Yogi's in the Upper West Side

Ahh the bachelorette party, a tricky little beast. This past weekend I organized one for my good friend (who will remain nameless, in the leopard print skirt above). We had dinner at 'inoteca in the Lower East Side, which was an excellent experience--amazing wine under $30 a bottle, more than enough food in the prix fixe deal and an excellent server. It was marred only by the hostess who after seating us 20 minutes past our reservation because the restaurant hadn't set the table, told me I had to be out by 9:15, when my contract clearly said 9:30. I told her this, and she snapped, "Eh, 9:15, 9:30, what's the difference?" Riiight. As long as they keep her away from the customers, things will be fine.

Next, we headed to Naked Boys Singing. There's a certain amount of pressure to include some kind of nakedness in any bachelor or bachelorette experience, but I just couldn't stomach the "hunky" men of Hunk-O-Mania or the more "American" approach to the male revue at All-American Male. Naked Boys Singing is just that. Men, almost exclusively without clothes, singing as if they were in a Broadway musical. Sometimes it is hysterical: The song "I Beat My Meat" comes to mind. Other times, the show tries too hard at a story line: A man, undressing, staring out the window wishing that his lover would want him. At the very least, it's a change to compare and contrast the anatomy of about 10 guys, while listening to a mostly amusing musical soundtrack. Interestingly, the show was shut down by police in Atlanta, but then later reopened, with an apology.

Lastly, which is really what this post is all about, we headed to Yogi's. The Upper West Side bar, affiliated with the downtown Patriot Saloon and the now defunct Village Idiot, was a blast. Maybe it's because it was Fleet Week, maybe it's because we were some of the few females under the age of 30, but it's been quite some time since I've had this much silly fun out at a bar. Plenty of free shots, lots of Johnny Cash and a healthy escape from bars so enmeshed in their own hipsterness that they forget what a good time is all about: cheap drinks, uninhibited dancing and the company of your best girlfriends. A big thanks to our bartender Patience (on the left in the photo).