[media-credit name=’SUNDEEP MALLADI/Herald photo’ align=’alignright’ width=’336′][/media-credit]The last thing I remember from my most recent jaunt at the Blue Velvet involves a bucket of ice, a blowjob and a wooden masher. Oh yeah, and hot people, too. I'm told, as my memory from the evening is a bit hazy, the following: An older (hotter) fellow — and I'm talking 80s, which sounds about right for the Velvet — bought my group of (hot) friends a bottle of champagne, which spurred the (sort of hot) bartender to take a liking to my group. He then bought us each blowjob shots — which, if you don't know, are probably the messiest shots on earth that almost always result in the drinker looking like a complete idiot with cream dripping down his face. To make matters worse, I tortured said bartender and requested he concoct me a Mint Julep, which, if you don't know, is just about the biggest pain in the ass to make ever and involves grinding fresh mint leaves on the spot. Though I'm not a huge fan of the scene anymore — proof that everyone does, in fact, get over the (definitely not hot) frat boy scene — the Blue Velvet provided endless nights of underage enjoyment during my years at UW. After all, the bartenders make a sick passion fruit martini — something the KK definitely won't be serving anytime soon — and the staircases are not as perilous as those at Madison Avenue or Frida, but that's an entirely different story. Blue Velvet Lounge: 199 votes Kollege Klub: 143 votes