Sometimes I just need a boys’ night out. So when an invitation came my way to shoot the shit, chew the fat, and hangout with the guys; I jumped! However, as with all things in my life, there was a lemony twist. It was going to be a BOYS Night Out in San Francisco’s infamously gay neighborhood, the Castro.

Funny thing is that none of the group are even gay. But here’s our reasoning:

• gay people = happy friendly people = more willing to dance
• gay bars = stiff drinks
• greater % chance that something interesting will happen through the night

Going to these types of establishments reminded me what “having a good time” is really supposed to mean. There’s no looking around to size up the competition, no anxiety about my garlicky breath from dinner, and absolutely no pressure about losing social value after I’ve entered the venue. I didn’t even trip when I couldn’t find a ladies bathroom in a bar named after “The Great American Novel.” Who knew the door with the Prince-esque symbol was meant for me! And when I did a 360° spin and realized I was the only girl in the house, minus the larger than life drag queen in the left corner, it made me feel kinda special…until some random day-old stale piece of bread muttered under his breath that he doesn’t like women in his bars. Douchebag.