St. Patty's was a mess. Staying with Joe "the ginger" Quinn, a best friend since 1st grade back in Alaska, promised to deliver. Our night started at 4 pm, with beers and a soccer game at the local bar. By 7 we had made our way to Dubliner's, which would be the one and only stop for the night.
Joe is Irish. He likes to think of himself as a meat-head, and his mother regularly refers to him as a brut or a thug, depending on the circumstance. We grew up playing soccer together, but after high school he made the obvious choice to pursue football in college, where he could feel at home with all of his fellow meat heads. Joe is built like a semi-truck, with a quick but often misplaced wit. And, to state the obvious, Joe can DRINK. Start with 3 beers during the game, two pints of guinness, a couple car bombs, and a couple shots of Jameson, followed up by more beer, and I am drunk. Joe might be buzzed at this point. By the end of the night I am nursing one luke-warm beer, holding onto my consciousness for dear life, while Joe is mercilessly calling me a pussy. Feels like I'm right back in Alaska!
Adrianna, another Alaska to DC transplant, came out at the beginning of the night, "just to say hi" and is with us until the bitter end. We make our way to Ben's Chili Bowl for greasy chili dogs with the rest of the throngs, avoiding the fact that they have to wake up and slog through work in less than 6 hours. The late night food manages to give me a headache and stomachache, a rare combo. After a drunken cab ride home, I pass out on Joe's couch, reveling in the fact that he has to work at 7 am, as the spins slowly put me out for the night..
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