A post-dated post about St. Patties Day, written the day after, on what is considered to be, according to Juanito, National FML day.
Not for me though.
I was a responsible young adult, who knew what the consequences of drinking would be.
Or something like that.
My day went like this.
Work:
Held down the fort while boss-lady was out. She's been out all week due to a death in her family.
Gym:
Walked there after work, only to realize I left my shoes at home.
Home:
Dinner. Change.
Gym:
20 minutes cardio. 25 minutes abs and obliques.
Home:
Shower. Dress. Out!
St. Patrick's Night Festivities:
South Miami for the Irish Times.
It's hard to find out exactly what everyone is doing, where they are at, find parking, and find the nearest Wachovia when you don't have a co-pilot.
It's even harder to find a friend by a bar on an Irish holiday.
After a single beer, in 3 separate cups (I don't know why)
it was off to Miracle Mile only to arrive, say hi to a million people I knew, and then be kicked off the street because the festivites were done with.
Off to Fritz & Franz Bierhaus.
Got lost walking there somehow.
Funny though, standing in a corner with my phone in my hand, trying to figure out which way I had to go looking through my google map app.
Gotta love technology!
After some time complaining about how hungry I was and how I shouldnt eat, we walked the half block to Denny's and I induldged in half a super bird. It was incredibly good, but now I refuse to eat anything with more than 200 calories. Heh.
At about 3am, we were walking the streets of Miracle Mile, in circles, trying to find the garage Brandon parked his car in.
60 degrees and sprinkling, it took us about 20 minutes before we found it and he took Lauren, Joanna and myself to my car where I began my rounds for drop-off.
Some time between 3:30 and 4:00am:
I was home, in bed, not sleepy!
Happy St. Patrick's day it was.
I came to learn a lot of things about the white-male sex.
You can't make me stay home on a weekend.
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