Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn...

Had a nice little surplus of cash, so I decided to treat myself and go boozin’ and boobin’ on a Wednesday night, just before St. Patrick’s day. I’ve been wanting to check out Mile High Men’s Club for a while, so that’s where I headed. It’s right down the street from Shotgun Willie’s, pretty much just a stone’s throw away. Even so, it can be easy to miss because it’s tucked around a corner as you’re driving down Virginia avenue. The building itself is at the back of a wide lot that it shares with another business, I think. Unlike Willie’s limp ol’ shotgun, this club has a nondescript marquee with its name on it, so you may not even realize you’re there until you’re right up on the club.

There’s a kiosk by the front doors for valet services, but I really don’t see the point. The front lot has ample space and looks like it’s hardly ever filled to capacity, even on a busy night. On this particular night, all told there were only about four cars, mine included. I was greeted by the doorman and ushered into a small lobby area. As you walk in there’s a small counter and conveniently placed ATM. Manning the counter was plain-looking redhead in jeans and a sweater. The whole set-up reminded me of checking into a cheap hotel. To be honest, that’s probably the best way to describe my overall impression of the Mile High Men’s Club. It’s a lot like a Holiday Inn: it’s serviceable and clean enough, but try as it might it will never quite fool you into believing you’re living it up at the Ritz.

Ms. Red took my I.D. and scanned it. I forked over a $15 cover charge and went in. Hotel jokes notwithstanding, I really dig the layout of this place. The interior is a lot bigger than what it looks like on the outside, and as you move through the entrance the club immediately opens itself up to you like a ten-dollar hooker. To your right is a squared-in bar that’s set on a kind of upper tier that overlooks the club proper. Right in front of the bar is a raised narrow stage lined with chairs, kind of like a catwalk. The main stage is set just below this “catwalk” out on the main floor, so dancers can easily go back and forth between the two. The main stage has a pole vaulting all the way up to the ceiling. There are two (or three, maybe?) additional smaller stages toward the back of the club, one of which has the Lyra thing hanging over it. Tables and accent chairs are spread out everywhere, with some sofas and couches interspersed here and there. As you’re facing the main floor, you can spot the DJ by the glow of his little Apple computer out in the far left corner; opposite him in the far right corner is a stairwell leading up to the private dance area. There are mirrored panels on the walls. Far above the bar is the members-only VIP lounge. You can spot it by its big windows. I spied a couple of dudes up there, sitting a table and sucking on stogies—but presumably you’re not here to read about dudes, much less anything having to do with them sucking on things. So onto the ladies—