I was dragged to 18th Street Lounge this weekend and was surprised to see actual people inside. I thought they stopped being hip two years ago. Still, their has-been status is cemented with a quick glance across the street at mingling crowds waiting patiently in make-believe lines at 1223 and Play.

The $7 price-point for Absolut/Stoli drinks (as opposed to the DC club standard of $8) offers amazing savings… if of course you don’t have to pay the $10 loser cover charge. If you are going to hold your birthday party at somewhere lame, please have consideration for your guests and pick a place that at least has a guestlist.

No, it really isn’t sunny outside.

Places you should never go to:

1223 - “hey look at how much makeup i can cake on my face! hehe”
Platinum - invasion of the hairy Middle Eastern man
Steve’s Bar Room - if there is a fire, everyone will die trying to escape from that one elevator
18th St. Lounge - for people who wish they were in new york

In other news, Tequila Beach, Polly Esther’s, and Lulu’s all shut down in the same week. Good riddance. I predict that all the cheesy people who went to those places will eventually start polluting Adam’s Morgan. I won’t notice. To non-DC’ers: Adams Morgan is the place in DC where people go to get drunk and act like an idiot.

1. Find investors. These are the guys who weren’t very popular in school. They fought back by working hard to be rich, but unfortunately for them they are still unpopular, and now bald. They invest in clubs to be cool among the beautiful people.

2. One-word names only. Coming up with a club name is like brainstorming, except you don’t really brainstorm and you use the first thing that pops in your head. Examples: Lima, Play, Cloud, Panache, Modern, Pearl, Chloe, Eyebar, Fur, and Home. The winner for most retarded club name? Love. :boring: Runner-up: H2O. Someone actually named a club “water.” :crazy:

3. Hire promoters. Hire either Panorama, Absolute Addiction, DC Rumba’s, or whoever has a large, generic e-mail list. You don’t want to bring in a different crowd; you just want people who have been “clubbing” for years and are in desperate need of a hobby.

4. Hold the door! Who cares if people wait outside in the cold for over an hour. They are mouth-breathers who do nothing to increase the elite status of your club. Instead, let in Miss Boobalot whose bouncer crotch-rubbing skills are matched by no one. Of course she doesn’t actually spend money once inside because she spent it all on clothes, but who cares because she GETS IT and those losers waiting in line don’t. Club Economics 101: spend lavishly on things that reasonable people wouldn’t buy.

5. Bring in midget dancers. Yes, midgets. A DC club really bragged about having midget performers. Last time I heard they weren’t doing so well.

6. Install a lot of LCD screens. Nothing says hip and modern like televisions displaying random graphics or “classic” movies like Kill Bill and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. You wanna know what’s not cool, future club owner? When I visit your club once every two months and you always play the same fucking movie. Take a break from trying to get into the pants of the ugly skank I banged last year to buy some goddamn new DVDs.

7. Charge a lot of a drink. It makes people realize your club is high status and worth the bad service and idiotic bartenders who “quit” every three months.

8. Table service, table service, table service. Everything you do should be centered around selling bottles of liquor at 700% mark-up rates. But remember: chumps pay, girls play. Don’t even bother giving the table menu to a woman, unless she is so ugly that no dude alive would buy her alcohol.

9. Cheesy hell-hole or bust. At about the four or five month mark, your club will be unpopular and lame. Blame your promoters, or the weather.

Thousands of emails, hundreds of pleas and 30 dozen roses later … Kelly Ann Collins is back in the web world.

And this is the place where she will answer all of those questions you’ve been dying to ask. (OK, not all of them.)

Link.

Six more DC blogs are up for review by the mysterious Illuminati. A couple blogs de-linked me after the last round of hate, and I expect more of the same this time. But look on the bright side: at least I link your blog. I won’t be providing any introductory comments this time around.

Crazy Girl City.

Murdoc: Something doesn’t add up. A divorced bird lives with her fat boyfriend and a dog in Virginia. No city. No crazy adventures. Just a [[censored]] spewing shit about nothing. I’d rather call me mum.

Egg Shen: This girl’s blog title says it all for Egg Shen. She really is kookoo for cocoa puffs. Kicked out of Air Force for being whacko. Now she takes it out on us with her teeny, tiny little font and her blog diarrhea. Where’s Corporal Klinger when you need him?

Brutus: With all of these ridiculous stories, drama either follows her like a shadow, or she’s making this shit up. Either way, this longwinded witless tripe makes me want to overmedicate her. Your boyfriend is a very unlucky man.

DC Urban Family.

Murdoc: Oh, don’t we all just hate the Dirty Vag? I wonder what a gay boy could have against the vag… Oh right. Well then. Why don’t you take your deep-rooted fear of women, your near-invisible pussy posse, and watch a few more episodes of Laguna Beach? Surely there are some screaming girl-phrases you haven’t picked up and worn into the ground just yet?

Egg Shen: Egg Shen say it is better to be thought a fool and remain silent than blog about your boring assed life and remove all doubt. These turds are like a white trash version of “Three’s Company”. Egg Shen say shut the fuck up, DC Urban Family. You are not hip or provocative and nobody cares. NO. BODY.

Brutus: 1- Shirtless Thursday. 2- *Hands Flutter*. 3- I like starbucks. 4- Rinse and repeat. Did I get the gist of it? Wake me up when you have something original to say.

Stuckina.

Egg Shen: [[censored]]

Murdoc: Oh, bloody hell. This bird is a Hooters Girl? Does she work at the [[censored]] Hooters in the US, then? I mean, who made this shite up, man? Nascar? Bar bitch tales? All I gotta say is [[censored]] fell out of the old [[censored]] tree and hit every branch on the way down. Somebody step on her neck and put us all out of our misery.

Brutus: Hey, another fabulous 23 year old girl blogger. You’re fabulous, honey, you’re really fabulous. Do you feel good about yourself now? Good, now go play with your dollies and leave the blogging to the adults you fucking vapid hack.

Son Of Clown Ops.

Brutus: Not only did someone marry this gun-toting lunatic, but now he’s breeding? God help us all.

Murdoc: Who gave fucking King Kong a weapon? No matter what this bloke writes about - walking his mutts, riding the tube, his preggo wife - I picture him with one hand on his substitute dick, ready to gun down anyone who looks the slightest bit dodgy. Kind of like Homer Simpson, shooting out the lights in every room before turning in. Nobody tattoo a target on his baby…

Egg Shen: Egg Shen think that blog title a misspelling. Should be called: “Son of Klan Ops”. Stay out in suburbs where you belong, redneck. Better yet, do us all a favor and take you and your kinfolk somewhere with better access to guns, Jee-zus, and pretty white robes. You make Mao look like Captain Kangaloo.

Chaseing Complaceny.

Brutus: I wish you could hear the sound of my head banging against the wall as I read your inane post about Arby’s chicken sandwiches. No one fucking cares what kind of champagne you drink while flicking the bean - get a life.

Murdoc: I’ve not run across a needier bird in my lifetime. Every bloody word screams “like me, like me!” And what sort of nutter writes one day about trying to get knocked up and the next about getting a vibrator delivery? No more news about your snatch, please. Cheers.

Egg Shen: Gah! Another big, sassy black woman! But oh-so boring. Egg Shen just hope bastard baby is not as stupid as its mother.

City Sparkle.

Brutus: City Sparkle, the name that reminds me of Mr. Sparkle from the Simpsons. But not as funny.

Murdoc: How many words can it possibly take to get across the message that a young bird is lonely, needy, stupid, undateable, and absolutely desperate for male contact? I don’t know, mate. How many words have already been wasted on this blog?

Egg Shen: Egg Shen want to sue this girl for false advertisement. [[censored]] Get back into the cave, Frodo. Stop trying to play with the big kids.

I need to go shower now.

My friend and I decided that we were going to hit Arlington in an effort to give ourselves a very unique St. Patty’s Day. Don’t ask. We’d had one too many green drinks when we made that decision. Nevertheless, we did get what we wished for … a rare experience indeed!

First stop: Molly Malone’s. What the fuck was that? Felt like I died and woke up on a street corner in middle America.

Second stop: Clarendon Ballroom. Yes, it is smoke-free, but who were those women in denim skirts, leftover Mardi Gras beads and green tank tops, running around with shiny green heart-shaped stickers on their faces? I felt like I was in a rerun of “Springfield Kindergarten Teachers vs. Vienna Office Assistants” … and the game was hardcore bulletin board decoration. As if!

Third stop: Ireland’s Four Courts. Kelly green walls decorated with photos of Dublin and bagpipes … so authentic, so charming - but wait … did some drunk guy in a green, cone-shaped hat just belch and then grab my ass?

Stop four: Gua-Rapo. Ahh … finally a place to hide out and drink my vodka soda in green peace. Mr. Rosenfeld, you saved my day … again!

Last night?s happy hour was great, grand, wonderful, and lovely to meet various bloggers. Some might call it lame, but I could have fun in a gulag, so there you go. Recap!

Yuca is meh, but I didn?t have to pay for any drinks, so I can?t complain too too much when that?s the situation. The mojitos are a bit too sweet but definitely not as bad as NYC?s Marriott Marquis, where the mojitos are actually more disgusting than a small bowl of shit (and probably more expensive).

Bloggers… well aside from Jackass McGillicuddy in a corduroy jacket - the new asshole fashion, apparently, replacing the popped collar (I once got brown recluse bites or similar from trying on a corduroy jacket at the Raven… long story) - were more non-nerdy than I might have guessed. I almost broke a glass on McGillicuddy?s head, but I?m trying to avoid assault charges after what happened last time.

Kathryn is a pretty pretty lady and I can?t believe some tall guy with brains hasn?t swooped her up.

The Countdown of V is sleek and chic and I’m probably one of few people who doesn’t find her … um… “mission” weird.

Circle V, I adore this girl, she is fantastic and she doesn?t believe in flat shoes or idiots.

RCR - dude, cool shirt but the haircut is a no-go. And seriously, come to me when you want some real girl-game advice.

I-66: super friendly, too beta for his own good (could you call it betamax?).

Doctor Virgle - obviously! And I know some ladies who would love to get their hands on you.

DCookie - love, love, love, and first to buy me a drink so she gets substantial props for enabling my terrible drinking ?problem?.

KassyK - earned my respect with her gorgeous Michael Kors coat.

Text exchange between DCB and me:

DCB: ?I?m drunker than I look?
Me: ?I?m not at all, guess I am harder core than you?
DCB: ?I don?t feel good?
Me: ?You are in trouble. I have incriminating photos of you?

Bear in mind, folks, that I had 2 mojitos and 3 beers… and DCB had 3 mojitos. There is just nothing better than drinking a man two times your size under the table. Zing!

I’ve been to a lot of blogger happy hours, but last night’s was the only one where I witnessed someone make a complete fool of himself. Last night the guy from Barzelay.net comes up to me completely wasted, spraying in my face and acting belligerent like an idiot. I tried to give him a clue when I told him there is a normal way to talk to people, but I don’t think it got through because he went octopus on most girls at the happy hour. One blogger had to physically push him away to stop his grabbing. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen that at a bar.

The reason Barzelay is a douchebag is not necessarily because he gropes women that are not interested in him, but because he does that at a BLOGGER happy hour. Bloggers have BLOGS, and things called LOCAL READERS. This isn’t a “what happens in the blog happy hours, stays in the blog happy hours” sort of thing; it’s public domain. And the hate is already rolling in. I should cut him some slack since he is white and goes to Georgetown. He can’t help himself.

Do you think his sister-of-a-blogger-girlfriend will ever find out about last night? I will do my part to keep it a secret.