12:23 p.m. - 2005-03-20
BFRB and I, in keeping with our philosophy of "since we ain't got no job, we best get our party on," decided to go hoist a few glasses in celebration of St. Paddy's Day. Knowing that my friends TH and RH, along with a variety of assorted others, would be at one of our favorite little bars, we elected to cruise in that direction. When we arrived, shortly after 4:30 p.m., we discovered that those with a drop of Irish blood in them had all decided to leave work early:
Playing onstage was a three-person band singing some Irish melodies. At least I think that's what they were. All we could hear was a little tinkly music, the occasional drumbeat, and a multitude of carefully executed, rhythmic claps. CLAP-CLAP-CLAP [pause] CLAP-CLAP. (Hence the title of this entry - "The Irish Clap.") What's even scarier is that people in the crowd appeared to be singing along. The only phrase I understood was something like "and there's whiskey in the jar!" [Cue Irish Clap.]
And here's something funny on the wall of the bar...
It should be noted, at this point, that BFRB took pretty much all of these pictures. I suck at taking pictures, much like I suck at all other forms of visual art. I know what I'm going for, but somehow, it never quite comes out that way.
I made BFRB steal me a Guinness shamrock sign, which I wore for the rest of the night. Because Guinness is a responsible alcohol choice for your diet. Really.
So anyway, one of TH's friends brought the feather boa (that BFRB wouldn't let me buy). Therefore, I immediately began insisting that I get to wear it, and that other people get to wear it, too. And pose for photos, of course.
RH (TH's husband, and a hell of a guy):
After sucking down our first few adult beverages, and reveling in the blessed silence when the band took a break, we took a gander at some of the ways that the crowd was showing their Irish Love.
First, we saw this chick. Okay, I'm sorry. I am not Cindy Fucking Crawford, but I at least have enough sense to (a) not wear tank tops with spaghetti straps in public and (b) not put fucked up butterfly flower shit in my hair...
After we managed to avert our eyes (which was kind of like looking away from a train wreck, but I digress), we saw this guy, who, from our vantage point, appeared to be covered in some green paint.
BFRB decided to get a closer look. Of course, for the close-up shot, she had to kiss the guy. Across the giant plate of nachos, no less.
However, that guy's face paint is nothing compared to this guy. I DO NOT want to meet the chick HE was with last night:
Further, people brought their kids to this bar. I'm not sure how advisable it is to let your kids see you get shitfaced and then drive them home, but to each their own. And this girl seemed to be having fun. She River-danced in front of whatever band was playing all night long.
But this dude had the best t-shirt.
Finally, a new band took the stage. We thought that the cute guy (not in a kilt) would be featured. Unfortunately not. But we still got a picture of him anyway. Hey, eye candy doesn't have any calories....
Notice that the other dude is wearing a kilt. Being the curious types that we are, we decided to attempt some kilt-lifting photo action. We were denied. This is all we got, dammit.
After they played some incredibly loud bagpipe music (and what the fuck? Bagpipes are freakin' SCOTTISH. They tried to justify this through a variety of jokes, which I was going to include but forgot once I sobered up, but whatever), they circulated through the crowd and allowed patrons to fondle their bagpipes. I'm not even going to make any comment about men and things shaped like penises. Nope, not me.
Needless to say, BFRB and I got drunk kind of early. But all was well.
I love St. Patrick's Day. It's the only holiday I think is worthwhile. The point is to get really drunk. There are no gifts, no hurt feelings, and no expectations. Every holiday should have it so good.