"Fill the box," someone yelled as half the Trolley Pub Charlotte riders piled into the "waiting" area at Dog Bar in Noda. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. I mean, it's the textbook moment for, "That's what she said!" I turned to my friend and co-worker and said, "That should've been our team name."
If you're not familiar with Dog Bar, you're probably wondering what in the hell I'm talking about.
One of my NoDa-residing friends had been telling me that I needed to experience a work-night turn up at the Dog Bar. While I'm convinced he doesn't think I'm a "dog person," per se (and he'd be correct) he's always known that I love the idea of dogs and possibly owning a well-behaved, "man's best friend" of my own one day.
So a few weeks ago, I decided to abandon my usual routine of turning happy hour into an Uptown charade, and finally went to Dog Bar.
The bar is referred to as a "dog-friendly watering hole with a patio." I literally couldn't have said it better myself.
I'd parked in their parking lot many times and walked past as what felt like hundreds of dogs were gawking and barking at me as I made my way to The Blind Pig next door. And quite frankly, I'd never been even tempted to brave the wild pack and see what Dog Bar had to offer. But my friend's dog, Luna, is a beautiful, platinum blonde Husky mix with piercing ice blue eyes. How could I resist the invite?
Per usual, as I approached the gate in front of Dog Bar, I was greeted by the sounds of barks. I stepped into what I call the "waiting area" between two small fences — a safety measure to keep the dogs from sliding past a newcomer and running into the street.
I took a deep breath and prepared to be devoured. To my surprise, all the dogs greeted me with a "smile" as I made my way to the covered benches and my friend. I don't know if he knew how nervous I was — I'd never been around so many dogs off-leash, running around freely in one space at one time.
We made our way through the entryway to the bar inside. A couple of the chillest pups you'll ever see rested on doggy beds on the bar. Say what?! They didn't even stress a newcomer walking in, they just laid there and minded their business like they owned the place. But in reality, the dogs run Dog Bar, so technically, they do own the place.
My friend ordered a craft beer, I decided a domestic would feel better in the morning. We returned to the patio and I watched Luna, who'd been pouncing all over the place kicking all the water out of the "community water bucket" before returning to jetting from one side of the bar to the other.
That's when I discovered we'd be playing trivia — rather, my friend would be, as I reassured him that I would be of no assistance.
He asked what our team name should be and I racked my brain for a clever response.
We finally decided on "Beers Full of Tears," but we weren't satisfied. After the first round, the Trolley Pub pulled up and spilled out a full group of tipsy cyclers. And as you can imagine, the Dog Bar is a magnet for dog lovers and thirsty singles alike.
So naturally, the entire group, minus dogs of their own, attempted to make their way into the bar.
Concerned that one of the tipsy travelers would accidentally let a dog out, someone stepped up to the inner gate and instructed them that they would need to "fill the box" and close the outer gate before he would let them enter. And that's when I wished we'd waited for inspiration before coming up with a team name.
As soon as they poured into the bar, all you could hear was the sound of "baby talk." "Oh you're such a good girl. Oh my goodness aren't you the most beautifulest dog in the whole wide world?!"
I chuckled at the awkward encounters non-dog lovers would make fun of for days and thought, "This is why dogs and dog owners love this bar so much."
I'm embarrassed to say, I've silently judged dogs — and sometimes babies — and their owners at dog- and kid-friendly venues, but Dog Bar showed me how much fun it can be to kick it with your furry child.
Tear-away swim trunks, nonstop voguing and a little bit of rain.
Those were the highlights of my Sunday a couple weeks ago. Why, you may ask? I went to this year's first Takeover Friday's LGBTQ and Ally Pool Party hosted by Craft City Social Club.
For those of you in the Q.C. who don't know, let me school y'all real quick. June is reserved for Pride Month in honor of the Stonewall Riots that took place in Manhattan in 1969.
As a major social demonstration against police mistreatment of members of the gay community, Stonewall has become recognized as the catalyst of the LGBT movement for civil rights.
In Biggie's words, "If you don't know, now you know."
Shortly after the month of June kicked off, the event popped up on my Facebook feed. I immediately marked myself as "interested."
The only thing that would keep me from going was the fact that it was on a Sunday. Would I really want to risk being hungover on a Monday?
But y'all knew that was not going to stop your girl, right?
I took the trolley from Elizabeth to Uptown in the hopes of sweating out some of the alcohol from the night before. Once there, I went straight to Latta Arcade to get a pizza from Zablong. Little did I know they were closed on Sundays.
I settled (yes, settled) for Mellow Mushroom before heading over to Craft City Social Club to meet one of my friends for the event.
Located inside the Sheraton at the corner of S. McDowell and E. Stonewall streets in Second Ward, Craft City Social Club is an indoor/outdoor poolside bar and lounge. Opened in 2016 along with City Lights Rooftop next door, Craft City Social Club is the only social club with a pool that Charlotteans don't have to worry about "crashing."
Not to mention, they have plenty of games to keep an adult child occupied, including billiards, darts, fuse ball, life-sized Jenga and shuffleboard.
I grabbed a parking ticket and stuffed my face with one more slice of pizza. As I walked past the pool area I could feel the energy from the party spill over the greenery-covered enclosure.
Once inside, I searched for my friend who'd been waiting for me for over an hour (I know, I know, I was upholding the stereotype).
Fortunately, he'd made a few friends and was sitting comfortably with his feet in the pool. Despite my tardiness, he hopped up with a smile on his face and agreed to walk to with me to grab a glass of champagne at the bar.
I surveyed the landscape and confirmed what I've always known, LGBT parties are some of the most care-free, happy-go-lucky celebrations of self a human can ever be blessed to experience. Yes, there can be drama and it can be difficult to fit in to smaller cliques — as with any group — but nothing beats Speedos and voguing for hours on end.
As a matter of fact, one partygoer came by himself and vogued non-stop to every song. Even when he was drenched in sweat, or rain, nothing stopped him from dancing.
Drinks were expensive so my comrade and I didn't concern ourselves much with running back and forth to the bar. Instead, we decided to take a dip in the pool where everyone else had made themselves comfortable on a pool float.
It goes without saying, but once I found a float shaped like a piece of pizza to take the perfect #Instaphoto on (find me at omgaerin), my day was complete.
It's a good thing, too, because shortly after, it started to rain. What a bummer, I thought. My friend and I grabbed our things and went inside for some shelter and tried our hand at ring toss.
We were contemplating making our exit, thinking the party was over when all of a sudden "It's Raining Men" came on. You guessed it! Everyone was belting out the tune while dancing in the rain. Now that's what I call a finale fit for a queen — for us anyway.
If you missed the first pool party put on by Takeover Friday, the South's longest running LGBTQ and ally mobile happy hour, you're in luck! Three more are scheduled for July 10, August 13 and September 10. Mark your calendars and get ready to show your support and PRIDE!
After Leandrea Hill told me about her most recent art project, I couldn't get that Drake lyric out of my head — you know, the one that goes, "I like my girls BBW."
Hill's latest project focuses specifically on just that: BBWs, or big black women. Hill's preference has always been to paint plus-sized black women, but for her most recent series, the Juicy Collection, she took it a step further.
"This is my first time focusing specifically on the vagina," she told me.
Hill explained that the project was born "because I had someone contact me about having a painting of their vagina done – commissioned – for their bedroom."
The collection ended up consisting of 13 up-close-and-very-personal paintings.
"They're all plus-sized black women who I had submit. I want to celebrate our vaginas," Hill said. "I wanted to focus specifically on black plus-sized women – our most intimate area."
On June 3, she celebrated the new collection's release as well as her that of her chapbook, "Beautiful After Dark." Hill is a poet primarily, and the book showcases her written work, including selections of her erotic poetry ("pornetry" as she calls it). She considers the Juicy Collection and all of her visual art "unspoken poems."
Like some aspects of the female anatomy, the location of the release party was elusive and mysterious. I almost walked into someone else's semi-formal event before finding Hill's studio tucked in the middle of a business center on North Tryon. The studio is made up of two tiny rooms, the white walls barely visible behind the patchwork of bright paintings that stretch from floor to ceiling.
In the first room, Hill's latest unspoken poems were unmistakable. In shades of brown and purple, the paintings were visually similar, but represented a diversity of vaginas.
As Hill described the collection: "Some of them are pierced, some of them are a little fuller than others, some of them are dark, some of them are light."
(Interestingly, though, all of them were shaved.)
The little studio was crowded. Attendees, including friends of Hill and the subjects of the paintings, rearranged themselves, stepping this way and that to stay out of the way. Some slipped past each other to make trips to pick up deviled eggs and chicken salad. People mulled over the paintings, pointing out favorites. One of the pieces reminded someone of a shaggy dog. Another said it looked like Edvard Munch's "The Scream." All agreed that the collection was important.
"It's definitely a way to bring light to our bodies, to paint positive about our vaginas and the things that they do, as far as bringing forth life, bringing forth intimacy, love and lust," said Hill. "All of those things are tied in. Even though it's nude and it's most definitely a private area, it's not vulgar. It's just art — the art of our bodies."
I went to get more chicken salad. Commenting on how good it was, someone called it "chicken crack" and everyone laughed. The buzz in the room was overwhelmingly joyful. Between signing books and taking photos, Hill told whomever was standing nearby about the challenges she faced in taking a photo of her own vagina.
"I have two selfie sticks," she said. "Not once did I think of using them!"
I felt like I had stumbled on a group of friends, and never like I didn't belong. The joy and intimacy of the venue reflected the joy and intimacy of the subject matter; no hushed tones, no docent monitoring from the corner of the room.
Hill mentioned that in the past she has unsuccessfully applied for grants to support her visual art projects — although she didn't apply for any for this particular collection. I thought about what role the venue and any attached institutional support have in altering the art's message and meaning.
I imagined an exhibit of BBW vaginas at the Mint Museum. Would an institutional sanction be worth celebrating? Would such a venue strip the art of its intended purpose: that it's by, for and about black women? More curation and less celebration?
Naturally, Hill seeks a wider audience for her work, but as the roomful of friends cracked jokes and passed around plastic cups full of wine, I couldn't help feeling like the intimacy of the little space and the exuberant atmosphere were an inextricable part of experiencing Hill's work.
Hill herself considered the event a success. The next day, she took to Facebook to thank everyone who supported her latest endeavor.
"The art of blk bbw vaginas is real," she wrote. "It's magnificent."
Apparently, Drake was right all along.
"Aerin, we're trying something new!"
My mom had a huge grin on her face while she played shuffleboard at The Gin Mill in South End. I couldn't believe my P.I.C.'s parents convinced her to play. But there she and my pops were, having the time of their lives (I left out the fact that the game is more popular in retirement homes than among my generation and let them have fun with their new game).
My parents came to town for my dad's birthday a couple weeks ago and you know what that means. Not only was I able to party with people who can take care of me when I'm drinking but I
was also able to enjoy a staycation at the Ritz for a couple days — sorry, not sorry!
Let me start by saying that finding things to do when my parents are in town is a huge challenge. They aren't into drinking, packed bars, belligerent drunk folk, hookah or loud music. And based on my previous articles, you can imagine that limits our options quite a bit. In the past, we've found family-friendly activities in the Q.C., such as dressing up for a Halloween house party and jazz at Blue Restaurant & Bar. This time, however, the itinerary was completely up to me.
When they arrived on Thursday, the plan was for me to have all of my things ready to go so they could scoop me from work and we could go straight to the hotel. Obviously, drinking on Wednesday night got in the way of that. So I went home, gathered my things and had them pick me up from there. By the time they arrived, I was nervous we'd check in to the hotel and the birthday boy would go to sleep. So I made him put our first destination in the GPS — Sycamore Brewing.
Like I said, my parents aren't exactly the go-with-the-flow type. For the entire ride over to South End, my parents' banter was continuous. "Where are we going? I don't want to go to a bar. Is it that hookah spot? If so, I'm good. Are we in the hood?" I rolled my eyes and sighed with every complaint as we pulled into the parking lot at Sycamore.
"Is Guy here?" my pops asked as we walked in. I didn't even know what he was talking about at first. That's when I saw the Papi Queso kitchen menu in front of him. His eyes lit up as he said, "Shut up! That's what I meant by 'is Guy here?!'"
My parents are huge fans of Guy Fieri's Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. Pops had talked about the "Papi Queso" episode for months, so I knew snagging The Pig Mac — complete with pulled pork, bourbon onions and mac 'n' cheese — was at the top of our to-do list. We sat down at one of the picnic tables outside — thankfully it wasn't Food Truck Friday — on one of the most perfect, cool Queen City evenings. After eating his Pig Mac and enjoying one of his favorite past-times of people-watching, my pops would've loved to hit the town, but my mom and I knew it was only a matter of time before he passed out for the night.
The following day, I went to work. They met me for lunch and I introduced them to one of my favorite people in the city and coincidentally, my favorite hot dog — Vic the Chili Man.
We ate dogs in Romare Bearden Park and made plans for them to crash my office's happy hour at 204 North a few hours later. I should've avoided the glasses of champagne I had before dinner, because that's when the P.I.C. hit me up asking what our plans were for the night.
We decided to head to Gin Mill and beat the tipsy crowd. Once I saw how entertained our parents were playing shuffleboard, I decided it would be a good idea to get an RBV ... I was wrong. On a weekend when I should've been showing how "grown up" I was, my mindset shifted quickly from PG to the border between PG-13 and quickly into rated R territory. SBy the time 10 p.m. rolled around, I was ready to rally and my parents were dragging me, kicking and screaming in my mind, back to the hotel. There, I proceeded to argue with them about why I should be "allowed" to take an Uber back out and why I didn't want to watch a movie they were watching until I passed out – fully clothed. Sighs.
Thank goodness for breakfast in the hotel, errands and a little brunch at Napa on Providence to tie off the weekend nicely. Otherwise, I might've single-handedly ruined a great visit. Oh Aerin, when will you learn?
On The week of April 1st, I received an email from someone who worked for a marketing company based in New York. It read:
"I'm happy to share that The Dock returns this weekend! Starting Saturday night April 1 at 9 p.m., Uptown speakeasy, The Dock will once again throw open its doors. After renovations, The Dock is more easily accessible though guests will still have to look for the light in the loading dock of the Charlotte Marriott City Center on N. Church St.
"The Dock will be open every Saturday night serving five Prohibition era cocktails, wine, beer and snacks... along with a few surprises. On other nights, the space will be Charlotte's most unique private event space.
"If you'd like to check out The Dock this Saturday night (4/1), just arrive early and use the secret password – 'April Fool's' (no joke!) – to skip the line."
This sounded too good to be true. If you've followed along, you know checking out The Dock has been at the top of my to-do list since I caught wind of the new, secret spot back in fall 2016. I'm sure you're wondering, "If it was at the top of your list, Aerin, why are you just now going? It's June 2017, after all!" Sighs. A combination of too much to drink on certain nights, inclement weather on others but mostly, they were shut down by the fire department for a short while i.e. "renovations."
Now back to this email. The more I talked about the contents of this email from a stranger, the more I started to freak myself out about whether or not it was legit. Why New York? No marketing for The Dock on his social? Was this really an April Fool's joke? What if he was a creeper? Maybe I watch way too many horror movies, but you're not going to catch me walking around a part of Uptown I'm less familiar with looking for a secret entrance based on an invite from an out-of-state stranger.
I decided I wouldn't go until I didn't have to go by myself. Next thing you know, it's June and my girlfriends and I are planning a girls' night to check it out finally. Better late than never though, right?
We hopped out of our Uber and approached the stairs of the loading dock. Once inside, we rounded the corner and another door with a handwritten sign on a piece of scrap paper read: Welcome to The Dock. White brick, corrugated metal on the ceiling, string lights, barrels for tables and a small buffet toward the front contribute to the intimate, cocktail party-style vibe in the small space.
The crowd was slightly more pompous than typical partygoers at SIP — the place we ended up going after. But then again, why wouldn't an elusive, underground bar with a limited drink menu attract a "more mature" crowd? Ever so tipsy and a wee bit uncomfortable, we were dead set on grabbing at least one drink before heading somewhere we could truly turn up.
We approached the buffet, where the bartender was literally turning up the heat on a Manhattan he was preparing. The drink menu was outlined in chalk on small board: Evening Libations – Manhattan, Old Fashioned, Sidecar, French 75 and Rum Punch. After waiting for a bit while he handcrafted each cocktail, we decided we'd just grab a glass of champagne. (Or maybe it was the fact that we'd already "tied a few on" and couldn't handle a strong cocktail?) We chatted with the bar manager while he mixed drinks about the recent changes they'd made, the drink menu and the bar's limited marketing strategy – you can't find info on them anywhere outside of articles.
He explained that the concept for The Dock was inspired by Prohibition (not the other Uptown bar, the time period). When you think back to the 1930s and the illegality of consumption, you don't think about social media or Google Plus pages. Instead, you think of keeping things on the hush, hush. Spreading the good news about your secret cocktail room via word of mouth.
Overall? The Dock is a cool-ass space for hosting a private event or coordinating the pregame before the pregame. Or maybe you want to take your "Real Sidechick of Charlotte" — if you haven't heard, GOOGLE IT NOW – to a quiet spot where no one will see you. Or maybe even find a Sugar Daddy — don't Google that one at work, things could get hairy. Whatever your reason for going, experiencing it for yourself almost feels like a rite of passage in the Queen City.
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