Bar & Restaurant Reviews

What is it about women with a low tolerance for alcohol and a desperate need to be noticed by gay men, that keeps them coming back to gay bars and restaurants for more punishment? This particular study in desperation had accompanied her two friends to San Diego’s kickass Hamburger Mary’s for what I can only assume is her favorite exercise in futility; getting wasted in a gay bar and embarking on a pointless manhunt.

It was only six o’clock on this beautiful Saturday evening, but already the popular local bar/restaurant was packed with thirsty cowboys and cowgirls from the rodeo, which just let out across town. As one of the sponsors of the famous annual San Diego Gay Rodeo, Mary’s was a hit with the big hat n' flannel crowd that afternoon. I liked the place immediately, not just because of the liveliness of the crowd, and the almost too-loud music blaring out of the speakers, but because the menu was loaded with creative offerings, the sign of a great restaurant.

I noticed her before her scene-making antics began; not just because she was apparently sharing a pitcher of beer with herself, but because she was one of those annoying platinum blonde so-Cal women who looked like she had her head dunked in a bucket of make-up, somehow coating every square inch of her skin without spilling a single drop on her precious little Burburry ensemble. Her stringbean dessicated cheerleader-type figure suggested she worshipped at the shrine of Atkins, though apparently without enough of a clue to recognize that beer qualifies as a carbohydrate.

Her friends seemed normal enough, a guy and another woman who were engaged in conversation about something their little dingbat friend was not equipped to follow. I was enjoying one of the best turkey burgers and fries I’ve ever had, while trying not to watch Miss Nimrod spend a pointless 20 minutes of grinning idiotically at every man that passed her table, her eyes an alarming mix of puppy-dog melancholy and piercing psychopathic desperation. Having failed to get so much as a hint of a smile from anybody, she jumped up abruptly to dance to the music, her body jerking against the rhythm like an insecticide-soaked wasp convulsing in its death throes.

Beer sloshed and sprayed out of her glass as her private dance party for one chortled along in the aisle between tables. Arms flailed about amidst intermittent cries of "woohoo" and "yeah," like a mentally challenged 12-year-old auditioning for a Clairol Herbal Essence commercial. And the best part is that nobody noticed. The blaring music drowned out her desperate cries for attention, and the sea of happy gay cowboys made her antics a sorry blip in the packed house. The cheerful throngs of patrons loudly and happily carried on with their eating and drinking, laughing and talking, paying no heed to the sad display carrying on in the middle of the packed restaurant. Anyone wandering through the aisle did so without affording her so much as a passing glance.

I dropped a tip on the table and rose to leave, an action she clearly interpreted as a courtship ritual, because I hadn’t taken so much as a step away from the table before she was on me like some horrific street performer. "You’re cute," she slurred, and it was an accusation. "Do you like me?" she added. It took me a moment to register that this sad creature actually expected some kind of response, so after a pause I simply said "I don’t date women".

"Come on!" came the piercing, whiny retort, "That’s just a phase, it’s just a phase!"

I recoiled in disgust, which wasn’t an easy task as her hands were now attached to my shirt. "Get the fuck off me" was the best I could manage before I pried her little paws off me and shoved her back, before turning abruptly and heading for the door.

My recommendation for desperate idiots looking to make a drunken scene in excellent burger restaurants: move along, there’s no warm spotlight or comfy stage for you at Hamburger Mary’s.

chumwater

January 3, 2002

Wondering who we are and what the fuck our problem is?

Today in Black Hearts History