by Angela
Dear lame lesbian bars,
You know who you are. You call yourself something platonic like “Sisters” or “Buddies” or *shudders* “Best Friends”. You play soft acoustic female rock and that one Katy Perry song- exclusively! Or worse, you have live musicians covering Melissa Etheridge and aforementioned awful pop song. You never have a f#$king orange slice for my whisky because you don’t serve any import beer. Your bartenders are old enough to be my grandmother and not in the Sophia-Loren-is-old-enough-to-be-my-grandmother-but-I-would-still-do-her kind of way. You always have a pool table or dart board directly in front of something essential, like the bathroom or the bar. And do you hire young sporty women with popped collars to storm off from large groups in 30 minute intervals? Or does this happen organically because you only serve domestic beer? What about the women who chase after them? Are their polo shirts and baseball caps part of the company uniform? Continue reading
