BE-ing blunt about BE Bar

The DC gay nightlife is peppered with bars and clubs for every niche of the gay male community (sorry ladies, we got the lion's share on this deal ... irony ... a lion is just a big pussy-cat). Leather at the Eagle, cowboys at Remington's, sports at Nellie's ... and, my personal favorite (insert sarcasm), the skinny young bitches at Be Bar.

Upon entering Be Bar, the last thing you can think of is simply Be-ing ... which for me is a young guy with a beard and a healthy weight (shaking-body-in-front-of-mirror flab test is showing improvement). Rather, when confronted with the clientele of Be, I am suddenly more conscious about my age ... my weight ... my man-beard ... and my lack of fashion.

At the front door you are carded by a prepubescent boy who is in dire need of a sandwich. Inside you are forever waiting for a bar tender who doesn't serve people who can actually shave. Feeling like a giant among insects, people can't seem to help but spill beer all over your jeans ("but the bearded man's just SO big, I couldn't avoid his mammoth-leg!").

And you're going to charge me a five dollar cover? On a weekday?

In a somewhat narrow space that never seems big enough to fit its patrons, despite their delicate proportions, Be Bar has a chic dance floor where you can watch the exertion of anorexia in action. Their limber bodies, clad in admittedly well put together attire, shake fervently to the beat of deafening music in order to burn off the square of cheese they scarfed down for "dinner". And, most conveniently, the bathrooms are located near the front door so you can purge and polish before stepping out into the night air.

Once outside, completely deaf and a little weary, you're greeted by a wall of smoke that resembles a tear-gas raid by police. Apparently a little lung cancer goes well with a Ghandi-like physique. But hey! They're dressed up to the nines and look absolutely hip.

Damn! This blog is a perfect example of how my personal insecurities are projected as bitchiness! Maybe I should shutup, remember that thin is in and muscles are on their way out, drink a bit more, admire the fashion, and not be so damn "old".

Thank you, Be Bar, for letting me just Be me ... which is to say, uncomfortable.