March 15, 2004
So. Saturday. The annual Ballston, VA Shamrock Festival. Me, Jason, and a bunch of other people. Brunch. Mimosas. Goldschlager. Beer. Chick-fil-A. More beer.
The day started with our friends Mike and Jen making us brunch. Eggs and chorizo, beans, redneck pie. And many, many mimosas. Then some sort of mojito-like rum drink, except mostly? Just rum.
And this was all before 1 p.m., people. Which is good, considering I am way old and need to be put to bed by 8 p.m., apparently. A cab arrived to take us to the Shamrock Fest, which was also good, but also the high point of responsible drinking for the day.
As the cab arrived? Everybody did shots of Goldschlager. Except Amy and Jason, the resident grandparents who were all, whuuuut? Amy had only had mimosas and was wobbling all over the damn place. Jason, at least, had a respectable little spread of empty champagne flutes, beer bottles and highballs.
So we get to the festival. And it is cold. We are not dressed for cold and also? Cannot function at all. We're in a line for tickets, right? And it's a nice, short line. But then some guy starts hollering at us to go in this other line which is far away. "Blah! Ticketity tick line beh beh left! LEFT!"
Suuuuure, Mr. Yelling Ticketity Ticket Man! Whatever you say. So we all wander over to this other line, or more specifically, this "big random mob of people." Everyone kept forming lines only to find that about 20 lines were being forced to merge at one Official Ticketing Folding Table. So we pay our $15 each ($15!) to get in, are carded and and given the Green Wristbands of Power, and we're off.
Off to $5 Beer Land, where we stayed for many, many hours. And it was cold. And the beer was indeed green. Which is gross.
We had an encounter with the Chick-fil-A cow. I won a free dessert coupon for...something or other. Beer was spilled. People in cheezy plastic shamrock hats and pins were mocked. Green beer cups were stacked high. We struggled to not freeze. We left to go hear a band but never moved more than a few feet.
I think I started to sober up when I realized that I was screaming profanity at the top of my lungs at a Port-o-Potty. I'm not sure what the Port-o-Potty had done to me, but I believe it had something to do with the Purel hand-sanitizer dispenser.
There was also a harrowing bathroom adventure (green beer REALLY makes me pee a lot) in a nearby shopping mall involving an elevator and a luggage store. But the details are hazy.
At this point I really needed food. Bread food. To the fricking marketing geniuses at Chick-fil-A? It was really great that you had that little booth there and the whole schtick with the cow, but why (WHY!) would you not sell waffle fries?
Everybody else we were with? Was getting their second (third? fourth?) wind at this point. They're all debating the next big thing. I'm debating whether a burrito is worth staying awake for. We're desperately trying to hail a cab. No cabs. Amy has to pee again. Jason remembers he has to go to work on Sunday for some complicated Web-launch-push-Internet thing. At 9:30 a.m. in the morning.
Jen has flagged down a nearby minivan and is asking the driver if he'd mind giving us a ride. Sure! Why not!
Um, guys? Amy can think of about six reasons why not, but cannot articulate a single one.
This is when Amy and Jason parted ways with the Cool Fun People. They drove off in Random Minivan and we finally hailed a cab back to our car, and then back to our house where Max was furious and hungry. We ordered and ate some sushi and then went to bed.
It was 8:30 p.m.
(Pictures coming soon, starring the Chick-fil-A cow and a lot of green plastic cups.)