Tom Tom’s
2333 18th St. N.W.

Have you ever noticed how ironic it is that there’s an “us” in U.S.A.? If there is one thing I’ve learned growing up in this country, it’s to look out for number one (yourself) and develop your independence. Team America may exist, but in the 2007 environment, Team Individuality is much stronger. Since we are so focused on our personal success, Americans can’t help but want to understand the deepest, innermost intricacies that create their being. Thus therapy was born.

I’ve always wanted to try therapy because, let’s be honest, what could be better than talking about your problems for an hour only to find out that you are actually normal – it’s just your alcoholic father that has caused you to stray from the standard. (To all of you who just felt awkward that the bar belle would have an alcoholic father, I’m just kidding. He’s actually a drug addict.)

Unfortunately, GW’s ridiculous tuition has frozen my accounts and I can’t afford to hear a professional tell me that, so I figured I’d try the equally qualified option – group therapy Thursday night at Tom Tom’s in Adams Morgan. For $10 you can buy four shots and four beers for you and three of your closest friends. I say three of your closest friends because you have to figure that drunken confessions of personal problems aren’t usually welcomed by anyone other than your best friends. I tried it with three strangers once and instead of insightful feedback I got high-fived and then hung out to dry – not amusing.

Once you get the hang of things, rounds appear surprisingly quickly, and before long shots are chased with bitter comments about that bitch who gave you a weird look in class or that bastard who never called. Sure, your supposed to understand that he’s just not that into you, but why the hell not? You’re pretty amazing and you looked hot that night so shouldn’t he be leaving you a million voicemails? With our inhibitions out the door and alcohol in our systems, we naturally pour our hearts out to friends willing to listen. To those receiving said confession, those shots and beers have given you new therapist status and the guts to tell your friend the honest and sometimes brutal truth that you couldn’t manage to admit over coffee. All in all, drunk therapy, I mean group therapy, is a pretty legit process.

While I applaud the originality in Tom Tom’s therapy special, the clapping stops there. The bouncers are uncharacteristically stern (cough: under 21s don’t even think about going there) and the downstairs’ bar is usually so crowded that I can’t tell if the sweat on my arm is from me or has rubbed onto me from the guy standing on my left. While the upstairs bar has a little more breathing room, it always seems to turn into a creepy make-out room after midnight. That’s some extra therapy I definitely don’t ever want to participate in.

Tom Tom’s always seems to draw a crowd, but it’s usually the kind of people that should actually go to a professional therapist as opposed to the substitute provided at the bar. For its creative approach, I’ll give Tom Tom’s some credit, but at the end of the day I could vent about the same problems at the dive bar next door with cheap PBR and get the same results.

Bar Belle Rating: one of four bells.