Beach? Check. Boys? Check? Bored? Ditto

Let’s be clear about one thing: I have absolutely no right to be as hateful about my experience at Gladstone’s as I’m about to be. Just so we’re on the same page. But this supposedly chilled-out Malibu, Calif. beach bum bar was an exercise in horror — and one that I wish I had put off until summertime.

Mind you, I wasn’t in the mood for a large night out this Friday. It was already cold out for California (40 degrees!) which the ocean rendered even colder. Kat, Matt, Tyler, Z, Robby and I were en route to see our friend Tanner‘s laser show, which is so cool that it belongs at a rave or a festival like Coachella, not at a spot like Gladstone’s.

I walked in to the spacious, wooden surfer-esque palace and immediately thought how beautiful it was. There are several bars, two dance floors and many, many bay windows showcasing the choppy winter Pacific. It isn’t hard to imagine what a wonderful world this SBE bar will be on a lazy July Sunday. But, like I keep saying, it was far too aggressive for a Friday night in March.

In addition to the beautiful decor, I was also struck by how many men were filling up the joint. There were dozens, all in similarly styled checked button-downs. I’m not talking the cute, hipster kind of plaid, but the pressed, starch-collared look of a guy who’s come straight to the bar from his job in investment banking. Except it was 11 P.M. — and that look is never one that will pick up the ladies (sorry dudes).

You’re going to have to pardon my French here, but the third thing I clocked were the women…and they looked like total prostitutes! We were in a beach bar, for Pete’s sake, and these girls were wearing clinging Herve Leger bandage dresses, stilettos and masses of makeup as if they were trying to paint Tinseltown (Hollywood) as red as their lipstick. Ick.

At 30, 22-year-old sluts and the boys they’ll do anything for has ceased to be my scene. Tanner’s show was cool, and the music in his room wasn’t bad, but the second dance floor area reminded me of a top 40 club with it’s endless Katy Perry/Laga Gaga/B.O.B. beats. In other words: tired.

But if you’re down for a night of (probably easily paralleled) passion, this bar is your jam. It’s easy to hook up here, especially if you’re a girl wearing a dress so tight and obvious that it leaves your vulva on display. Some of the men were actually attractive beachy types, too, so don’t hate on the place just because you don’t dig boys that wear Brooks Brothers.

I left before the place shut at 1:30, but I noticed a lot of bumping, grinding and PDA’ing well before I walked into the bitter-for-California cold.

Although I won’t be leaping at the opportunity to return to Gladstone’s any time this Spring, I refuse to be put off by it’s low-rent winter scene. I have a feeling that, come summer, this will be the spot I’ll want to hang out…just as soon as its clientele hits puberty/graduates from college, that is.

Laura xo

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