The town's newest club is like another planet, and we wanted a crash landing.

Venus Envy 

The town's newest club is like another planet, and we wanted a crash landing.

Our first official foray to NV, the sexy new gay club at Seventh Street and McGee, began on a less than auspicious note.

We attended its recent Thursday-night dance-floor grand opening, but we use the term attended loosely because we had stopped by the Kansas City Press Club's happy hour beforehand and unwisely mixed our drinks. We hobnobbed with various TV and print people -- and, of course, by hobnobbed, we totally mean flirted vixenishly, for why else attend such wonky events unless to pick up? Lesson learned: rum and Cokes + Guinness = NV strobe lights will make you dizzy. (You'd think we'd know how to drink after years of experience, but there you go.) We had to flee NV's opening, but we returned days later for its inaugural Saturday night, where, after just one Cosmopolitan, the strobe lights still nauseated us.

But really, that's the only complaint we had, which was surprising given that we usually detest clubs. This trendy dancetorium won points with all. "I love the music," said Research Assistant Laura of the techno blend. "This is hip. It reminds me of clubs in San Diego." Plus, it's nonsmoking (rare in this town) and it includes a free coat check, baskets of mints on every bar (hey, details are important) and a rooftop deck. And when the strobe lights become too seizure-inducing, you can take refuge in the quieter video bar, in which multiple screens air music videos interspersed with comedy clips. (We're fans of anyplace that airs Britney's "Toxic" video followed by a Kids in the Hall sketch.) Throw in NV's happy-hour special (martinis are half price from 4:30 to 8:30 p.m. on weekdays) and, well ... how can you not like what we hope will be a revitalizing addition to downtown?

However, the thing we liked most was that there was a great vibe to the racially diverse and unpretentious crowd, which consisted mainly of the trendily dressed guys -- Abercrombie-T-shirted guys, leather-pants guys, bod-squad guys who shed their shirts and showed off their physiques on the dance floor -- and the odd smattering of straight women. Then we ran into Twat LaRouge, 27, a rotund drag-queen-slash-performer clad in a pink furry dress with an electric-red wig. Curly strips of purple paper dangled from her eyelids, fake-eyelash style.

"I've been called Sesame Street on acid and Sir Mix A Lot to the extreme," she said of her penchant for performing while wearing one of the 12 big foam puppety heads she's made. "I represent larger women in an American culture that's not supportive of larger women." We later saw her and fellow drag queen Chocalota Cream Trail rocking the dance floor and humping the railing. We were glad they were representing the rail humpers, who also are not supported by society today.

What we really wanted, though, was to find people with whom we could discuss our three favorite topics: boys, dating and sex. The first several people we chatted up were typical KC in that they were mired in long-term relationships. Danny, 26, and Ken, 31, who were wearing pink princess hats, had just gotten engaged days before on Danny's birthday; Ken had proposed at Skies in front of Danny's five unwitting best friends. "He's third-generation gay -- his mom and grandpa," Danny told us about Ken, in a burst of joy-induced friendliness. "And I came out to my mom last Thursday!"

"Wow. Was she cool with it?" we asked.

"My mom and dad love him," he said proudly.

Awesome. Our next target was Marlon, 29. He told us he's into petite Asian or Middle Eastern men, but his boyfriend of two years is neither. "He's a white guy -- the first white guy I've ever dated or messed around with," he told us. (Oh, if we had a dollar for every time we've had to say that, we'd ... uh ...nevermind.)

Then, we ran into the gorgeous Nicholas, with the stunning blue eyes, whose date had gone missing. Before arriving at NV, they had gone to dinner and a movie. "Then he went to get a drink, and I haven't seen him in an hour and a half," he told us. That bastard!

"Ninety percent of gay men can't be trusted," he said. "They always have a hidden agenda. They either want you for sex or money -- it's really random. I'm 25 and have been out of the closet and dating men since I was 17. That comment is based on my experience. I've been single for three years, and that's the reason.... It doesn't matter -- gay men or straight men, it's all the same bullshit." We agree, but because we like drama in our lives, it can be oh-so-fun, too ... is that so wrong?

In the meantime, RA Laura, who had also been commiserating with Nicholas, chatted with Jason, 34, the regional color director for Lancôme -- who thought Nicholas was hot. We went over to investigate and to possibly help with introductions, but, sadly, Nicholas had slipped away.

"I'm here to hook my friend Jason up. He hasn't been laid in 10 years," said Terry, an effusive woman who works with Jason. "I went to the [unisex] bathroom when I first got here and introduced myself to every guy in the stalls. I'm getting him married off!" We liked the cut of her jib.

"So I heard you've been groped here," the Night Ranger said.

"Yes! It was a really good ass grab, and I knew it was a gay guy. No straight guy gropes like that," she said.

"What's the difference?" we wanted to know.

"A straight-man grope is more tentative because he's got something to lose. A gay guy grabs and moves on. He didn't look at me. I said, 'Don't I get a cigarette afterward?' He kept walking. It was fun, though."

So, guys, there you go: how to play grab-ass, courtesy of the NR. And if you get us a drink afterward, we'll be your vixen anytime.

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