I don't drink beer. Therefore, I don't drink green beer. The common college student would presume that I'm therefore excluded from the national college holiday of St. Patrick's Day. That college student would be wrong. It's just more dangerous for folks like me, who have to stick exclusively to Irish Whiskey.
In college, I always had something going on. During the weekdays, I'd actually go to class on the holiday. I rarely missed class. I'm one of those people. The one time it fell on a Saturday, I managed to have 3 separate obligations. One included lecturing middle-schoolers on nuclear weapons, so I knew it my duty to not show up all stinky and staggery. Annie did not find herself in these obligations, so I regularly saw her at about 11am on St. Patrick's Day every year, just as she was about to pass out for the first time of the day. Not that I didn't let loose a little come nightfall, but everybody was either way too drunk (think how drunk you'd have to be for me to say that) or everyone was starting to hang over. Like 4th quarter at a football game.
I like to think that people think of me carrying around a bottle of peppermint schnapps and a bottle of chocolate syrup all day (my infamous Peppermint Patty shots). No, that was just at night. And it was really hard to catch up to everyone. Now that I'm done with college, I've managed to spend the last two St. Patrick's Days making up for lost time. Last year, I had such spectacular moments as: laying down on the platform of a San Francisco subway station, wandering off to find mozzarella sticks at a diner by myself (and not telling anybody), and my green shirt / vest combo.
This year, though again on a Saturday, I managed to have some commitments. I started the day by teaching Zumba. Then, I went off for a few hours at the tasting room of the winery where I work now. I was notified that a group of friends was going to be meeting at my place for dinner before hitting the town, and I managed to get home just 45 minutes before the crew showed up. I had made a pan of pastitsio for Annie and I to consume before drinking, but it turned into a good dinner to have on hand for a group of people. We drank wine, and started with some shots of Jameson, and then we called a cab and headed to downtown Lexington.
We started at Molly Brooke's Irish Bar. It was way too hot in there. A little too crowded, and a very unenthusiastic group. Glad we started there, instead of finishing. We then walked down to McCarthy's Irish Bar. The place was a little roomier. I believed I danced with the waitress upon entering, which is probably the best way to greet me somewhere. This place was better, it was easier to get alcohol, but our plans were to progress to check out more bars.
I'm pretty sure that we walked past Rosebud (a really cheap bar) and past the bar that Annie and I have regular'd since moving here, Cheapside. We made our way to Chase Taproom. Things were starting to get messy here. This bar was better than the last in terms of space. I felt like our group made up half of the customers upon entering. I remember buying a beer for a guy sporting a Lehigh Rugby jacket, after their upset of Duke. Plus, he was big, so I figured it'd be nice to have him on my side if the night got out of hand. My favorite memory was when a typically tight-lipped, cheap friend of ours staggered out to the front door to sloppily ask the bouncer which bar we were at.
From there we moved on to Penguin Dueling Piano Bar. I had no clue where we were, and I was a little offended that we were being asked to pay a $5 cover. We were in Lexington. I had just moved here from California. Fuck covers. However, we paid, and they shoved me inside. I was transformed to a drunken Rob paradise. It was fairly empty and extremely easy to get drinks. There was plenty of room for dancing, and the dueling pianos were amazing. Again, I had no clue we were going into a dueling piano bar. I had tried on several occasions to go to a dueling piano bar, but it never worked out. This was my first time, and it was so much fun. Unfortunately, things just got drunker. At one point, I was dancing with some chick, when I spun myself and slammed my drink into a dude. It hit the ground and shattered, to which the dude said, "You know I'm a bouncer, right?" So, I quipped, "It's OK, I'm a good person." Classic.
They cleaned it up, and I think I tipped the person who cleaned it up. I felt bad. I also realized that I should probably cut myself off, since I had a full shift at the winery the next day. I looked into my wallet and realized that I burned through all of my cash. So, I found Annie and told her I wanted.... needed to go home. Right now. She said to wait like 10 minutes and we'd all leave. That was, apparently, unacceptable. So I walked out.
I ended up walking a little over 3 miles home, in the rain. I absolutely hate it when drunken friends walk home. I've actually heard that it's more dangerous to walk 1 mile drunk then to drive 1 mile drunk. So many bad things can happen to a staggering fool, and I feel especially anxious about girls who disappear from a party. But I'm a hypocrite, and we should all know that from over a year of this blog.
I made it home, but not without a little effort. I believe I peed on the Ashland Estate. I also slipped and fell down a small hill on the wet grass between the Shriner's Hospital and my neighborhood, since there is no sidewalk. I woke up the next morning to find my car parked in by a friend who needed to take that cab home. I also got to play that fun morning-after game of "Oh, that's where my shorts ended up." "Ahh, there's my watch."
All in all, the bars got better as the night progressed, and so did the stories. The tight-lipped, cheap friend ended up passing out at a table at Penguin. Then waking up and vomiting into a trash can until the bouncers could kick the whole crew out. Spectacular. There were some drunken texts and calls trying to find me, but I was having trouble seeing my iPhone in the rain. (I'm lying, the rain had nothing to do with my inability to use my phone at that point.)
Once again, I made it to work on time, and I woke up feeling great. Almost too great... again,
~RoB
In college, I always had something going on. During the weekdays, I'd actually go to class on the holiday. I rarely missed class. I'm one of those people. The one time it fell on a Saturday, I managed to have 3 separate obligations. One included lecturing middle-schoolers on nuclear weapons, so I knew it my duty to not show up all stinky and staggery. Annie did not find herself in these obligations, so I regularly saw her at about 11am on St. Patrick's Day every year, just as she was about to pass out for the first time of the day. Not that I didn't let loose a little come nightfall, but everybody was either way too drunk (think how drunk you'd have to be for me to say that) or everyone was starting to hang over. Like 4th quarter at a football game.
I like to think that people think of me carrying around a bottle of peppermint schnapps and a bottle of chocolate syrup all day (my infamous Peppermint Patty shots). No, that was just at night. And it was really hard to catch up to everyone. Now that I'm done with college, I've managed to spend the last two St. Patrick's Days making up for lost time. Last year, I had such spectacular moments as: laying down on the platform of a San Francisco subway station, wandering off to find mozzarella sticks at a diner by myself (and not telling anybody), and my green shirt / vest combo.
This year, though again on a Saturday, I managed to have some commitments. I started the day by teaching Zumba. Then, I went off for a few hours at the tasting room of the winery where I work now. I was notified that a group of friends was going to be meeting at my place for dinner before hitting the town, and I managed to get home just 45 minutes before the crew showed up. I had made a pan of pastitsio for Annie and I to consume before drinking, but it turned into a good dinner to have on hand for a group of people. We drank wine, and started with some shots of Jameson, and then we called a cab and headed to downtown Lexington.
We started at Molly Brooke's Irish Bar. It was way too hot in there. A little too crowded, and a very unenthusiastic group. Glad we started there, instead of finishing. We then walked down to McCarthy's Irish Bar. The place was a little roomier. I believed I danced with the waitress upon entering, which is probably the best way to greet me somewhere. This place was better, it was easier to get alcohol, but our plans were to progress to check out more bars.
I'm pretty sure that we walked past Rosebud (a really cheap bar) and past the bar that Annie and I have regular'd since moving here, Cheapside. We made our way to Chase Taproom. Things were starting to get messy here. This bar was better than the last in terms of space. I felt like our group made up half of the customers upon entering. I remember buying a beer for a guy sporting a Lehigh Rugby jacket, after their upset of Duke. Plus, he was big, so I figured it'd be nice to have him on my side if the night got out of hand. My favorite memory was when a typically tight-lipped, cheap friend of ours staggered out to the front door to sloppily ask the bouncer which bar we were at.
From there we moved on to Penguin Dueling Piano Bar. I had no clue where we were, and I was a little offended that we were being asked to pay a $5 cover. We were in Lexington. I had just moved here from California. Fuck covers. However, we paid, and they shoved me inside. I was transformed to a drunken Rob paradise. It was fairly empty and extremely easy to get drinks. There was plenty of room for dancing, and the dueling pianos were amazing. Again, I had no clue we were going into a dueling piano bar. I had tried on several occasions to go to a dueling piano bar, but it never worked out. This was my first time, and it was so much fun. Unfortunately, things just got drunker. At one point, I was dancing with some chick, when I spun myself and slammed my drink into a dude. It hit the ground and shattered, to which the dude said, "You know I'm a bouncer, right?" So, I quipped, "It's OK, I'm a good person." Classic.
They cleaned it up, and I think I tipped the person who cleaned it up. I felt bad. I also realized that I should probably cut myself off, since I had a full shift at the winery the next day. I looked into my wallet and realized that I burned through all of my cash. So, I found Annie and told her I wanted.... needed to go home. Right now. She said to wait like 10 minutes and we'd all leave. That was, apparently, unacceptable. So I walked out.
I ended up walking a little over 3 miles home, in the rain. I absolutely hate it when drunken friends walk home. I've actually heard that it's more dangerous to walk 1 mile drunk then to drive 1 mile drunk. So many bad things can happen to a staggering fool, and I feel especially anxious about girls who disappear from a party. But I'm a hypocrite, and we should all know that from over a year of this blog.
I made it home, but not without a little effort. I believe I peed on the Ashland Estate. I also slipped and fell down a small hill on the wet grass between the Shriner's Hospital and my neighborhood, since there is no sidewalk. I woke up the next morning to find my car parked in by a friend who needed to take that cab home. I also got to play that fun morning-after game of "Oh, that's where my shorts ended up." "Ahh, there's my watch."
All in all, the bars got better as the night progressed, and so did the stories. The tight-lipped, cheap friend ended up passing out at a table at Penguin. Then waking up and vomiting into a trash can until the bouncers could kick the whole crew out. Spectacular. There were some drunken texts and calls trying to find me, but I was having trouble seeing my iPhone in the rain. (I'm lying, the rain had nothing to do with my inability to use my phone at that point.)
Once again, I made it to work on time, and I woke up feeling great. Almost too great... again,
~RoB
