Sunday
Southern Comfort
1383 Cedar Grove Rd., Conley, GA
No cover, 18 and up
As I approach Southern Comfort, a large, trucker-looking type emerges, gives me one look, and announced, “Damn you’re sexy, girl!”
Before I have time to stammer out a thank you or just take off running, a large, trucker’s-girlfriend-looking type emerges and screeches, “What’d I tell you ’bout talkin’ to other women?!” Cowed, he begins cobbling together an explanation. Just then, my buddy Brandon walks up.
“Um… this is my boyfriend,” I lie, and pull him inside.
Of course, Southern Comfort offers far more than just scary truckers who’ll hit on anything that breathes. Every Sunday, hipsters and good ole boys come together for karaoke, dancing and $5 Yuengling that you’re all but required to drink straight from the pitcher.
Monday
10 High Club
816 N. Highland Ave.
$5 cover, 21 and up
If you can look past the vomit smell and the tuneless karaoke renditions of “Black Dog” (tip: drink heavily), Metalsome Monday is a raucous good time. The event gives people a chance to live out their dreams of being rock stars, singing karaoke while backed by a live band.
On a particularly hard-rocking night, you’ll find yourself as I did, gripping one of the stone pillars to keep your footing in the surging crowd. If you’re lucky, you’ll also find yourself laughing hysterically as your lesbian best friend, Shannon, fights a losing battle against the advances of a lusty metal-head who will only identify himself as “Maximus.”
Tuesday
Hole in the Wall
3177 Peachtree Road
No cover, 21 and up
It might have been the dim lighting or a hallucination brought on by all the Four Loko, but I swear, the bartender looked just like Glenn Howerton, best known as Dennis from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Dark industrial beats pounded from the speakers, and a few people writhed on the dance floor. The place picks up late in the evening, around 11 p.m. or midnight, and patrons aren’t shy about dancing in the cage in the center of the room or riding the club’s three mechanical horses.
Wednesday
MJQ Concourse
736 Ponce de Leon Ave. NE
No cover, 21 and up
Sure, it’s dark, crowded, hot as hell and more than occasionally smells like urine. But let’s be honest: What kind of hole-in-the-wall dive bar worth its salt smells good? If you’ve got break-dancing skills (or just like to watch), hit the hip-hop and funk room; if you have the proverbial two left feet, make your way to the indie and Brit pop room.
Thursday
CosmoLava
45 13th St.
No cover, 21 and up
“Isn’t that the kind of place where you need to have fake boobs and sequins to get in?” my friend Lauren asked me when I told her I was checking this place out.
She was almost right; you can get in even if you have real boobs and don’t know what a sequin is, but no one will talk to you.
CosmoLava actually boasts two clubs, Cosmo Lounge and Lava Lounge, so down-to-earth girls can get shot down in not one, but two hot locations — all while enjoying top-40 hits, underground house and $4 domestic beer.
Friday
Opera
1150 Crescent Ave.
$20 cover, 21 and up
No lie: I got turned away because my outfit wasn’t good enough.
Saturday
Graveyard Tavern
1245 Glenwood Ave. SE
$5 cover before midnight; $15 after, 21 and up
The $5 cover that grows to $15 after midnight is a bit of a deterrent, but if you’ve got the money to burn it’s packed and the music is on point — hard, yet still dancey.
Mary’s
1287 Glenwood Ave.
No cover, 21 and up
Just a stone’s throw from the Graveyard is Mary’s, hands-down the city’s best gay bar. It’s a comfortable space on weeknights, the kind of place where you can sit and chat with friends without having to scream to make yourself heard. But on Saturdays, it’s a friggin’ madhouse.
Noni’s
357 Edgewood Ave.
No cover, 21 and up
The only way to describe Noni’s on a Saturday is hipster prom night. People cram onto the dance floor with barely enough room to move, while clever remixes of Animal Collective, Phoenix and Radiohead blare from the speakers. Smokers and people who need a break from dancing congregate on the patio and in the parking lot. It was there that I mentioned to a friend that pajama pants are the most comfortable article of clothing in the universe, and a drunk fellow by the name of Michael interjected, “Pajama pants are for idiots!”
“Well, what do you wear?” I asked.
“My balls,” he asserted. “I let ‘em hang loose. All my sheets smell like my balls.”
Touché, Michael. Touché.
