I really like Local 16. Its close to our apt. It has a roof deck. The bartenders are nice and cute. They have an inexpensive pinot noir that I looove and delicious medjool dates stuffed with bacon and feta. They generally play decent music. So, Local...awesome.
Please take note that the aforementioned positives that make Local awesome have NOTHING to do with the people that go to Local. I seem to remember a while back that it was written up in one of the daily (weekly?) papers that DC has (okay, maybe it was the Post) as THE super-dooperest place to meet/hook-up with people. Surprisingly, tons of BnT'ers read this article and now they crowd my local bar making it impossible for me to go there weekend nights - well, thats not entirely true cause these people tend to leave around 11 to meet their fellow BnT'ers and hang with 21-yr-olds in Adams Morgan (hot!). Anyways, this is a conversation had one lovely evening atop the roof deck with the typical sort of, ahem, gentleman that hits on unsuspecting ladies like me and my lovely roommate at this establishment.
Patrick (to Urmila): You remind me of someone.
Urmila: Uh-huh.
Patrick: Have you seen The Office?
Urmila: (under her breath) Sweet Jesus.
Bree: ...
Patrick (to Bree): Do you know where I'm going with this?
Bree: No.
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You know, you should really be nicer to these poor suspecting gentlemen at Local 16. Really, what do you expect? They are used to completely retarded shallow girls who eat up every word they say. When they see you and Urmila, they think, "Ohhhh yesssss..." and can't help but saunter up. It's what they do. It's not their fault that each of you have the mental capacity in one little finger that he has in his whole douchebag brain. You should think long and hard about this, and maybe, just maybe, put yourself in his shoes for once. Sheesh.
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