As you can see, she's a little rough around the edges. I'd say it's just an unflattering picture, but I'd be lying.
If it was a Thursday night and I was on campus, chances are, I was at the Brown. Snowmageddon, last February? The whole state was shut down and I was at the Brown with my people. We built a snowman in the lot across the street and Hot!Jared, the cello player who lived with Xander at the time, and I, kept singing and shoving each other into snowdrifts and making filthy comments to each other because we had alot of unresolved sexual tension. He was hot and kinda slutty and I thought he was hot and knew he was slutty, however, nothing ever happened because I had principles...or something. We pretty much just stuck to dirty innuendos.
For my birthday last year, we had a party at Xander's place and Hot!Jared said that his present to me was wearing nothing but his boxer briefs all night. I was okay with that.
Anyway, the Brown. The Brown is a shit hole. Everyone who goes to the Brown knows that she's a shit hole and a dive. She's all dark 70s paneling and ripped leather seats and smoke-stained ceiling tiles. There is exactly one pool table at the Brown and the same gang commandeers it every single Thursday and Friday and occasionally Saturday night. Everyone who goes to the Brown is okay with that.
There is no dance-floor at the Brown, but there is dancing. There is no DJ, but there is music. There are no strobe lights, but there are Christmas lights, and those are better anyway. There are no HD flat-screen TVs, but Sally will put the game on the little boxy one mounted in the corner if you ask her nicely. Yes, those are dials you see on that television. We're pretty sure the sound is broken. Just read the score, you lazy sod.
Don the Bouncer doesn't wear a headset, but he'll say a few words to the guy who keeps trying to feel you up if he won't knock it off. And if that doesn't do the trick, he'll show him why he was in prison a few years ago and that guy will never bother you again. Don will bum you a smoke and if you're too drunk to order your drink, he'll bring it to you, but pat you on the back and let you know that's your last one.
If tonight's band plays "The Weight," I promise you that you will hear everyone in the bar sing along. If it's a Dead cover band and they pull out "Brokedown Palace" (and they will), tears will be shed. If it's an Irish night, and Barbary Wine pulls out their Flogging Molly covers, you will bleed emerald for the next three hours, you will toast to random strangers, you will get beer dumped on you during "Drunken Lullabies" and you won't even care because the kid who did it will buy you a beer, even though he's the one who's out a drink.
So, she's a little old and a little tacky, but the Brown Hotel is made of love and nothing but.
She was sold a few months ago. The changes have been minor so far. Pabst is out and Lionshead is in and that sucks for me because I'm a diehard Pabst girl, but I can live with Lionshead. The new owners want more live acts, and we're okay with that as long as Barbary Wine or Sassafras Assassins don't get the shaft in the name of change.
We're having my birthday there next week: my brother and I, Owen, Chrissy, Gabe, Arlo, Jason, maybe Hot!Jared. Possibly Xander if the weather holds out because he's driving in from State College. My brother called, giggling, "So, Don said new owners want to paint over the graffiti in the bathrooms."
"WHAT?" Clearly, I was unamused by this announcement. "The bathrooms are fine!"
"Uh. The bathrooms are kinda shitty. Didn't you say the stalls don't latch in the ladies room?"
"Maybe. Whatever. We all have the same bits." Usually. So, this one time I came out of the stall and there was a dude pissing in the sink. We just kinda stood there staring at each other for a minute. He fumbled and stuffed his junk back in his pants, blushed and said, "I didn't get any on the knobs. I swear."
"Yeah. I'm gonna use my hand sanitizer. Thanks though."
So, I angsted and ranted about how painting over the vandalized bathrooms would completely destroy the Brown Hotel, undermine all that she stands for, "What's next?" I cried, "Strobe lights? Shot girls? A DANCE FLOOR?"
My brother tried to run damage control, "Dude, it's okay--"
"NO." I said, "NO. THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO TAKE CARE OF HER. NOT DOUCHE HER UP."
There was an awkward silence on the line, then my brother asked, very calmly, almost too calmly, "Did...did you just quote Supernatural?"
"Okay. I'm...gonna hang up now."
"Wait! Wait! You just quoted it too--"