Tale of a drunken leprechaun.
I told Kevin that my readership (if you can call it that) was down last week and he countered that maybe no one is all that interested in reading about my fast.
So, with this in mind, I have just one more thing to say about the fast: drinking and fasting DO NOT MIX.
Saturday morning found us up bright and early.....bright-eyed and bushy tailed (and horny too! Ha!). After a very healthy breakfast plucked straight from "Rosie's New Eating Plan," we decided to partake in a little smokey-smoke and head downtown to watch the St. Patty's Day Parade.
(An aside: Good thing we smoked.....'cause it was FUNNY! Parades are funny.)
Seeing as this was also the parade celebrating OUR PEOPLE, and because we are characteristically true to our Irish roots by being the big lushbags we are, beers were in order. Before noon--that's right. It's what we Irish folk do best.
This is what little Irish leprechauns from Kentucky wear:
Beers......3-4-8, who's counting? When mixed with 4 hours of playing pool, not me.
After pool we headed over to the Front Porch, where we played a fun game...Apples to Apples, I think? It was one I need to add to my non-existant collection immediately. Again, more beer.
It's now about 8 PM and no food has entered my stomach since breakfast. Come to think of it, if you tallied up ALL the food that had entered my system in the past week it wouldn't even be what one relatively active man eats in a day. For real.
So we (I) stumble down to My Brother's Bar in search of eats, and WHY oh WHY do I go and order a dirty vodka martini? All I remember of the five or so minutes of consciousness in that particular bar is trying to read the menu on the wall and thinking to myself "Wow, that is SO fuzzy!" Apparently I ordered a tuna sandwich. Tuna?
The rest is heresay, for its facts I cannot recall--Rose runs out of the restaurant, pukes, sprawls out on the sidewalk in full view of the bar patronage, a cab is called in for an emergency pick-up. There's more, but I am not in the business of grossing you out.
I messed up big time. Who fasts and then pours five gallons of brew in on a freshly cleansed and detoxed intestinal system? I am so disappointed in myself. TSK TSK. And I mean it.
So there you go, the last of the fast. Although, I can only imagine my stories of drunken debauchery might have the same effect on my readership and for this, my apologies.