Bowling, Greeks, and Clubs...Oh my!

What I thought was going to be a fun yet low-key night on the town turned into an all-out and all-night event on the town. I had agreed to join a friend of mine down at Chelsea Piers for some bowling with his gaggle of gays. I was very excited. It was my first time at the piers, and my first evening out with a group of people who shared my orientation. Don't get me wrong - I love my girls! - but sometimes this boy needs other boys to play with.
Bowling at Chelsea Piers is a wonderful experience. It's disco bowling meets trendy dance club in the heart of the gayest neighborhood in the city. It is everything you would expect, plus children. Yes, it was the strangest mix of family-fun I've ever seen. At first I was worried that the children were going to be distracting, but the staff was so meticulous with keeping our drinks flowing that I had no time whatsoever to even notice them once the gaming began! Bowling plus hard liquor equals good times!
At 11:30pm we were done bowling, and decided to move on to Nisos, a greek restauant/bar on 8th Ave and 19th St. One of the guys in our group provided our transportation. It was raining, so I was incredibly grateful that Mr. Trust Fund had his drivers (yes, plural…there were 2 of them) waiting in their Escalades when we finally left the Piers. We arrived at the restaurant at midnight, after the dining room had closed. But again, spending a night on the town with someone with money has it's perks. They opened the restaurant back up for our group, and had rounds of cocktails poured and waiting before we even sat down. The décor was classic Mediterranean meets Malibu. It was a great blend of comfort and class. I wish I had more to say about the venue, but one hour and two cocktails later, it was time to move on again.

The gang decided to go to ONE, a very trendy night club on Little West 12th, right across from the Hotel Gansevoort. Now keep in mind, we are all still in our bowling gear - blue jeans and button ups. When we arrived at ONE, we looked completely out of place. Everyone in the block and a half long line was dressed to the nines. And rightly so - that's what you do in NYC. But again, traveling with a "party gay" had it's perks. We were greeted with smiles (not from the people on line…) and passed right through the velvet ropes. Blue jeans and all. We were shown to a private booth, where they had carafes of orange and cranberry juices, buckets of ice, and three or four open bottles of Grey Goose. We were our own bartenders. It was awesome, and the liquor just kept coming thanks to the wonderful manager who obviously had some special relationship with a few of the guys in my group.
The club itself was deservedly popular. The décor was asian-inspired with low booths and candles filling the niches in the black stone walls. The music was popular dance mixes, perfect for alcohol-induced dance moves.
The night after that gets a little hazy for me. There was a meaty make-out session with, get this, a gay mormon. There was pizza after we left, but I barely remember having it. And a long cab ride back up to the West Side - that I do remember feeling like it took forever because I had to go to the bathroom.
And of course, there was the compulsory hangover the next day, cured ultimately by brunch at Brasserie 52 in Hell's Kitchen. The Bloody Mary's weren't as spicy as I normally like, and we had to send our Egg's Benedict back when they came out over-cooked the first time (who ever heard of a benedict with a solid yoke?!), but aside from that the meal was really good! The food had a side of cheesy potatoes that I certainly would've been more than happy to make an entire meal out of. So while not phenomenal, it served it's purpose and I was back to feeling in good.
I felt so much better in fact, that I ended up walking home through Central Park, making plenty of stops on the way for people watching. And by "people" I do mean "homo".

Feeling Something Like Home

It's no little secret that I have been down and out since relocating to New York City. I've got a good job and a great family, but I haven't been able to fill the void that was left by all of my amazing friends in Salt Lake City. I've gone out, and met a few people here and there. But nowhere I have been nor no one that I've met has felt like 'home'.

Until last night.

Last night my friend Katie and I decided to go out, which is strange for me because I haven't been out on a "school night" since leaving Utah. We started at some random sports bar. The drinks were good, but I paid seven bucks for a vodka and tonic. No Bueno. It's one thing to pay $10 for a froofey drink (which I did for the second round, and now I know that I don't love Rum Runners...) but for a well drink? That's a little ridiculous, even for New York.

After the second round of disappointing and over-priced cocktails, and getting frustrated by not understanding a damned word coming out of the Irish bartenders mouth, we decided to move on. Katie suggested that we go to Rudy's (see pic above) She described it as kind of dark, gritty, and divey.

So I need to thank my best friend, Marci, for teaching me to appropriately appreciate the wonder that is the American Dive Bar.

You're greeted at the door by the cutest pig (not the one on the cell phone...). I can't even begin to tell you how odd that porker seems standing on Ninth Avenue in the heart of a very trendy Hell's Kitchen. We made our way into the bar, which wasn't well lit. The floor was grimey, the booths had tape on them, and there were drunks dancing in the middle of the floor.

Ah, it felt like home! For my Utah friends: Imagine Todd's before it changed management.

It's the kind of place where people come to hang out. Not to be "seen", not to get crazy. Just a place to let your hair down, laugh as loud as you want, and maybe join the bar in a chorus of "Margaritaville" after throwing a few back.

We saddled up to the bar, where I introduced Katie to Pabst. I was a little amazed that she had never had it. Albeit she's not really a beer drinker... but still! And in a city where I have seen bottles of Bud Light sell for $6, the $2.50 price tag on their draft was much appreciated! As we were settling, I got the best surprise of the night... COUNTRY MUSIC!

Rudy's doesn't host a DJ. It's just not that kind of bar. Instead they have a digital juke box and the crowd pics the music. And someone in the crowd had picked "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" by Kenny Chesney. Who I'm really not a huge fan of, but just the fact that Country had been turned on made me feel not so lost in this big ole city.

I wish Rudy's was closer to home. I would have no problem going to that place a few times per week.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not ready to settle in there. There are still far too many places to go and check out. But finding a place like that gives me hope that there's room for this little closet cowboy. And everything is just less scary...