Bar Dancing to Walker Dragging?

So I am two weeks into my new age. Yes, I have come to accept that I turned 26 at the beginning of the month. I accept it, I am embracing it, not loving it yet but eventually I will get there. I still stumble when people ask me how old I am, but I guess that's normal. I don't know what it is, but since turning a year older I have started questioning a lot of what I'm doing. The people I associate with, the repercussions of my actions, what I want for myself later down the road. But more importantly, I started questioning one thing when it comes to my age. A question that came out loud and clear this weekend.

What would this question be, you may ask? Well I'll tell you.

Am I too old for the bar scene? Or more importantly, when is it too old for the bar scene?

Yes, I realize this question is sort of obvious. If you have a family at home but you are clubbing it up every night at the local bar, you are too old for the bar scene. If you are spending more time at the bar then at your job, you are too old for the bar scene. If you collect social security and still knock back 3 Jack and Coke's before dinner, you are too old for the bar scene. If you have a walker, dentures, replaced knees, or wear orthopedic shoes you are too old for the bar scene.

These two were obviously born before orthodontia.

Now of course there are exceptions to these rules. Family parties, gatherings of old friends, old man bars like VFW posts that are specifically for the elderly, bars that happen to have good food. But if you are actively pursuing bars that are primarily suited for people under the age of 30 and House Music is playing, there might be an issue.

Yes, I know I don't fit any of the above descriptions, but I think there is also a fine line to be drawn for people of a certain age. Or more specifically, certain situations in the bar scene that are no longer desirable or wanted.

Let me explain.

This past weekend, my youngest sister became gainfully employed at a new bar that was opening on 3rd and Spring Garden downtown (next to McFadden's--the location used to be Buckheads or Tiki Bob's. For some reason no bar has seemed to fit in that location. A bad omen? I think so). The bar--hilariously named Johnny Utah's (if you don't get this reference, go watch Pointbreak with Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze, as pictured below)

The bar has absolutely nothing to do with the movie by the way, except it's namesake. It's country western themed, complete with a barrel of peanuts for pick and grab (peanut allergists are not warned of this by the way, so if you have 'em, stay far away!), drinks out of mason jars, a mechanical bull, only plays country music and cowhide decorations adorn ever inch of the wall. Definetely a random bar to not only put next to McFadden's but also in the city of Philadelphia. My sister, who basically got hired because she was a pretty 20-something year old who could fill out a pair of shorts, was hired as a shot girl. As a shot girl, my sister is to wear Daisy Duke shorts, cowboy boots, a belt buckle almost as large as her shorts, a very revealing and tight top, and learn 4 choreographed numbers that are to be performed on top of the bar at various times during her shifts.

Basically, she's the underpaid entertainment for the droves of drunken men this bar hoped to lore.

My parents didn't have much to say--they were honestly glad she even got the job and will have a decent income coming in.

Last weekend was opening night and my sister practically begged me to go down and support her--another part of hiring her was that she was required to get 10 people to come to opening night. Didn't want my sister getting fired after one shift, so I agreed. I, in turn, begged my cousin to come with me so I'd at least have someone to laugh with as we watched her shake her ass on the bar and attempt not to fall.

Now I have been to some seedy bars before with questionable attendees and staff. I went to college outside of Allentown, and Bethlehem had its fair share of skanky bars. But seriously, this one put all of those to shame.

It was Skanks-R-Us.

And the entire horny, Philadelphian male population seemed to be crowded inside.

We hadn't even gotten inside before we were hit on by a group of guys standing outside. "Where are your Daisy Duke's?" they cat-called. Me and my cousin didn't know there was a dress-code, nor would we have actually worn said shorts that night, so we decided to ignore them as we handed the bouncer our IDs. Unsatisfied, they kept yelling and asking until I turned around and said, "Where are yours?" I at least got a laugh out of the bouncer!

Finally inside, we could barely move or get close to the bar. It was that crowded. We had to wait 15 minutes to even get close to the bar and then an additional 20 before someone took our order. I'm sorry, but who has the patience for that shit. After we finally asked for our beers, the bar girls started clearing off the bar and wiping it down. It was DANCING TIME!

Considering my sister had to report to the bar three days a week for dance classes, I'll admit I was expecting a little more. It was basically a strip show, without the stripper poles or flying dollar bills.

Like this but with cowboy boots

Guys were snapping pictures, drooling all over themselves,trying to get good views to see right up the girls shorts, girls were grinding on top of each other, and all I wanted was another freaking beer which I wouldn't get until these dumb bitches (not including my sister of course) got off the damn bar.

After what seemed like forever, the bar reopened and I was able to get another drink. But then our attention was drawn to the center of the bar where the mechanical bull was situated. I hope everyone reading is familiar with the mechanical bull concept. Simulating a real bull ride, the point is for the rider to stay on as long as possible. The operator had control to make the bull go as fast or slow as they wanted, and they could basically send you flying on a whim. At Johnny Utah's, the point was to get really drunk girls to ride the bull and simulate sex for the googling guys standing around the pit. The prettier the girl, the lower cut her shirt, the louder the guys would hoot and the more drinks they'd order.

So when our attention was turned back to the bull, the DJ had convinced two blondes to ride the bull together. Instead of riding the normal way, the girls were instructed to face and basically straddle each other. Yeah, it didn't leave much to the imagination but here is a visual if you need one.

Yup.

Naturally, how could the drunken, blonde idiots say no. They climbed on top and managed to stay on for a good five minutes. I guess the DJ started getting bored because then he announced to the crowd that if the bull riders made-out he would buy the entire bar a shot. Needless to say, they obliged.

Again, the complete degradation of the female sex. I couldn't help thinking about the feminist movement and all those women burning their bras in the 60's. What would they think watching this display?

My eyes wouldn't stop rolling and I was pretty sure I had seen enough for one night.

But, I guess I was wrong or I should've left then. Because then the "Daisy Duke Contest" started at the back bar. I was essentially pushed forward to the bar by the crush of drunken guys behind me who didn't want to miss a second of the continued sexapade. This contest would involve all contestants (obviously female and wearing Daisy Duke shorts) to dance on top of the bar for 2 minutes. The winner would be chosen based on the crowd's reaction. "Oh Jesus," I thought.

So 6 girls jumped on top of the bar and the contest began. It was pretty harmless. Most of the girls at least attempted to hold on to their dignity--besides the fact that they were dancing on top of a bar. I actually was pretty relieved, until a more zealous girl at the end of the bar decided to take off her top while dancing. Naturally, the crowd went wild, guys pushed towards her and started snapping pictures. Again, all she needed was a stripper pole. Obviously, that skank--I mean girl-- won. Who knows what that prize was, considering she had the Skank-award locked down, but she seemed happy enough to put her clothes back on.

After that, I turned to my cousin who had the same look of disgust on her face and we mutually decided to get the hell out of there and go to McFadden's.

But those few short hours pretty much ruined my night and I couldn't wait to get home and into pajamas. We stayed until last call, but left the city feeling disgusted and like complete feminists. I'm sorry to say for my sister's sake, I will never EVER go back to Johnny Utah's.

Now I put the question to you. Am I just too old for the bar scene? Is Johnny Utah's the state of bars in this country? Are women expected to act like prostitutes, shake their asses and act a fool for over-sexed men? Am I just a prude and should get over myself?

I honestly can't answer these questions  myself. It seems whenever I go to bars these days--even bars without gimmicks that get the crowd in and pray to have them coming back for more--I have similar experiences. I find myself disgusted at the lengths some will go to, to attract members of the opposite sex. Don't get me wrong, I still have fun when I go out, but I'm just not sure if it's still as fun as it used to be.

I think I'll have to do a little more investigating on this. But for now, I'll just blame it on being 26...and old.