Friday, March 18, 2011

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Sometimes Just Getting There Is Half The Battle, Especially On St. Patrick's Day

















Well call me Mr. fuckin Magoo on St. Patrick’s Day (excuse my Irish). But how many mistakes could I have possibly made before actually taking one sip of alcohol? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? My day was spent at work while everyone else seemed to have mysteriously taken the day off. Already irritated and burnt out, I decided to flip a coin on whether to meet everyone downtown (really one of the lamest things I could've done in that situation. But anyway heads it was and I was out the door).

From there my two roommates and I began our journey towards the T… only to watch one flash by the second we arrived. I came up with the bright idea for us to run over to the next stop and get on there. Before either of them could agree on making moves I was already barreling down the street like a wrecking ball (feeling light on my feet like a god damn gazelle). As the absolute fattest of the three, I glanced back to see that I left my roommates in the dust. Had no choice but to turn it up and catch the T (what a poor, poor decision).

Paid my fee. Took a seat. Everything seemed to be in order...until I proceed to break out in a violet sweat as 50 people watched on to see if I would eventually vomit. Have you ever straight made a scene in public against your discretion? Well this was certainly one of those times. Got off the next T stop to catch some air and collapse on the sidewalk while my friends continued on downtown (and that about wraps up what was undoubtedly the most pathetic "out of body" experience of my entire life).

Meanwhile, St. Patrick’s Day was in full affect (judging by the fact that I couldn't get on the next three trains because they were at full capacity). Feeling revamped and ready to redeem myself, I finally hopped on the next train. 30 minutes later, there I stood after realizing I completely overshot my destination. At this point I was steaming and literally talking to myself aloud, saying "I will drink and ENJOY at least ONE Guinness to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day by the time this night is over." Got in a cab to assure that I’d be heading in the right direction.

Cab dropped me off directly in front of the place I knew everyone was in. Ran into the two roommates I started my excruciating travels with. They seemed to be thrilled due to the fact that I was alive at the very least. All was in order - just had to wait in line. Bouncer: "Sorry sir, you can't wait past this point in line. You guys are gonna have to take a walk." That was the scene downtown, rejecting anyone in sight - sober, wasted and everywhere in between. What is it the fucking Wonka Factory in there? I've never been turned down from the end of a long line. Just another embarrassing moment that spoke volumes.

So two hours prior I had my hands on my knees, gasping outside ready to throw up because I sprinted 300 yards (give or take - likely less than 300). The last place I should be is struggling to get into some bar. In light of the holiday we continued on to the next place and finally got in.

10:30 pm - my first Guinness. And so the night began...

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  1. Anonymous said... March 21, 2011 at 6:01 PM

    at least you didn't throw up/pass out behind a bush

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