so morgan and i decided to go to new brunswick last night, the indie-rock boy mecca of northwest NJ. we walked for about ten minutes until the cold drove us inside to the corner tavern. i remembered it from my ill-fated date as being a pretty good place to hang out. lots of dark paneling, people playing pool in the back room. to my chagrin, it had changed quite a lot. abercrombie and crew cuts, and jimmy buffet and the doors on the jukebox. we finished our drinks rather quickly and set out for greener pastures.
we found the court tavern, after many mishaps and wrong turns. it's loud and smokey and the bar feels like it's going to collapse if you lean on it, and there aren't enough stools and the ones that are there are covered with duct tape and leopard print plush, and there are bands in the basement and boys with tattoos as far as the eye can see. last night, i died and went to indie rock boy heaven. morgan was drooling in her beer over a guy a few stools down with a crybaby tear tattoo, and i was staring at a bleach-blond scott bayo, and generally just enjoying being around normal people for a change. we didn't talk to anyone, except the guy who thought morgan was some girl named jamie, and then proceeded to stare at us for the remainder of the night. we left before last call and considered it a scouting mission.
then i woke up with a migraine and dad yelled at me. i'm going to go lie down with a heating pad and then do laundry. ah yes, it's a fabulous life.
and i found my remote, so i can change the channels again. it was in my laundry basket. -beatpoetgrrl
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