A Stone's Throw from a Tiki Lounge

Yesterday was Wednesday, which is to say that yesterday was my weekly night of shenanigans with my second-sister (best friend). We were originally planning to go to Stoney's--the country bar and dance club at the far south end of the Strip. They just opened a new location in the Santa Fe Station (far north side of town) called Stoney's North Forty. My ex-boyfriend told me that this was the place to be.

First mistake: taking advice from my ex on good hang-outs.

We showed up at Stoney's North Forty with a load of expectations. I wore a handkerchief sundress and my boots. My friend was in her trademark pink cowboy hat. We were ready to take advantage of cheap drinks, cute cowboys, and a dance floor. We were sorely disappointed.

The room was maybe as big as my parents' living room. It was also full of people who were most definitely drawing the Senior Citizen discount. We had been promised young people. We had been promised good dancing. We left with a mission.

"Fine." I said, "Stoney's South Strip it is!"

Fast forward to two extremely determined cowgirls making a 20 mile drive to the other location, where we had never been disappointed before.

"Are they open?" she asked, as we pulled into the mega-parking lot.

"I'm sure...maybe its just early." I said.

"It's nine o'clock." my friend said. "Where is everyone?"

Well...as it turns out: Stoney's North Forty has lady's night on Wednesdays (where they STILL charge you an entrance fee. Seriously?) and since this is the case, Stoney's South Strip now is no longer open Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday--which forces you to go to the lame new property to get your kicks. With the senior citizens. And the claustrophobia. Are you KIDDING ME?

Completely disappointed, but still looking for a cheap buzz, I suggested that we head over to Frank's Tiki Lounge on Charleston.

Frank's is a dive (to put it mildly) in a not-too-pleasant part of town. From the outside it looks like a concrete Cold War bunker.

Walk inside though...and its as if you've been transported into every terrible 1940's-1950's surfer movie you've ever seen. Tiki lights, Tiki gods, and terribly uncomfortable chairs compete with the really overdone surfer music for "tacky-prize-of-the-night." Its a neighborhood bar so the people are certainly not glamourous and its small so you're not going to find a lot of night life there.

In truth, Frank's has one real purpose on its little corner: Getting you drunk quickly and cheaply.

I've never had a mixed drink as good as they make them there (or as strong!) and for 8 bucks you get a buzz in a glass. Its awesome. Before you know it, you're floating away to happy land with a fruit/rum/ice mixture rated on a scale of 1-5 skulls based on how trashed you're going to get.

Being that I was the designated driver for the night, I couldn't get such a buzz...and so really got to soak in the tacky-factor from Frank's. My friend, on the other hand, had two drinks and didn't even make it all the way through her second one before she was basically rolling on the floor hysterical.

The best part of course, was her insistance that she could shoot things down the top of my dress with appropriate aim. Suddenly ice, lime rinds, match sticks, and all other weird objects were fair game for the shoot-things-down-my-blouse game. Funny, yes, but would've been funnier if I would've also been imbibing...since Frank's is certainly not the place you go for atmosphere.

I hobbled her out of there at half past ten, sloshed and hatless. Someone would come running out to tell us that the hat had been put on one of the Tiki gods behind the bar.

Only in Vegas.

Just another real night in Sin City...