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| - Misty S, Amanda B, her friend Renee and I went here for our own little "after party" after the Elite event at Sol Y Sombra. We thought the shady rockabilly dive vibe would be the perfect compliment to the sangria and tapas we enjoyed earlier. Like chasing Duck L'Orange with a jack in the box milkshake.
Rogue West is what happens when a Stray Cat music video pleasures itself into a petri dish. It has the checkered floor, the loud and extensive jukebox (Madonna and Nekromantix, within a span of an hour), and the pool tables (with red, uh, carpeting, very fashionable) of a rockabilly club, and all the dimly-lit shadiness and "I'm so bored please order something I'm not familiar with so we have a reason to talk" bar staff that you would expect in a bar that grew up with a single parent.
Wait, what?
Normally I'm hesitant to drink at bars. It's not the booze that concerns me, or even the price of the booze, it's that whole "yeah, I know that the gender on my ID doesn't match the gender I present but that's totally me in that picture" thing that throws me. When Ruben (that's what his shirt said anyway) took my ID to swipe it, I felt a little anxious. It was a Wednesday night, after all, and the only other people at the bar other than us were the regulars. You know, the "I come here to get away from my nagging wife and a job that sucks my soul" crowd. Those tend to be the people that give me the most static.
But Ruben was way cool about it. It took him a second to put two and two together, but once he hid he didn't make a peep. In fact, Misty claims that for the rest of the night he seemed to be in "tranny awe". He kept coming to our table and asking if "us ladies" needed anything.
I'm going to be up and front right now about this. Any place that addresses me as "lady" or "ma'am" immediately gets two bonus stars. It's unfair and its biased and I'm a rotten bitch for it, but I can't help it. Nothing brightens my day like being addressed to like a proper woman.
I mean, when it comes to dive bars, service is the only reasonable criterion. You can't judge their beer and liquor because they don't make it, and if the jukebox is too loud than that's probably someone else's subtle way of telling you to shut the hell up.
Ruben made stiff but flavorful cocktails and kept coming to our table and refilling our drink orders.
We were so impressed that Misty S left him a "California Tip", which is what I say whenever I want to both praise her for her generosity and tease her for holding the West Side to Bay standards.
I am a cruel mistress.
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