My very essence has become so synonymous with this place that it’s kind of sad, really. I’ve had some highs. Like slaying at impromptu flip cup games, killing it in karaoke, becoming besties with some of the employees and watching the bouncer body slam someone that got out of line. But there’s been lows, too. Like witnessing some epic douchebaggery, having my feet practically bleed on Cinco de Drinko due to a very poor shoe game, random acts of crying and unpleasant bathroom visits. But, through it all, this will forever remain a mainstay. Bad experiences be damned.
My dubious behavior at Blackbird has been well documented, so it should come as no surprise that it’s included in this list. A friend once dubbed it “black hole,” because that’s what your life feels like after a night of drinking there. Of course, I immediately co-signed that sentiment. Basically, nothing good ever happens to me at Blackbird after 2 a.m. I’ve attacked people with my mouth, participated in numerous dance-offs, had one too many #realtalks in the women’s bathroom and fallen for some OH SO STUPID pick-up techniques. But I’ll still continue ending many an evening there. Sorry that I’m not sorry.
This one is really just due to the close proximity to Blackbird and Brother Jimmy’s. It’s almost as if by osmosis that I’m compelled to act a fool. Almost every single time that I saunter into Fado I transform into the Hispanic version of Lil’ Jon and start demanding shots. It should be stated that shots aren’t simply my downfall, they are my LIFE RUINER. Multiple rounds of Fireball should never be trusted, much less accepted. Also, I don’t appreciate the fact that I have to safely descend a full flight of stairs in order to get to my next destination. Especially since I look like a newborn baby elephant when trying to achieve that feat. Seriously, a bar on a second floor? NO. ME. GUSTA.
Dirty Purdy, how I love dropping it low within your musty walls. If my vagina isn’t touching the floor at all times, it hasn’t been a successful evening at this particularly ratchet establishment. Once upon a time, I would straight up act like The Terminator up in this piece. Set my sights on a target and simply attack. I’d like to think that I’ve grown wiser and classier with age, but it’s probably just because everyone that now comes here is a fetus, and cradle robbing has never really been my style.
The first time I ever set foot inside Radio Lounge, I made a beeline for the pool table. No, not to play, but to dance on top of it. I had a good run before they escorted me off. Plus, someone made it drizzle some dolla dolla bills on me. From that moment on, it became a tradition of sorts to have me dancing on top of that thing. Cue the first few notes of any 2 Chainz song and there I went. But, Radio Lounge has suffered some changes. The last time I went it was filled with a crowd that made me sad to be alive. Instead of a DJ, I got someone playing music from their computer (which is kinda what DJs are anyhow, but whatever). And that beautiful elevated surface that I used to call my very own was now covered and certainly off limits. It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.