, and went and moved some people around to get them seated. The bouncer was all “Oh, let me help you. We try to find tables for the ladies” and the girls were all “Oh, that’s great, we’re ladies” and Glynnis and I were sitting there with our mouths open. We had been there over 20 minutes, and at one point a bouncer had been leaning against the wall...six inches away from where we were leaning.
Glynnis looked like she might stand for this, but I would not. Much like the flat iron question, I wanted answers. I approached a bouncer and explained the situation and asked how much more hot we would have to be to be awarded that kind of treatment. He said he didn’t know, this was his first week as a bouncer and directed me to a veteran bouncer, named Winston.
Winston and I had a good discussion. I asked him “Is it just a matter of dressing sluttier and wearing more bronzer, or are we talking about serious weight loss and possibly shoulder bone shaving here? (I have broad shoulders, I think that disqualifies one from being Scottsdale Hot).
Winston, to his credit, was very nice. He feigned horror that others would be offered seats and we would not, demanded to know who the bouncer was, and told me to come straight to him the next time and he would seat us immediately. Later, he also sang a sensual version of "Let’s Get it On," and I’m pretty sure he was looking at me the whole time.
While I appreciated Winston, his words of comfort didn’t matter because he was black. Sure, go ahead and say I’m stereotyping and we can never achieve racial equality with these kind of thoughts, but the fact is black guys appreciate the ample ass and fantastic breasts that go along with my linebacker shoulders.
While Howl at the Moon was fun, Glynnis and I learned an important lesson tonight…well, actually, a lesson we already knew was reconfirmed. The only reason we feel unattractive is because we live and socialize in Scottsdale. It’s true. I go to the Walgreens 1 mile east of my house, in Scottsdale, and no one looks at me. I go to the Walgreens two miles west, and I either get hit on or robbed. We go to a cowboy bar in Mesa and feel very attractive, but as soon as we step foot in Scottsdale, we’re ugly again, and our confidence is depleted.
It’s like that old saying, perception is nine tenths of the law.
I’d like to leave you, Loyal Reader, with some sort of ray of hope, with a story about how Glynnis and I got pulled over on the way home and the policemen made us get out of the car and felt us up and we realized we are attractive in Scottsdale and went home feeling better about ourselves. But that is not the case.
And I’m not even sad, or soberly resigned, about the fact that I am not Scottsdale Hot. I thought, as many little girls probably thought, that when I grew up--at some point I would be that gorgeous woman with her life together. I would be classy and look effortlessly pulled together in silk button up shirts and people would refer to me as “dainty” and “graceful” when they saw me dancing at my wedding. My sister grew into that person; some of my friends did. I did not. And that’s ok. I’m not so bad. I’m just…more substantial. Literally.
When we left Howl at the Moon, it was at capacity. Two gorgeous girls in halter tops were eagerly waiting at the front of the line, and said to the bouncer at the front door “Look! They’re leaving, we can take their place!”
Take my place indeed, Hot Halter-Top Scottsdale Girl. I was only passing through.
Good night.
*Not her actual name, but Freakanomics states this will be a popular name for rich girl babies in 2015. I’m just trying to help increase the visibility. She may have been "Ursula" in previous columns, but that's not on the list of projected popular names.
**To the person who complains that I always swear in my columns—it’s what happens in the song. This isn’t gratuitous swearing, dammit.
***Oh, and I know it’s possession that’s nine tenths of the law. It was a play on words.
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