For those of you wondering why wiqaable gets hits from Dublin during weird hours, it’s because of me, Robert, and one of my kooky life plans that includes flying to Ireland to look for work on a visa without any prior planning during the worst economic time EVA! Dublin is also known as "that city the vikings built in which traffic lights are merely a suggestion and stop signs only exist in the imaginations of those silly Americans." I am currently in my thinking spot, which is the handicapped stall of a bathroom in the Westbury Hotel, which is far nicer than the hostel in which I am staying. (“What is that tappa tappa tappa noise?” asks one of the toilet’s denizens, “Just bad gas, thanks.”)

Aside from the huge amounts of failure including multiple polite incarnations “No thank you,” I’ve run across various things in Dublin that may or may not be relevant to wiqaable; one of which was Bukkake, a gaybar/club thing that occurs at the (s)Purty kitchen once every bank holiday weekend, which roughly equates to once in wtfnever, or something, and so all the queers posted about how excited they were that it was occurring the 31st.

I figured, “Hey, why not? There’s no cover + I can watch people skeet on each other. That’ll make for a good night.” (The bars here are expensive and dreadful, and Guinness is made of evil and sesame seeds or tempura sauce, which is why I’m not out doing that.)

I meandered around the area for a while hoping to duck in around 9:45 because I knew only tards like me would show up on time. And since nobody was there I went to the side of the building and saw this sort of sketchy entrance to this tower next to the building guarded by a bouncer. I wandered by figuring "That must be it."

In my usual smooth-as-hell manner, I mumbled at him,

“So, uh, what’s this?”
“This is a supper club something something something.” (I can't remember)
“Er, okay. Yeah.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Um, nothing.” (<-- me being a noodling asshole wandering around as a minority looking for the gayclub in a foreign, slightly Catholic country) *Scurries off*
“Hey, it’s okay.” (<-- your man [Dublin slang for “that guy”] being extra nice)
“Oh, um, I saw this thing online and I’m looking for Bukkake.”
“It’s right around the corner.”
“Thank you!”

And so I ended up at the front door again, staring at this very attractive man who told me to go have a drink at the bar and wait because it hadn't started yet: he'd put a stamp on my arm later. Sadly, he was the hottest thing there.

DISCLAIMER: I probably just don't like bars (because they're dumb) so don't let this dissuade you from going if you'd like to. Music: 2/10 A mix of euro-chic dance and some rock, of all things. Not even the occasional funfun pop. The closest I got in 3 hours, on any of the 3 dancefloors, was 2 minutes of "Like a Prayer"

Ambiance: 7/10 Bottom floor is a bar with music /snore Second floor is another bar with a tiny dancefloor /meh Third floor is a dance area /Oooo And there was another bar on the fourthish floor which was more like half a floor. It was all beautifully decorated but it felt mostly like a place to drink alcohol and talk rather than to be slutty and dance. Zero making out (except for one couple in the stairwell) half a floor of actual people dancing, lots of being boring and sipping with your friends while looking pretty. I sort of dozed off around 12:30 on a couch and decided it was time to go. The bathroom was also monitored by some unfortunate man that plucked your paper towels for you.

Boys: 4/10 I thought the hottest ones were the non-Irish ones, and there were only like 3 of those. They dressed well in their skinny european jeans and their tiny buttoned shirts with collars but most of them were meh. Also, none of them seemed to even bother with Asians (but maybe they just weren't into me: it's not like there was a large selection to choose from). The most action I got was from the waiter that ran into me and knocked the glasses off my face because I was so tired and disoriented. Oh, and some woman also used me as an armrest while she tied her shoe. She kissed me on the cheek and told me her name was Ellysa.

Prices: 7/10 No cover until 10, thank goodness, and then it magically rockets up to about 14 American $. Drinks were appallingly expensive (vodka cran for 12 American $? No thank you) of course, but there was Heinekin "on sale" for about 5 American $ per pint.

Overall impression: 4/10 If I had had money for a few more drinks or there was better music there, it might have been bearable, but as it was, it was unexciting and I could have literally fallen asleep on one of their chairs. There didn't seem to be a way to infiltrate the culture without having outside friends you brought in with you (which is okay, since, presumably this is for the locals). I'm annoyed I went and that people made it out to be so much more than it actually was, because, really, you're just paying for crowded spaces and overpriced alcohol and the non-existent possibility of a not-even-hookup.

But maybe this was all because I was wearing orange (OOPS I AM CULTURALLY INSENSITIVE LOL) and thus everyone disliked me.