Life is short. St. Patrick's Day is shorter.
So, drink up? And try to forget the part about waking up at 7am the next morning for work? Shame the closest thing to an official drinking holiday we have fell on a Wednesday this year. And it figures I found this saying on Fado Irish Pub's website, where they want you to do just that and get another pint. And another. And another. Embrace the Irish tradition! Slainte! (that's cheers in Gaelic, pronounced slanche) Unfortunately, the $10 cover and hour-long wait at Fado detered us from partaking in the festivities there, but we found what we were looking for at good ol' Galway Bay.
An evening of Irish libations and sweet soda bread, sweaty bodies that made up a sea of green crammed into small spaces, a band that knew a few Irish songs (I'd hope so!). One gentleman sitting at the bar looked like he was having a bit too much fun with a neon green light in his mouth that he'd flash sporadically at people. The night passed and soon it was closing time and as the celebrators were gradually ushered out the door WHACK! on my head- a guitar, what else? Hung up on the wall. Shaken loose from the day's partying, perhaps. Or maybe the historic walls giving way. No harm done, to me at least. Although whether my headache this morning was the result of the celebrating or falling guitars is anyone's guess. Regardless, it was worth the pain of today - I have to represent the 35% Irish in me, right?
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