Thursday, December 11, 2008

B on Sweaty Betty's

Sweaty Betty's
Address: 13 Ossington Avenue (three doors north of Queen Street West)
Tel: 416-535-6861
Open everyday ("except maybe Christmas Day") 5pm to 2am

I don’t really know where to start this entry. I feel like there was a lot that happened before actually going to Sweaty Betty’s that I could talk about. I could explain how T. and I decided we would go to Sweaty Betty’s at Sneaky Dee’s, and how we had also been talking about blogs, and how both those conversations seem to have merged, and now T and I have a blog. This blog. I could also talk about how we were under the impression that Sweaty Betty’s was a hip dyke bar (we were wrong).

I called T. from the LCBO around 6:30 to see if she needed anything. The plan was to meet at T’s house first for some pre-drinking. I justify pre-drinking with the argument that I will spend less money if I do it. The opposite is true. I’m not thrifty normally, and I’m certainly not counting pennies when I’m drunk. Pre-drinking gets me drunk, I’m sure you ca see where I’m going. T. asked if I wanted to eat at her place. I did. When I hung up I had to decide what I wanted. For some reason this was extremely difficult. It took me a really long time. I blame the Christmas music. That shit makes it really tough to focus.

At T’s we ate and drank. I met her roommate, and their foster cat Panther. We ate pesto and pasta sitting on the kitchen floor. I chugged three beers. Smoked a cigarette. We headed out a little later than we had planned. We were meeting a friend of T’s at Sweaty Betty’s and on our way T. got a text from her saying that she was there already. We picked up the pace, feeling bad for leaving her all alone. We ended up running into T’s friend on Queen Street. She had left the bar and was walking around ‘til we showed up.

Sweaty Betty’s is two small-ish rooms. The front room has a bar and a jute-box and a few two tops and not a whole lot of room. The back room feels like a living room, it’s also not huge and the seating is a maze of couches, there’s a chandelier. The bathrooms are in the basement. I’m always annoyed when single stall bathrooms have gendered signs. I’m pretty sure these signs are also a sign (ha) that Sweaty Betty’s is not a dyke bar.

We sat at the bar and drank red stripes. I’m not sure what we talked about. The whole place is very hip. There were two male bartenders (another sign! Although after the absence of lesbians I’m not sure it’s really all that important to keep track). I think the one bartender had a deep v t-shirt on. He certainly had an air of indifference about him. He was sooooo totally coooooooool. Lots of deep red and wood, heavy drapes, retro chairs, soft lighting. T. mentioned that the place looked just like the website suggested, and I agreed.

T. and her friend took off shortly after a few of my friends. They were going to a show at Wrongbar. My friends and I stayed at the bar for a bit, I believe there was six or seven of us total, eventually half of us managed to squeeze into the back, where I actually spotted a couple of dykes. Tattooed, stretched ears. Totally trendy hot dykes.

When I say squeezed I mean that literally, there wasn’t really any room for us. Lindsey was sitting on a box of some sort (or was that me?) and Jess and I were perched on the arms of sofas. Finally some people left and we took over a couch. Anton bought be a beer. Lindsey gave us all gummy candies. Then we moved on. We left and ended up going to a string of bars on Ossington.

We left Anton and his friends. We met up with AJ. Ending at a pub that was still serving food. I didn’t order any food but AJ and I split a pitcher. It was karaoke night (kar·a·o·ke a form of entertainment in which amateur singers sing popular songs accompanied by prerecorded music from a machine that may also display the words on a video screen). And who is karaokeing but my friend Guy’s friend Heather and she’s doing hilariously awesome dance moves.

Once she’s finished I ran up to say hi. Turns out she was on her way home from a party and just decided to stop in and sing a song.

I’d like to squeeze in here that I was just looking at the Sweaty Betty’s cite (for inspiration or something) and I noticed that on the home page it says “Don’t ask us to make you a frilly drink.” My initial reaction is YA! But then I think about the Rachel Maddow show I was listening to the other day where this guy was talking about how the art of bartending is dying, and we don’t use fresh ingredients anymore, and blah blah blah. So I’m conflicted. And then there’s the fact that I drink beer.

To wrap up what is supposed to be an entry about Sweaty Betty’s: I like it. It’s a nice hang out. That feels personal and private but still accessible. I will go back.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

"When I hung up I had to decide what I wanted. For some reason this was extremely difficult. It took me a really long time. I blame the Christmas music. That shit makes it really tough to focus."

this made me laugh really hard, because it's true.
christmas music makes you indecisive!

T. Cheng said...

Props for mentioning Rachel in your post.

I also appreciated your karaoke definition. That was very accessible of you.

Ramona said...

Yo, these days people consider a whiskey sour a "frilly drink". I mean, c'mon! When I go out, I want to drink a Manhattan. I don't want spit in my drink, but that's certainly what I'm getting. Bring back the career waiters and bartenders! Where are all the lifers who consider making the perfect martini a commendable goal? If I wanted to drink a hi-ball, I would visit my local community hall, maybe even enjoy a plate of pyrogies alongside my rye n'ginger. Now excuse me while I go watch another episode of Mad Men. Oh wait, maybe I'm sacrificing the frills for equality in the workplace. Who knew they were mutually exclusive?

bryn said...

okay ramona, you've won me over!!! you're right!

i still like beer best of all though.