Is there really only one Dirty Sixth?

It had been a couple months since I’d ventured into the cologne-infused section of downtown Austin dubbed West Sixth on a Saturday night. I have certainly had nights of torturous shoes and bad 80s music at Key Bar and J. Black’s, but lately I've been finding them about as exciting as a Subway sandwich.

Saturday was a friend’s birthday, so I met some people at Key Bar to celebrate. There was a debate beforehand: Dirty Sixth (anything east of Congress, where I pretty much only go if I'm seeing a band at The Parish) or West Sixth? My friend Stacey and I immediately rejected the idea of Dirty Sixth – we were happy relaxing at House Wine on Lamar, but wanted to give the birthday girl a little downtown fun. West Sixth it was. 

I sipped my Tito’s and Sweet Leaf concoction, a specialty at Key Bar. The music was so loud I couldn’t really hear my friends’ conversation, so it was time for one of my favorite pastimes – watching ridiculous people. 

I saw girls in shoes that would probably be considered sharp objects and therefore would violate FAA regulations stumbling out of bars, grabbing on to the nearest guy with a white textured button-up and pomade-laden hair to avoid spilling into the street like an over-poured cosmo. Everywhere people could barely stand up. In the bar a few feet away from me was a couple making out, basically resembling something that should have been on Animal Planet.

And then there was the fact that the majority of girls attempting to walk down West Sixth all looked like they were heading toward an audition for the Pussycat Dolls. (I have to give props to my sweets for that precious analogy, which was too good not to steal.)

If you're  going to be sitting down on a chair that probably had beer spilled on it 20 minutes ago, why  wear a $200 dress that doesn’t even cover your bum?

Let’s not forget what happens after everyone (hopefully) gets home. I was at a barbeque recently and met a girl who wanted to tell everyone about her West Sixth exploits.

“I met a guy last weekend at The Ranch, and he’s constantly blowing up my phone,” she said. “I had to change his name in my phone to Bad F*&$ Mike.”

Then she told everyone that she loves to have the bartenders guess her occupation, which is x-ray technician.

“They always guess stripper!  I love it,” she squealed, taking a drag from her cigarette.

Was I supposed to laugh? I don’t know.

I’m not anti-bar or anti-party. But let’s be honest about the fact that West Sixth isn’t the clean version of East Sixth.

So, we could have a Dirty Sixth and a Dirtier Sixth, but I’m sure if we all put our heads together we can come up with something even more creative to rename these notorious bar scenes.

Ideas?

p.s. If anyone is looking for a different part of town to go out, I highly recommend venturing east of I-35.  East Side Showroom, The Scoot Inn and The Good Knight are a few good ones. Uncorked is a really cool wine bar with one of my favorite patios. Parking is easy and I guarantee the streets don’t resemble a toned-down Mardi Gras at midnight.