Since I got back from Denver, I've been asked the same question several times, "did you go skiing?" or "how was the snow?" Frankly, I wouldn't know. The weekend was spent drinking heavily in many of the bars that Denver has to offer.
Now, that may sound like a wasted trip, but seeing as the purpose of the trip was to hang out with my bestest high school friend, I must declare "mission accomplished".
My friend Gloria picked me up from the airport and said "let's do some damage to our livers this weekend!" You see, she had a kid about 2 1/2 years ago (awesome kid, BTW), and since she's married (awesome husband too) she doesn't get out like she used to. Me being in town for the weekend was an excuse to party, and party we did...
We had lunch and made a bee line for the liquor store, and within 2 hours of being on the ground I had already consumed 2 stiff Rum and Cokes. The afternoon was spent drinking on the porch, looking at the tip-top of the Front Range and basking in what felt to me like Spring (it was sunny and probably in the mid-40's). Awesome.
We had been tossing ideas around on how best to spend Friday night. Gay bars were an obvious option, but my friend really wanted to see a rapper named "Brother Ali". Upon learning that this guy was an albino, Muslim from Minneapolis, I was sold. Who could pass that up? And we continue drinking...
....which necessitated a stop at the corner 7-11 for a fountain drink (to mix the rum with). What's the point of public transport if you don't have a cocktail in your hand, right? Right! The Light Rail Line dropped us off in the middle of Downtown, and we rode a cab all the way over to the Bluebird Theater. Just before we got dropped off, Gloria says to me "I hope the show doesn't sell out".
When we exit the cab several hippie dudes ask us "heeeeeeey guuuuuuys, got annnnnny extras?" DOH! We retreated to the bar across the street to regroup (also, we wanted to continue drinking). Plan B was set into effect; with the aid of my iPhone we plotted out all the gay bars in the vicinity. Several beers a a few shots later, we were off...
...to a bar called Charlie's. Upon entering, I immediately knew we had made a mistake. The place was dead. You ever see 3 people on a dance floor, and none of them are dancing with or near one another? Yeah, it was like that. However, Gloria needed to use the little girl's room, so I ordered us a pair of Heineken's. Then I started talking to a kinda hot guy about "THE" place to be on a Friday Night...
...which brings us to The Compound. This place was bumpin'! Boys, boys and more boys were awaiting us behind the ominous looking exterior. In one room there was a very busy bar, and yet somehow it was never a problem getting drinks. We roamed about and into the other room, which was a large dance floor. Now, usually DJ's at gay bars play shit that makes my ears bleed, but this place was spinning some good shit...
Around this time I openly asked "why am I so fucking drunk?" which was answered by Gloria "it's the altitude Dip-Shit". Oh, right, the thin air! Dang! Oh well, while Gloria was cutting up a rug with some homos (except for the one she gave her number to, which, as it turns out was NOT a homo) I wandered around talking to people, totally shit faced.
When I went to get another drink I opened my wallet but only found 3 dollars staring back at me. "It's a cash only bar back here" said the bartender. Fuck! So I went and found the ATM, intending to only take out $20, but I hit the wrong button and wound up with $80. Double-fuck. I got my drink and joined Gloria, as well as some boys on the dance floor. Good, blurry times were had.
Eventually, we decided to seek out another fine establishment. Someone suggested a neighborhood/gay/dive bar called (creatively) Boyz Town. From the outside it looked like a quiet, chill bar that would afford us a brief respite from the prior venue. That was not the case. Upon opening the door and walking in we saw...
Now, that may sound like a wasted trip, but seeing as the purpose of the trip was to hang out with my bestest high school friend, I must declare "mission accomplished".
My friend Gloria picked me up from the airport and said "let's do some damage to our livers this weekend!" You see, she had a kid about 2 1/2 years ago (awesome kid, BTW), and since she's married (awesome husband too) she doesn't get out like she used to. Me being in town for the weekend was an excuse to party, and party we did...
We had lunch and made a bee line for the liquor store, and within 2 hours of being on the ground I had already consumed 2 stiff Rum and Cokes. The afternoon was spent drinking on the porch, looking at the tip-top of the Front Range and basking in what felt to me like Spring (it was sunny and probably in the mid-40's). Awesome.
We had been tossing ideas around on how best to spend Friday night. Gay bars were an obvious option, but my friend really wanted to see a rapper named "Brother Ali". Upon learning that this guy was an albino, Muslim from Minneapolis, I was sold. Who could pass that up? And we continue drinking...
....which necessitated a stop at the corner 7-11 for a fountain drink (to mix the rum with). What's the point of public transport if you don't have a cocktail in your hand, right? Right! The Light Rail Line dropped us off in the middle of Downtown, and we rode a cab all the way over to the Bluebird Theater. Just before we got dropped off, Gloria says to me "I hope the show doesn't sell out".
When we exit the cab several hippie dudes ask us "heeeeeeey guuuuuuys, got annnnnny extras?" DOH! We retreated to the bar across the street to regroup (also, we wanted to continue drinking). Plan B was set into effect; with the aid of my iPhone we plotted out all the gay bars in the vicinity. Several beers a a few shots later, we were off...
...to a bar called Charlie's. Upon entering, I immediately knew we had made a mistake. The place was dead. You ever see 3 people on a dance floor, and none of them are dancing with or near one another? Yeah, it was like that. However, Gloria needed to use the little girl's room, so I ordered us a pair of Heineken's. Then I started talking to a kinda hot guy about "THE" place to be on a Friday Night...
...which brings us to The Compound. This place was bumpin'! Boys, boys and more boys were awaiting us behind the ominous looking exterior. In one room there was a very busy bar, and yet somehow it was never a problem getting drinks. We roamed about and into the other room, which was a large dance floor. Now, usually DJ's at gay bars play shit that makes my ears bleed, but this place was spinning some good shit...
Around this time I openly asked "why am I so fucking drunk?" which was answered by Gloria "it's the altitude Dip-Shit". Oh, right, the thin air! Dang! Oh well, while Gloria was cutting up a rug with some homos (except for the one she gave her number to, which, as it turns out was NOT a homo) I wandered around talking to people, totally shit faced.
When I went to get another drink I opened my wallet but only found 3 dollars staring back at me. "It's a cash only bar back here" said the bartender. Fuck! So I went and found the ATM, intending to only take out $20, but I hit the wrong button and wound up with $80. Double-fuck. I got my drink and joined Gloria, as well as some boys on the dance floor. Good, blurry times were had.
Eventually, we decided to seek out another fine establishment. Someone suggested a neighborhood/gay/dive bar called (creatively) Boyz Town. From the outside it looked like a quiet, chill bar that would afford us a brief respite from the prior venue. That was not the case. Upon opening the door and walking in we saw...
STRIPPERS! Gloria and I turned to each other and exclaimed "AWESOME!". See, we always "joke" about going to Titty Bars, but this was WAY better. As she put it "this is the ultimate Win-Win situation". Indeed.These boys were fuckin' H-A-W-T, and although most of them were probably straight, that did little to nothing to dampen my enthusiasm. Somehow, I got a second wind. Hot, nearly naked boys apparently have that effect on me.
Saturday was spent hung-the-fuck-over and sleeping and reading. Also, I became "Uncle Justin" and looked after Gloria's son. This kid is beyond awesome. We played catch, I pushed him around in his little wagon thing and such. I might never be a Father, but I'll always be a damn good Uncle!
Saturday Night...we went to a place called Cervantes Masterpiece Ballroom, which is a total hippie joint, and quite a fun one at that. There were 2 rooms, the main one (below) and another side room.
The main act was a band called The Motet, and in the other room there some "hippie techno" by a group called EOTO going on. That might sound terrible, but in reality it was fucking off-da-hook.
There is something about gay bars and hippie bars that make drinks really, really strong and soon enough I was feeling really good once again...which was around the time I ran into Pete. This is an old friend from high school that I always run into when in Denver, and always when I'm fucked up.This was no exception, and at first I was confused why this hot guy (he looks kinda like Owen Wilson but without the jacked nose) knew my name, but after a few seconds I exclaimed "PETE!". He bought us some shots and we caught up before he disappeared into the crowd, probably to chase after some cute hippie girls.
Which brings me to another observation; Denver is FULL of beautiful people. When you think "hippie" you might think of hairy people wearing ill fitted clothing. Not the case. There were smokin' hot guys and very pretty woman everyone one looked.
Gloria, her friends and I had a blast that night. The next morning I was afraid to look at the receipt from my bar tab...but it was only $5. Not sure that happened, but I'm not complaining (I'm told this place is notorious for forgetting to put drinks on your tab). Also, somehow I got blue paint on my coat. Hmmmm...
Needless to say, I had a blast in the Mile High City. It was great to hang with an old friend and also some new ones...thanks Denver!
6 comments:
Blue paint on your jacket? Were you near a wet Smurf by chance?
Glad you had a great time in the Mile High City.
I've found that having a cocktail in hand is the ONLY thing that makes public transportation bearable.
Sounds like you had a blast.. Now you should be well rested for home.
I can't even imagine what kind of music the DJ played that would get you to dance.
An albino muslim rapper from Minneapolis *and* strippers?!
This Denver sounds like paradise.
Strippers & beautiful people & cocktails on the subway.. good times obviously.
Denver just went on my 'to do' list.. err maybe 'go to' list sounds better.. but 'to do' might happen ;o)
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