Friday, September 16, 10 p.m. Hunkered down as we are in our cozy booth at Downtown's Triple George Steakhouse, we are periodically surprised by the appearance of a new busboy no doubt sent by his buddies to investigate our strange, young, female foursome. The décor is simple and timeless: just whitewash and oak, with the main room dominated by a solid wooden bar the size and shape of a racetrack. A George, by the way, is a particularly generous guy, as is apparent in the ample portions of food. Our waitress is getting both an earful and a kick out of our estrogenated conversation, snippets of which she catches between delivering courses and piping hot bread. She chimes in when the stories get good and spoils us like an aunt with a gaggle of giggly nieces at a wedding.
I postulate over a chilled Cakebread sauvignon blanc that not every night out on the town has to involve a rubber stamp, dance floor and driving to three parking garages on the Strip. Despite the hellish time I had finding a spot at least within sprinting distance of Third Street, it was worth the effort to discover that tonight's three destinations are neighbors.
Our itinerary is simple: a girls' night out off the Strip. Four ladies, dinner, drinks and drag—Sex and the City-style, but Downtown. Of course, the most fun is in secretly assigning the show's characters to tonight's players. Without any planning whatsoever, we have a Samantha, a Miranda, a Charlotte and a reluctant Carrie in my sophisticated PR gal pal, her sexy lawyer friend and an alluring, demure debutante.
"Well, he should be at least 6 feet 2 inches and successful. But not so successful that he doesn't have time for me," says "Charlotte." Very few eyes are rolled as we inwardly sympathize with her heart's not-at-all-unreasonable ransom demands. Yours truly lets her inner Carrie shine through: "Therefore I'm compelled to ask, do we desert before dessert?" The decision is made faster than our server can say "warm chocolate cookie a la mode." Four spoons, please.
After dinner, we would have liked to have strutted our sexy selves down to the corner. No, not to open shop, but to hopefully score a front-row pew at Celebrity, the new lounge which features a nightly drag-queen show. Tragically, someone must not have told Liza, Babs or Tina that this fairly fabulous foursome was on its way. Celebrity's heavy glass doors are locked up tight and not a soul is inside.
The marquee promises it'll be open Sunday, however, it does little to console me. Nor does the lineup of leathered chaps outside of Hogs and Heifers, who hoot and whistle under their breath as we walk into the bar. Their equally motocrossed molls take stock of our tight jeans, heels and general glitteriness and purse their lips around their cigarettes. Oh, to be tough as nails and scream into Vegas on the back of a Harley. Or better yet, to have a hog of your own. Mine would be pink, just to spite.
Whatever reservations I had about passing the night in a Downtown biker joint melt away in seconds like the ice in my Maker's and ginger ale. The walls are white, the ceiling is tiled as fresh as a new office building and the floor has yet to acquire that coveted quagmire stickiness. "I thought it would be dirtier," says "Miranda."
Three times the size of the original Hogs and Heifers back home in New York City, the space is still working toward that comfortable dinge, which makes it acceptable for the bawdy, rowdy and very real women of Hogs to throw back a shoot, puff on a smoke and ruffle some white collars with a bullhorn. They still do that, as well as their bar-top antics ("Here comes t-r-o-u-b-l-e," they're prone to sing). By the recent denim-carpet opening, the remaining marlins, license plates, helmets, taxidermy and other detritus had been mounted into position by owner Michelle Dell and her staff of loudmouthed lovelies.
My whiskey drinking pleases the bar's natives, as well as a bald New Jersey rider who bears a close resemblance to his bike: shiny with handlebars. They are all too helpful in hoisting "Samantha," "Miranda" and I onto the bar—"Charlotte" has made a quiet exit, stage left. We do a little dance, make very little love, and then get down. That is, after much obligatory photo snapping.
While it is not exactly the same as the sinful, satisfyingly dirty joint in the West Village, Hogs is given significant character by the characters it attracts. And though we're behaving just a tad out of our own character, we feel not the slightest bit out of place.
Xania Woodman thinks globally and parties locally. And frequently. E-mail her at
[email protected].
Xania's Hot Spots for September 22 - 28
Thursday, September 22
The Palms: Nina's Night Out with Sugar Ray and Vertical Horizon, benefiting the Rape Crisis Center
Friday, September 23
Hard Rock: First Beacher's Madhouse of the fall
Pure: LA's Rokbar with Dave Navarro
Saturday, September 24
Seven: Vocal and DJ set by Sonique
Rain: Vegas magazine party with the cast of Las Vegas
Pure: LA's Rokbar with Velvet Revolver's Matt Sorum
Ice: Porn Star Ball with DJ Faarsheed
Sunday, September 25
Light: Vegas Group Entertainment one-year anniversary party
Monday, September 26
Forty Deuce: Society Mondays
Tuesday, September 27
Pure: DJ Grand Master Flash
Wednesday, September 28
Third Street: Triple George Steakhouse and Hogs and Heifers Saloon
For more Hot Spots and weekly parties visit
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