Joshah Mitchell, Woody's at the Beach, Laguna BeachĬhristina Aguilera is emoting all over Moulin Rouge, and the boys of Woody's are either hating or loving one another-you know how bitchy they can be. Brio bonuses: John the bar manager (cute and bald) fusses over everyone who walks in and remembers every drink Philip is beach-handsome and kinda shy, but if you snap your fingers at him, you're not getting another drink. In Brooklyn, she says, people are blunt and loud and honest, but they're not rude-as opposed to the egos of Corona del Mar. She's from Brooklyn, which explains the willingness to talk to people even without a formal introduction. As pretty as she is (she should be ferociously stuck-up), she's still smiley and friendly, picking up a conversation whenever the bar's not too busy. She wears perfect little librarian glasses, too. She's blond and slim and stunning, with that faux supercasual look (hair in ponytail bangs falling artfully at the sides of her face) that pretends to be low-maintenance but could take half an hour to perfect. She's 28 years old and five feet nine inches of happy to see you. I popped into Brio figuring there would be eye candy I didn't figure on Nikki MacCormick. Nikki MacCormick, Brio Tuscany Grille, Corona del Mar Not you."), Ryan served up pale-pink Cosmos and didn't take it personally. But as my new friend Haley and I drunkenly yapped about how stupid 22-year-olds are ("Oh, sorry, Ryan. Surrounded on all sides of the black, ambient bar by women willing to teach him, Ryan looks. #Hot bartender how toDrawback? Though he says he's nice to everyone, the poor boy doesn't know how to make time. Half-Mexican and half-Welsh, he's tall (six-foot-two) and soul-patched, with a pretty, shy smile rich brown eyes gel in his spiky, short hair and a nose ring to prove he's nobody's cubicle drone. Ryan Heapy is a delicious little snack of a 22-year-old bartender. Photo by Jack Gould Ryan Heapy, Kitsch Bar, Costa Mesa Here are our top five, with some bonuses thrown in. Charm and urbanity behind a bottle-you know, the reason you'll spend $18 (plus tip) on a sixer of Bud. No frigid misses or vacuous implanted sluts. We traveled from gay bars with gold lamé curtains to Newport snobberias. Regis(where the bartender was thisclose to making the list, except that his butt managed to be both wide and flat, looking like it was wearing a bulletproof butt vest). So we went on an odyssey from South County to North, popping into Japanese karaoke restaurants and the St. It's untenable for us all, and it was time for a change. Not for any of those fine wheelchair-bound codgers who look to this page for their cheap vicarious thrills. But this not being able to find a hot bartender, well, that wouldn't do.
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