Our closest bar is called Woody''s. It's pretty okay, real divey and it has that prototype cheap gay bar smell. Not the Lonestar or Eagle poo smell, but the smell you'd get at the old Transfer, before the neo-italio-electro-disco-mash up whatever it is today (i call it 'there's a photobooth'). . . it's stale.
The best fixtures are the Granny Tranny and the uber-thug from the Mumbleria.
The granny tranny is amazing! She's this straight grandpa of 6 who dresses up in womens' clothing with out his family knowing. I'd say she's 6'4" in heels. The other night, she roared into the place with a bright white fur coat on, a little red tennis skirt, white leggings, brutal black heels, little frilly dorothy socks and a dirty brown wig that looks like he keeps between the mattress and the box spring. Yet, all she does is come in, do a round and stand in the back to wait for looks, signs of adoration or astonishment, either one seems fine. . .
The uber thug from the Mumbleria just walks around whispering to himself about nothing and he's totally decked out like a hardcore gangster. I saw him threaten to shoot this fat hick the other day and I took it seriously, he was reaching for a gun or something, i was out before i could see anymore. He loves karaoke, tho. Not performing, but it makes him smile so wide just watching it. . . it's almost cute.
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