18 March 2008

There was music? And, uhhhh, merriment?

So, Shamrock Fest 2008 was all about the music. I mean, my favorites were there, the Carbon Leaf, the Everyone But Buddah, the Charm City Saints, even the Burnt Sienna. Ok, I have no idea who any of those people are. Their names were printed on my ticket.

Mom, this is where you stop reading. I suggest following this link. In the end you will thank me. It's about pistachios.

I arrived late because I was at work. Booooo work. Everyone else had been drinking since around, I would say, the dawn of time. But! My tickets entitled me to as much beer as I could drink, two cups at a time. A time line follows.



Academics take a front row seat at this celebration of American Irish Pride!

3:50p: Arrive

3:55p: Take pre-emptive pee in amazingly full port-a-john. Seriously, this festival has been in motion for less than four hours and this port-a-john is on the verge of explosion? Gird your loins.

4:00p: Locate friends and well wishers among massive crowd of ethnically diverse crowd. (Kidding. I know it was in Southeast, but there were like two black people there. Two. I counted.)

4:05p: Finish first two beers. Sweet relief of alcohol sets in. Thank jeebus.

4:10p: Meet people I don't know. Immediately begin to judge them.

4:15p: Nevermind. They are fine people.

4:20p: Whhhhhhahahhaha. No one gets this but me.

4:45p: Maybe five beers in now. Girl I just met has money in her bra. I try to explain about the Bank of Monica. A girl I know used to keep lots of cash in her bra for safe keeping. Her name was Monica. No one gets it. I demonstrate. All the sudden a moment of clarity hits me, allowing me to see that through the magic of alcohol, I have my hand down a girls bra, and I don't even like girls, and yet it's all OK, and no one is calling the cops. Demonstration a success.

6:10p: Lose count of beers. However, at this point, we begin playing spin the bottle. And I kiss some other people. A lot of other people. Why does anyone play this game? Oh right, white people are up tight. J does not get mad.

6:15p: Crotch grabbing ensues. Don't ask. This guy started it.



6:45p: Crotch grabbing ends.

6:46p: Judging time begins. Everyone is either a tranny or a hot mess, or a hot tranny mess. Limited options available causes game to cease early.

6:51p: Begin rating other guys on a scale of -infininty to +infinity. Basically, the higher the number, the more liquored up one must be in order to desire them, where as a negative integer means the amount one would pay to do them. It's a game with predictable, yet hilarious, results. I am, of course, a negative eight bajillion million.

Time ceases to exist here, frankly, and I watch Paul Oakenfold play the same stuff I have already heard through a double chain link fence. Feel as if I am a refugee. A refugee with an unlimited supply of beer.

Later that evening: Wander home, and begin long recovery.

Shamrock Fest 2009? Yes please, more like this.

K Thx Bai!

3 comments:

Elisa said...

Yay pistachios!!

MB said...

I had completely forgotten about the Bank of Monica! Maybe that's where all my money went - it's stuffed in my bra!

The best part of the Bank of Monica was making withdrawals in the middle of four million people in NYC. Like pulling a rabbit out of a hat, baby.

lemmonex said...

What? You were there? We played spin the bottle?