I don't go to gay bars anymore, though I've been to a few in my time. I haven't been invited to one in a while because most of my gay friends have paired off and don't feel the need to make the scene anymore, and anyway I never felt particularly comfortable in them. I mean, gay men are always friendly to women when they're there, but like, you're also taking up room for someone they may want to potentially fuck, or date, or whatever. I can appreciate that. Maybe for some women there is a vicarious thrill in witnessing what can sometimes be a pretty intense pickup scene. Maybe, for them, it never gets old. Maybe they like hanging around gay men because straight men make them feel uncomfortable. Maybe they really like the music. Who knows? I just know it's never on my list of things to do.

But never let it be said that I won't embrace a unique social experience with open arms. Stevie was in town from Austin last night, and he wanted to go to a gay bear bar, and dammit, we were going to have a good time. And off to the Dugout, we go!

Kerri and I met up with Stevie and Becca around 9, and the place was packed with big hairy men. Our Stevie is hairy also, but little, and wiry, and pretty. He was like a snack for these men, and apparently the addition of three lovely ladies wasn't hurting him at all. Within five minutes of our arrival, we all had shots bought for us. Men were coming up to us right and left, working their way through us to Stevie. People kept kissing him.

I have always said gay men are the most efficient people on the planet when it comes to sex. They cut through all the bullshit and get down to business. It's very impressive to me, though of course completely inappropriate for me at this moment in my life.

A leather-clad gentleman named Lance who was probably packing 250 pounds joined our group at one point.

"You girls are like the cast of Sex and the City!"

Shut up, Lance.

We liked him anyway, and Stevie seemed to really like him because they smooched for a bit.

Kerri and I ran to the bathroom together, and I let her go first. This was a ploy on my part to make her responsible for bathroom cleanup, so by the time I got in there it would be somewhat tolerable. (I had been in there once already and it was disgusting. I think I smelled like pee for the rest of the night.) Stevie came back a minute later and hung out with me. All of sudden we could hear Kerri talking shit in the bathroom.

"Who is she talking to?" I said. "Is she talking to herself?"

She walked out, laughing.

"There's a hole in the ground between the two bathrooms. The Australian guy next door to me started telling me I was a fucking carpet-muncher. I told him he sounded like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog."

The Australian walked out of the bathroom, mumbling something about goddamn lesbians.

Ten minutes later there was a raffle for a bottle of Alize, some sort of fruity wine drink, and I said, "This is genius! A raffle. All bars should have raffles." It was definitely a different energy than most of the shitty hipster bars I go to. I mean, people were out to have a good time. We didn't win the raffle, but the guy who did win walked up to me and offered me the bottle.

"I don't drink this stuff. Don't let them see that I gave it to you, though."

Give the girl drink to the girl, I guess. Great! Except now I had a bottle of Alize in my purse for the rest of the night. I decided to name my first child Alize Attenberg. (This was a joke that was only funny to me, and I repeated it several times over the course of the night, ignoring the fact that no one was laughing.)

The bar started to empty out and I said, "Stevie, this place is dead. Let's go somewhere else."

"I want to go kiss Lance some more," he said. "He said to go to Ty's. It's up a few blocks."

Ty's was pretty small, plus it was packed with even more burly, hairy men. I think that's part of the problem in the bear scene. Everyone is too big to fit comfortably in one place, although I must admit they were all so cozy.

I saw Lance making out with some guy.

"He's a player, Stevie." I said.

"Oh totally," he said. This is not a bad thing, I guess.

"He's got a big hard-on," I said. "Oh my god." I flushed. Why did I look?

"It might not be that big," he said. "Appearances can be deceiving."

"How's that?"

"Like, a big basket doesn't necessarily mean he's bigger than average. It's just the way he presents it. Also, like, I'm definitely a grower not a shower. I always want to say, what you see in the bathrooms or at the gym is not representative of my reality. I'm twice as big when I'm erect."

A guy behind us got in on the discussion.

"Plus, people wear cock rings out to make it look bigger in their pants," he said.

"So how do you know what you're going to get?" I said. "I always just think if a guy acts confident, he's usually packing something at least reasonable. Although I guess you never know."

"That's the risk you take!" said the guy behind us.

"Yes!" said Stevie. He walked off toward the bar.

"I always think that if they're confident, at the very least they can back it up in some way, if it's not penis size, then they're good at other things. And sometimes that's all you care about," I said.

"But sometimes those shy guys, they'll surprise you," said the guy behind us. "I've been with some shy guys who are huge."

Stevie returned to the group with a report.

"I felt up Lance. He's not all that."

Lance! He was all charm and no basket.

Later Kerri and I shared a cab home and opened the Alize. We shared swigs in the back seat. It tasted like Snapple. I let her take it home with her.

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