SUNDAY AT THE ABBEY
Looking for a fun activity devoid of civic merit, and looking for my friends who are devoid of civic merit, I headed over to The Abbey last Sunday afternoon. If there was such a thing as a gay bar tourist trap The Abbey would be it, but with good reason.
Originally a coffee shop, The Abbey has expanded more and more throughout the years and now boasts a labyrinth of indoor and outdoor lounge areas. Dress is casual and non-pretentious, although you should at least brush your hair since it is impossible to not run into people you know, alongside people you hope will hire you/sleep with you/etc.
The women show up early on Sundays, around 3:00. They are of the Hollywood-hipster variety, all wearing low-slung jeans and graphic t-shirts. Not a lot of purses. Most claim they are stopping by for one drink before returning home to do something responsible, typically hiking, cooking, or finishing up their AfterEllen.com columns.
Next thing they know it’s 10 p.m.and their shoes are missing.
Anyway, the women are there when the sun is still out so you can get a good look at everyone before the cloak of night and haze of overpriced drinks descends upon you. Or if you aren’t feeling as creepy as that last sentence sounded, you can do something pure like the group of AfterEllen.com readers I chatted with, who come every Sunday with their Scrabble board and make a day of it. Love those guys, particularly as they agreed to pose for a photo for this column, unlike my "friends."
If you’re not that organized, you can wander the perimeter in search of semi-celebrities. I recently spotted Tabitha of Tabitha’s Salon Takeover, Guin Turner, Jackie Warner, and Wilson Cruz who will always be “Rickie” to me.
The Sunday vibe is both typical LA and relaxed. Blackberries and iPhones are strewn across every table, but on this day their purpose seems to be only for taking horrifying pictures of friends and immediately uploading them to Facebook.
People bring dogs who are lavished with attention and miraculously not trampled. Everyone leaves their sunglasses on well past dark.
Girls exchange numbers while in the longest bathroom line ever. The omnipresent Rrrrrrrrosas!!!!! lady circles again and again until finally you lose your will to resist her and you buy a rose for someone who will probably leave it on the table or in their car overnight. I understand the Roses Lady now has a MySpace page. Is nothing sacred?
It was time to go when the old clock on the wall said “pizza.” Next time, I am only staying for an hour.