(I had to spell it differently than Gwildor.)</p>
Anyway … I was a little too drunk to discuss the night when I got home Friday, and a little too hungover Saturday to actually post anything then. So, I’m finally writing it Monday morning.
What a gong show! I went down to Fionn MacCool’s, obviously an Irish place. I’d been warned that if I wanted to get in, I should show up by about 2pm. Well, I don’t know about you, but I work for a living and didn’t get down to the bar until 6pm. I waited for 45 minutes in line, in the howling wind and biting cold until I was allowed into the pre-bar beer tent. This was an unheated tent beside the bar where an attractive yet utterly frozen young lady was serving ice cold beers. So, not only did I not get to warm up in the tent, I was able to start freezing myself from the inside! I had to take a number to get into the bar. My number was 78 while they were at about 35. Some people left and I managed to trade up to number 51, at the same time, it turned out most of the people in the 40s had already left. Within 20 minutes (and a nursed pint of Harp), I was finally allowed into the bar!
It was a special time. I met up with my old roommate, Tigerrage, and his friends and I proceeded to have more beers, Smithwick’s mostly, and get loaded. I stumbled home, had a surreal chat with some dude on the streetcar on the way, and spent Saturday straightening myself out.