First of all, let me just say, (and I’m sure I’ve already said it before on my blog), if we were playing the “which of the Sex and the City girls are you” game, I would be Charlotte. You know, the total romantic. Not someone who’d ever meet his future husband in a bar. No, when I meet him, it’s gonna be after he almost runs me over in a cab, or he’ll be my divorce lawyer, or something like that.
But sometimes you’ve gotta be Samantha and grab the world by the balls.
That said, I went to the Boom Boom Room last weekend. (Not to be confused with Boom Boom Becca’s blog). The Boom Boom Room is one of the oldest (and one of the only) gay bars in Orange County (or “the OC” as it’s now known, but as someone who grew up in “the OC,” I refuse to call it “the OC,” because that’s like calling Los Angeles “the LA,” as in “the Los Angeles,” which makes no fucking sense whatsoever) and the Boom Boom Room was recently in the news because it was sold to a new owner and rumors have been circulating that this new owner is in fact two new owners and that these two new owners are in fact George Clooney and Brad Pitt and that they’re going to turn one of the oldest (and one of the only) gay bars in Orange County into a gay Bed and Breakfast. (I don’t think that the rumor stipulated that the Bed and Breakfast was going to be a “gay Bed and Breakfast,” per se, but this is Laguna Beach we’re talking about here—or maybe I should say “this is the LG we’re talking here”—and if it’s in “the LG,” it’s gonna be gay.)
I dunno if I believe the rumors, but I figured I should check out this institution now, in case it’s about to go the way of the dodo bird.
(Full Disclosure: I actually went to the Boom Boom Room once, about a year ago, but I was only there for about two-and-a-half minutes, so I’m not counting it. Here’s what happened. I walked in and ordered a White Russian—this was during my “White Russian period”—and when the bartender handed me my drink, I tried to pay him using my ATM card, and he was like, “cash only, dude,” except I don’t think he actually said “dude,” but it’s a better story if he did, anyway, I was like, “okay, um, right,” and then he was like, “there’s an ATM machine in the corner,” and so then I went to the ATM machine and I tried to take out some cash, but I only had seventeen dollars in my account, and then I ran out of the Boom Boom Room, my White Russian still on the bar waiting for me, but I was too embarrassed and broke to ask someone to treat me.) (Whoa, my finances were in a sad state a year ago—not that they’re that much better today—but at least I didn’t have to run out of the Boom Boom Room without paying for my drink.)
So this time when I went to the Boom Boom Room (my official “first time”) (New Thing #52), I made sure to have some cash on me. I went in with my journal, got myself an Amaretto Sour—because I’m currently in an “Amaretto Sour period”—and then cozied myself up to the corner of the bar with my drink and my journal and started writing.
I’m working on part three of this trilogy of plays—I wrote most of the first two plays in strip clubs and bars because it just felt right and natural for the characters (a few of whom are strippers) and so working on the third play at one of the oldest (and one of the only) gay bars in Orange County also felt like a normal thing to do. Also, it gave me an excuse to not have to try to awkwardly start a conversation with someone—I could just have a drink, write a few scenes, and then leave and I could say I’d done the Boom Boom Room. (Carrie Bradshaw would say that the journal was my Single Person Armor.)
I don’t know what I was expecting, but the Boom Boom Room was so gay. There were, like, all of these go-go boys and strobing lights and gay people.
It was fun. I had a time.
And who knew that sitting in the corner of a bar with your journal and being completely anti-social was the #1 sure proof way to meet men? Seriously. I don’t know how many guys approached me and asked me “so what are you writing?” I left the bar with three phone numbers, though I don’t think I’ll be calling any of them because I was kind of annoyed that all three of these men interrupted me while I was trying to write. (I was in a groove, people!) Still, it was fun to be able to leave the bar and say “hey, I got three phone numbers.”
You know, for this dude who is usually so Charlotte, it felt very Samantha.
(Actually, now that I think about it, I have never left a bar with three phone numbers. Boom boom ya: New Thing #53!)