St. Patrick's Day, Part Two

St. Patrick's Day didn't start so great for me. As I mentioned a few posts ago, I went Naomi Campbell on this motherfucker at a crowded Irish bar. After that, I stood there fuming as the University of Louisville lost a hard-fought basketball game in the NCAA tournament. It seemed as though St. Patrick's 2007 would go down in history as a day that really bobbed the knob of lousy.

Then, with enough alcohol still in my system to convince myself I was charming, I started to talk to two ladies at the end of the bar. I used my gigantoresque stature to get the bartender's attention for them, and then it was on, man! Well, I really just started talking. I have no game to speak of, but I must have said something right.

Before long one of them invited me to her coworker's private birthday party, which was being held in the upstairs of a bar a few miles away. Since I was too sloshed to drive, the girl (to whom I'll refer to as Tina from now on) drove my car to the event. Note: My mentioning that she drove my car is an example of a literary device known as dramatic foreshadowing.

Her coworker, it should be noted, is a lesbian; so there I was, on St. Patrick's Day, attending a private party at the invitation of someone I had met mere hours before, and there are young hot lesbians everywhere! I obviously wasn't dead, because where I'm going I won't be seeing lesbians grinding one another on the dance floor. No, ladies and gentlemen, for one night I lived the American Dream.

Actually, I didn't pay much attention to the lesbians. Tina and I spent most of the time sitting in a corner, talking and making out. Yes, DON'T PAY YOUR BILLS! It's a sign of the Apocalypse. The end is nigh! I actually got just a little action.

I started drinking water as soon as I got to the birthday party, knowing I'd have to drive myself home at some point. After a few hours, she shared a cab with a few coworkers and I went downstairs to get a burger.

Remember when I said Tina drove my car? Well, my automatic seat is a fickle bitch, and refused to move back so I could fit my big ass comfortably in my car. Therefore, I drove home looking like this.