LA Bars for Getting Hit On by Unemployed Industry Douchebags

There's nothing like the coolest bar of five years ago to attract the bare minimum of people you'd actually want to hang out with. The Standard's poolside lounge is no … exception to this rule. Because this bar is an inexplicable magnet for aspiring actors and actresses, after two martinis it's impossible to pick out a single individual in the sea of too-skinny women and fashionably disheveled men; their faces all run together until all you're left with is a bad taste in your mouth and a slightly itchy feeling under your clothes. And more often than not, you have to wait in line for this honor. It makes staying at home with a six-pack seem incredibly tempting. [link]

So as not to be accused of undue sexism, I thought I'd throw in a bar where men can fall victim to the female version of the unemployed industry jerk. This lonely little … watering hole on a desolate stretch of Venice plays host to douchebags from either side of the gender line, and its female regulars will stop at nothing in their pursuit of a one-night stand. Once I was here with a male friend, and a girl he wasn't particularly interested in kept following him around, and when he didn't respond to her advances she threw a bottle at him. It shattered loudly, attracting the attention of the bouncer, and my friend was thrown out in the ensuing chaos. She may very well still be there, which is as good a reason as any not to go. [link]

Ah, El Guapo. It's hard to hate on this bar, even if it is on Melrose and always ridiculously crowded, because it has beer pong tables. Several beer pong tables. … Unfortunately, in order to get from one beer pong table to another, or to the bar, or to the bathroom, it's necessary to cross what shall henceforth be known as Skank Courtyard, an endless sea of guys so full of themselves that after three beers they'll think nothing of grabbing your ass just to let you know they're there. [link]

In a word: blah. As if the thudding top-40 music wasn't bad enough, this is one of those LA bars where everyone considers themselves far too cool to dance -- especially … our unemployed industry friend, who has come with 11 of his colleagues in douchieness and will establish permanent residence on the smoking patio until it's time to try to get another drink. I don't know what it is about Busby's that compels these types to patronize it in packs, but any graduate of elementary school math knows that the only thing worse than one guy writing a 2007 version of Swingers is four guys writing a 2007 version of Swingers together. [link]

When I first moved to LA, I spent an evening at Birds engaged in an endless conversation with a complete stranger who explained that this chicken restaurant/bar was … essentially a breeding ground where lying Hollywood jerks picked out their latest victims. Unlike most things people told me when I first moved to LA ("You'll get used to the traffic!"), this observation turned out to be largely true. The patio is a meat market for the male unemployed industry douchebag, while his female counterpart can be found inside dancing on the bar to Journey. That doesn't mean you can't have a great time here, however. Sticking around to see what happens at closing time is LA's version of ornithology. [link]

I've got nothing against sports bars in general, and Barney's, in theory, delights me -- there aren't many places left in LA where you can drink cheap beer, eat … disgusting junk food, and play pool. But more often than not, the scene at the Only Straight Bar on Santa Monica is about what you'd expect. To get to the cheap beer, you have to fight your way to the bar for 20 minutes; the disgusting junk food arrives an hour after you order, if it shows up at all; and you can't get control of the pool table. Ever. By this point, getting trapped by some guy on the way to the bathroom in a one-sided conversation about how he was the third-runner up for Joshua Jackson's part on Dawson's Creek is just icing on the cake. [link]

The unemployed industry douchebag generally prefers the Westside, but that doesn't mean you can't spot a few in Silver Lake, adding a layer of self-deprecating irony to … their blind ambition and unfortunate t-shirt choices. 4100, with its opium den vibe and extremely large-breasted bartenders, is a popular Eastside outpost for our subjects. To avoid them, it's best to send others to the bar for you, and lord help you if you're a smoker -- you'll step outside for a quick cigarette and never make it back. [link]