By Michael E. Miller
By Ryan Yousefi
By Kyle Munzenrieder
By Sabrina Rodriguez
By Michael E. Miller
By Carlos Suarez De Jesus
By Luther Campbell
By Kyle Munzenrieder
Onstage at Mr. Moe's (3131 Commodore Plaza, Coconut Grove) is a blonde who resembles every stringy-haired chick you've ever seen with the words "Too Hot to Handle" plastered across her chest in a Girls Gone Wild ad. As the karaoke machine rumbles, she Yoko-Ono-screeches the lyrics to Billy Idol's "Rebel Yell."
"She want more. More, more, more, more, more!"
Nearby, Veronica, a busty 21-year-old brunette in a low-cut dress, catches the attention of a beefy, Grade A McFiletMignon with biceps to spare. Noticing his fleeting interest, Veronica smiles and attempts to make eye contact, but as soon as his dark eyes have scanned her substantial endowments, he turns away, directing his attention to the generic singing blonde.
Veronica sighs. It looks like Betty has won this round for Archie's affection.
"I never get what I deserve," she laments.
"And what else do you think you deserve?" I ask.
"Respect," she says as an areola begs to pop out. "And free dinner once in a while — a nice one! The kind with Kobe beef or foie gras or lobster. I never get that. I don't know why, but I always seem to attract broke-ass losers who don't want anything but sex."
Moe's is a wilderness-themed bar in Coconut Grove complete with log cabin walls, a life-size stuffed bear, and embellishments such as wagon wheels, American flags, and mounted buffalo heads. Tonight is Tuesday, ladies' night, and if your gender's right, you get one-dollar domestic draft beers and wells that taste an awful lot (emphasis on awful) like the adhesive on an envelope.
The question is: At these va-jay-jay-friendly evenings, do women really get what they want?
Melissa, a sensuous University of Central Florida student with long, wavy hair, sits in a wooden booth sipping on a frilly one-dollar specialty drink that's just fruity enough to hide any traces of a slipped roofie. She believes "all women should get free contraceptives."
"So they can enjoy sex with the same kind of reckless abandon as men...," she says. "Not condoms, though. I hate condoms — they ruin sex. They're always dry and slipping off. I'm talking about free Plan B. They should pass it out here at the bar."
As drunken men with busy wolf-like eyes search for female sheep, Melissa ponders the threat of herpes, chlamydia, and HIV. "Well, I only have sex with people who I know are clean. Most of the time, you can just tell."
"Sure," I say, leaving before I catch a contact case of crabs.
A completely different brand of noche de las señoritas is held at Doral Billiards (7800 NW 25th St., Doral). Here, at a giant pool hall decked out in fluorescent lighting, bowling alley carpeting, and an undesirable amount of blaring reggaeton, the bar actually gives away free drinks to females all night long after 9 on Wednesdays. And the liquor is of decent quality. Yet the crowd isn't so much about the pick-up as it is about hanging out and watching fútbol.
Lena, a pretty Asian flight attendant in her mid-30s, is wearing jeans and a white V-neck shirt. "I don't think women should get free drinks just because they're women. But I'm not complaining. It is kind of unfair, I suppose, but it's one of the reasons why we decided to come here tonight," she says as her older and severely competitive co-worker, Jill, focuses on hitting an abundance of striped balls into the pockets.
Jill attempts a shot and fails. Rattled, she says, "You know what isn't fair? What happens to a woman's body after pregnancy. I think women should get complimentary tummy tucks and breast lifts after giving birth." She stops and sinks the ten ball. "And a shot of whiskey."
Jenny, a 25-year-old I can describe only as a cantankerous marshmallow with glasses, agrees. "I don't like the idea of ladies' nights because they attract men," she says with a permanent scowl. "I don't care about free drinks; I'd rather they gave women free things to do instead — like free games of pool, free bowling, free time in a batting cage..."
Taking a cue from Jenny, I head to Sunset Tavern (7232 SW 59th Ave., South Miami) for its Thursday-night booby bonanza. All drinks for the females cost a dollar, are served in tiny plastic cups, and taste like homemade moonshine.
"I think this bar should give everyone a free bump of coke with each drink," says Casey, a mulleted blonde in a flannel shirt and blue contact lenses who's leaning against a jukebox. "It's the only way you can tolerate the drinks tonight. But even if they served us rat poison, I'd still come out for ladies' night. It's the only place in South Miami where women can meet other women. It has a great vibe and a great community, despite all the crazy, loud dyke fights that happen in the street."
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot two pretty, petite Latinas in tight jeans sucking face. "Hey, ladies!" I say as they abruptly put their tongues back inside their own mouths. "Is there anything besides free drinks that you think you're entitled to because you're a woman?"
"Free tongue piercing," says one, sticking her tongue, spiked with a purple gem, back inside her girlfriend's mouth.
Then I see a unicorn. OK, not really. I see a man leaning against a wall plastered with beer signs and sports paraphernalia. Henry, a lanky yet attractive fellow with thinning brown hair, is offended by the concept of ladies' nights. "I think it's bullshit," he says with a snarl. "Why do women always get special treatment? Because they're considered more beautiful?... I mean, look at some of the girls in this place... None of them are hot. I mean, some are doable, but I'm prettier than most of them. Where's my free drink?"
Now I understand the concept of ladies' night.