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Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Bouncer Goes Drinking Among Marina Girls at the Tipsy Pig

Posted By on Wed, Sep 7, 2011 at 2:16 PM


From this week's Bouncer column:

The Marina gets a lot of flak for being a meat market for dumbasses, but it's really no different than any other area of the city. Every bar's clientele is, basically, people who want to sleep with one another. We go to the bars populated by the kinds of people we find attractive: Hipsters like hipsters, so they go to the Casanova; trendy people with money go to Bar Agricole; Financial District singles hit the happy hour at the Rickhouse; folks who have given up on ever having sex again go to Cotters Corner, or any of the other dives in the Excelsior.

The main go-to spot in the Marina for sex with other people like you is the Tipsy Pig. The place got its name from the phenomenon of wandering swine noshing on apples that have fallen from trees and fermented on the ground. No one ever seems offended at the metaphor.

I was nervous to walk into the place. Would everyone be thinner, better-looking, better-dressed, and richer than me? Yes. Okay, facing the truth was the first hurdle. I was also with two other people who really didn't fit the part either. One was a 4-foot woman with Down syndrome; the other was a 6-foot-2, 74-year-old man wearing a big black Stetson with a gold star on it and an outfit made of American flags (don't ask). We scooted our way in -- the place was packed. I was just about to turn around and escape when the friendly hostess invited us to sit on the patio out back. "Um, okay," I said cautiously, deciding to go for it. We shuffled toward the back, indeed an odd threesome, but I was still surprised to see a group of four at the bar turn around and burst out laughing, with the juiced gorilla in the bunch actually pointing as well. Nice.

The bartender was preternaturally hot. He was the kind of cute that you fool yourself into thinking other women wouldn't find cute, so that maybe he doesn't realize how cute he is, so that maybe you stand a chance. After becoming another rip in his futon you return again and again, hoping to relive that one magic night, only to realize that you are one of hundreds -- that kind of cute.

We made our way to the back and managed to find the last remaining table. I was determined to keep an open mind...

... continue reading this week's Bouncer column.

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Katy St. Clair


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