sometimes, it just takes a couple pitchers of pbr & a good whole-hearted prince bar sing-along

"cream, shit on top." that's my boy angel for you. as he'd hush jill and my feeble, drunken attempts at riot girl angst shouting to alanis morrisette's "you oughtta know" and even cranberries "linger," (aka - according to mr. pelipada, a "song about farting,"), even he let his cool guard down to drunkenly shout along to various prince tracks. pretty sure "kiss" was repped. and depeche mode's "i promise you," another hit. huey lewis and the news' "if this is it"? not so much. that one i got a stern look and a "no more huey" order from the poofy haired barmaid. this J&M watering hole, it was pretty successful for a fairly uneventful wednesday evening. boasting huge, glass $5 pitchers of pbr, a mediocre yet nostalgic jukebox and a handful of flat screen tvs broadcasting the blackhawks' game (first hockey experience, but i'd be lying if i said i wasn't taken by the fistacuffs and sweaty dude-broness of it all), i can see myself returning. hidden in an unmarked brick building on augusta/leavitt, i def never would have ventured this way had joe/angel not suggested it. it's a nice refreshing breath from the hipster congestion known as wicker park, for sure. no skinny jeans, no sleeve tattoos, no $80 haircuts or pretentious attitude from the bartenders. just chill ass people, cheap ass brews and good company. i realized last night that no matter what shit goes down wherever, however, i got some pretty ill people to back me up. first, a homemade dinner consisting of damn mighty fine chicken cilantro tamales, some good conversation, and then a fairly simple and good natured old fashioned drunk. i just wish that every night could be a drunken singalong dance party.