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| - ==Warning: much of this review will contain lingo pertaining to the LGBT community. If you come across a word you aren't familiar with, wikipedia it.==
Ever since Homme gave me the boot, I'd been looking for other LGBT-friendly bars to take my business (and obsession with pool, which I totally suck at).
When my friend Fenyx (a fellow tranny in the "ftm" vein) first suggested going to Bunkhouse, I was admittedly a little anxious. Don't get me wrong; I have no problems being around bears. But gay bars are opened so that people of that orientation can mingle and socialize within it, and I don't like being anybody's unwanted guest.
Bunkhouse is like a living, breathing Outback Steakhouse commercial; "men's men" sit around a fire pit, joking and laughing underneath the gaze of totem poles. The interior is so fabulously "frontier". Multiple big screen TVs play muted cable programs that are ignored by the patrons. It's like a bizarro sports bar. And I know bizarro.
One of the many reasons I prefer LGBT-bars to "straight bars" is that every gay bar I've been to in this city, every drink I order, no matter how obscure and/or hard to memorize, is given to me enthusiastically. Sometimes it's outrageously expensive, especially if I'm not the gender of the bartender's preferred company.
And sometimes I'm given the stink eye when I insist on being given the correct, IBA-sanctioned garnish with my drink. I'm just trying to get the most out of my PBSA education. Don't judge me.
But never once have I been told "you want a what? Are you gay?" (River City) or "yeah, that's not going to happen" (Tiki Lounge). Not even at Homme.
At Bunkhouse I asked for a Colorado Bulldog, and the bartender just nodded and made it happen for me, even though everybody around me all turned their heads and said "what the fuck is that?" And it was delicious. So delicious that I overlooked the fact that it was not served to me in the bucket glass as deemed appropriate by the IBA. I think I officially need help.
I'm sure there were plenty of fun-loving interesting people at Bunkhouse, but I didn't make any attempt to talk to any. I was too busy blowing all my quarters on the pool tables, pinball machines and electronic dart boards. Surprisingly, these attractions were unmanned during my entire visit to Bunkhouse, probably because, as mentioned before, people were too busy like, talking and socially interacting.
Making new friends? Fuck that, they have South Park pinball!
At first I was a little uncomfortable, being the only girl in the bar. But by the end of the night there were other girls, a lesbian couple, and even some drag queens from the show at Cruisin' 7th. And everyone was just as welcome as the bears and leather daddies.
The staff at Bunkhouse was really friendly, in that genuinely swishy way. (Oh noes, another strange and foreign word! I checked, wikipedia has an entry for this one too.) The staff at any bar really set the tone for the behavior of the patrons. The bartender could've given me that "what the fuck are you doing here" look when I came up to order my drink, thus setting off the alert to the patrons that perhaps I didn't belong there and needed to be treated as such.
But they were really nice to me, got me anything I asked, and when the soda gun started pouring out syrup-less soda water, they dumped the glass out into the sink and made me a new drink rather than just passing me the diluted soda water and shrugging. I've had my heart broken by bartenders in the past, but I think Bunkhouse may be able to set me on the path to healing.
On Sundays they have $3 burgers and $1 drafts. And on Thursdays everyone runs around in their underwear, though now that the weather's getting cooler I don't see that happening so much. But I could be wrong. You know, like I was about Homme and setting my nickname as "Transzilla".
Now I think about it, I'm wrong a lot of the time.
But that won't stop you from taking my suggestions, will it?
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