St. Patrick was Actually Asian

For some reason, I thought that St. Patrick's Day in Chicago was a nighttime only thing--I was wrong. After a Friday of solid drinking for a coworker's birthday, I was told to be at a friend's house by 10am. Well, okay, I got on my nifty week-old bike and rode down.

After being greeted with the strongest Bloody Mary I've ever had, I had another one. Prebars are pretty nice in the idea that you get to hang out with your friends and not feel awkward about meeting strangers also. I don't mean to brag about myself too much, but I believe that I successfully managed NOT to hit on either of the hostesses (which may be a first).

The rest of the day was a pretty standard drinking day. We ran around the neighborhood bars spending too much money. I remember running into a a girl who I hadn't seen for four months or so. She and I share a mutual friend. Despite her beauty and possibly apparent intelligence, I've never found a way to ask her for her number.

My night ended hanging out at a Wrigleyville apartment watching a beerpong playing visitor swear at his opponents while wearing an unbuttoned shirt and ski goggles. These are the reasons why I hate Wrigleyville. As I stepped outside to have a cigarette, I thought that I was too drunk and tired to keep drinking/spending money for the night. So at 9:00pm on a Saturday night, I caught a cab home without telling anyone.

You can't have St. Paddy's Day without an Irish Goodbye.