The Gold-Digger's Guide to Meeting Men

Are you an attractive New York woman looking to support your gaudy lifestyle without working or contributing to society in any way? Then you're in luck! At these five bars, there are plenty of wealthy men ready to shower beautiful young ladies with free booze and lavish gifts, and all they require in return is the pleasure of your company. Oh, and also, you might have to sleep with them. (Photo by szlea on Flickr)

Rose Bar:

Few New York hot spots manage to stay hot, but this sleek, swank lounge at the Gramercy Park Hotel has been attracting the rich and famous since 2006. Wear something chic and snag a seat at the bar; then act bored until that dreamy Hermes-clad “hipster” offers to buy you a $20 cocktail. And if he doesn’t, make eyes at the old creep in the corner: If he got in, it’s because he knows how to tip, which is good news for you.

Bemelmans Bar:

Unlike the downtown hot spots, the Carlyle Hotel's timeless cocktail bar attracts a more refined class of well-to-do gentlemen. Sure, they may be fat, bald and married, but so are all the best sugar daddies. Plus, at Bemelmans, a pretty young girl is more of a novelty: The last time these guys got a taste of a 25-year-old, it came in a bottle of Macallan.

The Hustler Club:

All men love strip clubs, and the wealthier ones flock to the Hustler Club for the top-quality steaks and above-average talent. Linger near the private rooms and be prepared to pounce on an overpaid Wall Street executive right after a lap dance. Even for the most homely maiden, seducing a guy who just dropped $1K on a girl who didn’t put out is as easy as, well, seducing a guy who just dropped $1K on a girl who didn’t put out.

Monkey Bar:

Are you searching for your very own Patrick Bateman--tall, dark, handsome and a big deal in the '80s--sans the psycho killer part? If Dorsia was booked, Bateman and his crew might be found at Graydon Carter’s midtown hangout, where a sea of Armani suits gather each night after work to drink heavily, compare business cards and talk about their female coworkers in a way that’s borderline illegal.

Bar & Books:

What happens when you take a swank Upper East Side space and fill it with cigar smoke and fine whiskeys? A would-be sugar baby’s dream scenario. Men who smoke cigars tend to be rich (after all, they can just pay the cancer to go away, right?), and with but a handful of smoke-friendly establishments left in New York, Lexington Bar and Books is a go-to spot for the type of hedge-fund d-bags who only like to hang out with girls too stupid to know what a hedge fund is.

Best New York Bars for a One-Night Stand

Thank god for alcohol, without which no one would ever have gotten laid--least of all that snaggletoothed disaster sitting at the bar. But after a few car bombs, she starts to look pretty good, and soon it's off to your place for a night of ... well, you know. But not every New York bar is conducive to meeting Mr. or Ms. Right Now. Where to go when you're on the market for a good old-fashioned, no-strings-attached one-night stand? These six bars, where the pretenses are low and the odds of scoring are high. 

Dorrian's:

There's a reason why the notorious Preppy Killer selected his victim at Dorrian's: It's easy to get a girl to leave with you. I don't know whether it's the stench of Burberry cologne on the dudes or the blinding Lily Pulitzer yellows on the girls, but something about Club D makes everyone want to do really depraved things with a stranger. 

Southside:

Are you in the market for a one-night stand, preferably one that involves a fake socialite with a real eating disorder? You're in luck, because overpriced drinks are only one of the things Southside is peddling; guaranteed anonymous hookups are the other. 

Union Pool:

Just because you have an ironic moustache doesn't mean you don't deserve to get laid (or does it?). Regardless, when hipsters get lonely, they head to Williamsburg's most notorious pickup bar to drink heavily and go home with other misbegotten artists (read: bartenders), and then spend the next week trolling the Craigslist "Missed Connections" archives for posts about themselves. 

The Anchor:

Here are some words that come to mind when I think about this Soho spot: Boozy. Sloppy. Sweaty. Crowded. Incidentally, the same words could be used to describe the kind of sexual encounters that tend to result from a long night of drinking at The Anchor--except, perhaps, crowded. Unless you're into that sort of thing. 

No Malice Palace:

Don't let the post-12am line outside fool you: This is a dirty dive bar, through and through. And it's packed with drunken 20-somethings looking to relive their college days by making questionable decisions in someone else's bedroom. If that happens to end with a walk of shame circa 10am, everyone's a winner. 

Botanica Bar:

This hip Lower East Side bar has been helping New Yorkers get laid for years, thanks to super cheap drinks and good music that's just loud enough to discourage excessive getting-to-know-you conversation. Stick the basics--what's your name, where do you live, is it contagious--then book it to her place.

New York Bars I've Fallen Down In

Every true drinker has woken up at least once to discover a bruise or drinking-related injury from the previous night. Me, more than others. Since the day I turned 18--er, 21--I've displayed an almost magnificent tendency to drink, slip and fall, and I've done it at bars across New York City. Why am I telling you all this? Because I'm drunk now, obviously. But seriously, watch your step at these seven bars, or you could end up like me--and as my parents can confirm, you really don't want that. 

Chloe 81:

The stairs that lead down to this exclusive Lower East Side lounge are steep (especially that last one, which is deeper than it looks)--hence the "watch your step" sign. But pounding Jameson on the rocks really isn't conducive to watching anything other than your life flash before your eyes, which might explain why I fell down the whole flight not long ago. Anthony, the bouncer, kindly insisted that it wasn't that bad a fall, but the bruises I incurred told a different story.  

Janis:

Given my penchant for falling, I probably shouldn't be allowed out of the house at all, let alone while rocking four-inch heels. Particularly if it's raining. I made it up the front steps to this West Village hot spot (named for Janis Joplin, who once lived in the building) just fine; the problem arose when I tried to navigate the steps inside to get down to the subterranean lounge. My heels were wet, the stairs were slippery and the crowd of witnesses down below gave me a standing ovation. Hey, at least someone was able to stand. 

Von:

This East Village classic has experienced a resurgence since the debut of its lower-level lounge, which boasts a second bar, a DJ and a more dancey vibe. The plus side about falling down the stairs at Von is that you can't really be seen by anyone because there are doors at both ends. The downside is, when you're even looking for a plus side in this situation, your life is pretty much over.

Southside:

I used to bartend at the now-defunct Martignetti Liquors, so when my bosses opened this swanky subterranean spot in Nolita, it became my very own Cheers bar. Unfortunately, my name wasn't the only thing everyone knew; my inclination to spontaneously fall after one too many Warchild shots (bourbon, peach schnapps and sour mix) was another. If I told you how many times the bouncer, Q, has peeled me up off the stairs, you would feel sick. What's that you say? You already feel sick from reading this?

Sway:

One of the few Soho spots with real staying power, Sway is like the scene of the crime--where the crime in question is "things I do when I drink." Regulars know that the back room is where it's at: The bar is easier to access than the main bar up front, the banquettes are prime for getting wild and you can easily reach the staircase that leads to the less crowded bathrooms. And that's where I was going when I tripped down about 10 of them. Luckily no one remembers it, least of all me. 

Shoolbred's:

Now I know what you're thinking: "Maybe you should just avoid bars with stairs, Justine." Yes, I probably should. But a recent fall at this cozy East Village pub--think stained glass paneling, a fireplace and a huge selection of Scotch and bourbon--proves that stairs aren't my only problem. So are barstools. Yep, getting off a barstool can be hazardous, in this case because the heel of my shoe got caught on the chair as I tried to dismount. Luckily nobody got hurt, unless you count my pride. Just kidding--I obviously don't have any of that! 

Kenmare:

Falling down the stairs that lead to the subterranean lounge at this Nolita hot spot is like wearing a huge sign on your face that says "I can't hang." It's pretty much the worst thing ever, and after having done it just the other night, I'm pretty much the worst person ever. A room full of fabulously cool people who I'll now never know will be more than happy to confirm that.

Party Like It's Spring Break

It's nearly mid-March, which means that if you're a college student, you're probably getting ready to spend a week with 10 other hoodlums, holed up in some beachside shanty, soaking up moderate quantities of sun and lethal quantities of booze, in honor of that great American pastime known as spring break.

Well, guess what: Even if your undergraduate years are over, you needn't dip to Tijuana to partake in the sort of lewd, depraved behavior pictured above. There are plenty of bars where even the most respectable professionals you can experience the thrills of spring break--from the alcohol poisoning to the scantily clad girls--right here on the Isle of Manhattan.

Click through to read our latest roundup, Party Like It's Spring Break.

And for those of you who are too old for body shots but still long to reconnect with your collegiate days, check out Gigantic Cocktails (one of our new and improved photo roundups)--trust me, after a few mixed drinks served by the pint, no one will notice you're balding, least of all you.

(Photo courtesy of The Big Easy)

On the Menu at Socialista: Mojitos, Empanadas, Hepatitis

It seems that the door policy may not be the only nasty thing at Armin Amiri's uber-exclusive lounge, Socialista. According to a report that first appeared in INF Daily (and then caught fire throughout the blogosphere), anyone who patronized the West Village hot spot on February 7, 8 or 11 may have been exposed to the liver disease Hepatitis A. Worse still (or better yet, depending on your perspective), it just so happens that Ashton Kutcher celebrated his 30th birthday with a bash there on February 7, which was attended by such industry heavyweights as Demi Moore, Madonna, Lucy Liu, Gwyneth Paltrow, Salma Hayek, and "Grey's Anatomy" star Eric "Mr. McSteamy" Dane. The disease is believed to have been tracked into the club by a bartender, and not, as we naturally assumed, by Paris Hilton.

Socialista owner Armin Amiri (a former doorman at Bungalow 8) did release an official statement, part of which was reprinted in the NY Post:

Although no additional cases of illness have been identified, the New York City Department of Health is urging customers to get the vaccination as a precautionary measure. We are grateful for their efforts and we will continue to support them in every way possible.

Although one visit to Socialista was enough for me, those who haven't had the pleasure can now take solace in knowing that the stringent door policy may turn out to have been a blessing in disguise. From here on out, it may be downhill for Socialista--you know what they say, "Once they start letting Hepatitis in, they'll let anyone in."

(Photo via Paper Mag)

Saturday Night Live Writers, Performers, and Andy Samberg Groupies Turn Out to Support Writers Guild

Surprise guest Janeane Garofalo opened for "SNL" vet Darrell Hammond, below, on Monday night at Comix

It was a full house Monday evening at Comix where assorted "Saturday Night Live" writers and players both past and present participated in a comedy event to benefit the striking Writers Guild of America, East. In keeping with the trend of wearing your support for the writers on your face, "strike beards" were in full effect, and the overall mood seemed to indicate that no one expects to return to work anytime soon.

Hosted by Jason Sudeikis (who joined the cast of "SNL" in 2005 after spending several years in the writers' room, and who also played Floyd on the first season of "30 Rock"), the original lineup boasted appearances by Andy Samberg and Fred Armisen, though in the end, neither of them were able to do so, for reasons unknown. But everything was still kosher thanks to those who did perform, including "SNL" writers Bryan Tucker ("Chappelle's Show"), 25-year-old Harvard success story (it's about time!) Colin Jost, and former staff writer Leo Allen (one half of the comedy duo Slovin & Allen). Several video clips were shown, most notably an hilarious commercial parody starring Kristin Wiig and a digital short starring Armisen and Samberg, directed by the latter's Lonely Island cohort/ "SNL" writer Akiva Schaffer, who was also in the audience at Comix but dipped out halfway through the show.

Although at least one unfortunate heckler made it known that she had only come to see unlikely dreamboat du jour Andy Samberg--whose rise to fame began two years ago with a video about cupcakes and was sustained by a video about his junk--his failure to show up was well-compensated with a special guest set by Janeane Garofalo. As always, her best material was political, and though she generally laid-off the Democratic candidates, she was more than happy to riff on their Republicans counterparts, making light of the fact that three of them "actually believe the jury's still out on evolution." Which is funny--and at the same time not so funny--'cause it's true.

But the real highlight of the evening?

Headliner Darrell Hammond, who announced right off the bat that he was jacked up on Vicodin, although it was unclear whether or not he was kidding, and his behavior throughout the rest of his set made it no clearer. After commenting that he'd just come from Penn Station ("For those of you from out of town, that's the place that inspired all of Stephen King's novels"), the 13-year veteran of "SNL" went on to perform virtually every impression for which he is most famous: Donald Trump, Tony Soprano, Bill Clinton, Sean Connery, Dr. Phil and a dead-on
George W. Bush. (Though, for the record, Sudeikis plays the president in current "SNL" sketches. Or at least he did, when there were current sketches.)

Hammond's musings on the Clintons--particularly his point that if Hilary wins the election, Bill's job will literally be to socialize with and entertain the first ladies of other nations ("Hey there Mrs. Putin, this here is the Lincoln Bedroom. And this is the Lincoln bed")--were a hit, as were his observations about President Bush ("He starts out with the intention of making a point, and then mid-sentence, he decides he simply doesn't feel like it: 'The American people are tirelessly [pause]... They're tireless'").

If you don't consider the cancellation of the Golden Globes to be any great casualty, then you may think that because there is new programming on TV this week, the strike doesn't impact you. But the networks are down to the sitcom reserve supply, and when the scripts run out several weeks down the line, there's going to be no new content on prime-time television until the strike is resolved (unless you count "Celebrity Apprentice," which I refuse to do). And while the networks are making a ton of money off the exploitation of their writers and the strike itself, the people who really make the magic happen are starving to death. Fine,
that last part may not be true, but it totally might be if this doesn't end soon.

So here's my plea: Stop watching episodes of "30 Rock" online, grow a beard, join the picketers, or do whatever else you can to help ensure that the networks start feeling the pain of this strike the way the writers are. If not for them, do it for me-- because with the exception of booze, television is the closest thing I have to a boyfriend.