Because one night out clearly wasn’t enough, we decided over a much needed greasy breakfast courtesy of the Slocan Family Restaurant that we should venture out to 100 Nights at the Opus Hotel.
Having heard a few people sing it’s “there’s lots of men” there praises, I figured what the hell, I can have a nap and do this all over again right? Yes a nap is sad but necessary because partying like you’re in your 20’s isn’t as easy as it used to be. This whole getting old thing? Not cool or thoughtful.
After my refreshing nap, we decided on the Cactus Club in Yaletown, seeing as we would just have to walk across the road to 100 Nights. And let me tell you after dancing like we’ve never danced before the previous evening, this short walk was a blessing.
Now is it me, or is 100 Nights an awful name for a lounge? No one seems to be able to actually say the name right, I’ve heard it called 100 Days of Night, 1001 Nights, 1000 Days...so note to self when opening a lounge or club, try to steer clear of numbers. Apparently it confuses the shit out of people.
We soon arrive at the Cactus Club and thanks to some fellows who could actually answer the question “are you guys leaving” with a proper answer – to the other people we asked, it’s not that hard to do, a simple YES or NO usually suffices - we acquired one of the rare lounge booths. These booths are extremely hard to come by because everyone wants in on the prime lounge seating, as they’re the best place to check people out in a creepy, I can see you but you can’t really see me kind of manner. Also it’s no secret that Trevor Linden likes to frequent this particular Cactus Club lounge, so going there and banking on a TL sighting is a much added bonus. Yah we’ve seen him there before. No big deal.
So lounge booth secured and armed with yet another vodka drink, we scouted the room. Now I’ve been to this particular CC many a time, in fact it was host to one of the most random nights I’ve ever had in my life, complete with one of the staff members having to run out and get another bottle of Dom because the apparent ballers we just met cleared them out of the one bottle that they did have. Tell me, if you only have one bottle, why is it even on the menu? Does a person really need to order this? They probably don’t, but you bet your ass I’ll drink if it’s put in front of me.
Upon careful consideration, it was clear to me that there were hot men here. How had I not noticed this before? Was Trevor Linden clouding my judgment? And as luck would have it we weren’t the only ones who knew this, because it was pretty good ratio of women to men in there. But we can’t begrudge these women of this, once you find the men you must keep coming back to see if there are more! Perhaps this was the location we’ve been looking for all this time. So while enjoying the eye candy, and our delicious meals – pesto chicken quesadillas and the Creole chicken
are just divine – we did notice that there was one thing bringing our moods down. The music.
IT. IS. HORRIBLE!!!
Thinking back I do believe this is probably why we didn’t attempt to speak to any of these good looking guys, as we were too distracted by the sounds of ambient bass grooves that were raping our ears. It was truly bringing us down, why, WHY must restaurants play the same kind of variations of music over and over and over again? I’m begging you, just throw one song on with actual words in it in between the house music mega mix, volume 12. Please and thanks. Talk about ruining the mood, because that is exactly what happened. Much like a whiskey dick, this music wasn’t doing anyone any favours.
Because the music was making me homicidal and someone else had told us to head to 100 Nights before 11, we decided that it was time to stroll on over to our next venue.
We’ll be back to this lounge, because it is really, really good for people watching, hot men ogling, and I imagine (or I’m praying) the music isn’t mind numbingly terrible all the time.
Now here’s where I was reminded that I’m clearly not cool enough for Yaletown. We walk up to 100 Nights and the doorman tells my friend that they are only letting people in that have reservations. She then tells him “I’m confused because I was just here last week and I’m pretty sure we walked right in”. This statement is double confirmed by another friend of ours who was on route to meet us, as she too was also there previously and walked right in.
Well apparently this was not our night to shine, these bouncers were having none of it, and we were quickly cast away like the peasants that we are. Fine then Yaletown. You win this round.
Ultimately we decided that we were pretty exhausted from the night before (it was a big one okay!), so we had one last night cap at Joey’s on Burrard...the OTHER one this time and then walked down to Granville to await our ride.
Thank god we did, because this is where all the magic happened. Three amazing and magical things: There was the casual ass grab, to which when my friend asked “did you seriously just grab my ass” and the guy said “yes, yes I did” and just as casually walked away. There were the sightings of many, many a girl in a shirt no pants combo, some of who were barfing on the sidewalk next to the Roxy, tits down and ass up. And finally the amazing double finger salute from a I’m guessing 16 year old who asked us if we wanted to go home to smoke pot and make out with him and our answer to this was laughing in his face, hence the double finger.
What a great end to a night full of laughs and fingers crossed on what happens further on the discovery of where some of the hot men are hiding in this city. Until next time!