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| - I love going out. One definition of an extrovert that I heard recently is that your batteries are recharged by being around other people. You don't need alone time. That's pretty much me. The idea that I just need to chill out and be by myself is a totally foreign concept. But I've heard enough people talk about it that it must be real.
So that said, you would think I would love this place. It offers the most Jack-rasses Scottsdale has to offer per square foot. Last time I was there, which was very recently, I played some crazy human tetris to get back to the bar to pay my tab. I bumped into 84 pairs of fake boobs, which is not really a complaint, 500 asses, of which only 321 were women, and I pretty much was sweating like a seagull on fire on the 4th of July, which ruined my perfectly coifed and excessively huge hair. I paid $20 to get in. I said "Twenty. Fucking. Dollars." You should have seen the look on the face of the money-taker. Apparently, she thought it was totally reasonable. $50 for 5 drinks. I didn't cuss at the bartender.
Now, it's not all bad. The burlesque dancers' asses are sublime. A true delight. Coconut creme pie for my eyes. Some super hot girl kept staring me down. I would have talked to her if not for the music that requires screaming over and the fact that it would have taken me 20 minutes to get to her and she probably would have been gone and the women I was there with probably would not have appreciated it. And the music wasn't bad.
That said, do your wallet, your senses, your sense of space, your intelligence, and your friends a favor and go somewhere else.
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