My self imposed embargo of West Hollywood may be coming to an end. I'm still sick of it, for sure (and so I'm clear, when I say "West Hollywood," I'm including the usual hauntseven those in Hollywood). I've avoided the place like a born again Chrisitian to a science class for months now. But serendipity has not been kind in hookin' a brotha up. Before I dive into the online dating pool, I think Weho may not be a horrible option (I reserve the right to change this opinion).
Problem is I don't want a club filled with plastic, self absorbed clones. I know that 5 minutes after I walk into The Abbey, I'll begin to fantasize about dropping a moth farm with an appetite for D&G and Versace clothing and watching the queens flee, while I laugh and laugh. What I'd like is a club like Cherry was back in the day or some place that wouldn't be caught dead playing Britney. I'd like a club, with a mixture of hot guysdressed up, drag queens, goth, preppynot just a bunch of pretentious, walking billboards for Abercrombie and A|X, talking about their latest "Prada," as if it were an accomplishment.
I know. I know. I'm just being bitter. It's 85 degrees outside, and I'm stuck inside a climate controlled building. I'll get over it in a couple of hours.
Someone send in a cake with a nail file in it. Or a hot guy.