Saturday's weather was far from ideal. This did not prevent hundreds of locals from sporting green gear and participating in some serious day drinking. My entire day cannot be blogged about- there was far too much T nonsense involved. I will, however, provide you with a synopsis to the best of my ability (times are approximate).12pm: Jello shots to wet the palette. Water bottles of vodka oj and soda water in tow. Rain boots on for the trek to the fifth ward.
1:30pm: Water bottle tossed in trashed and girls admitted into OBs sans cover charge. Spotted Grudge-holding Giraffe (to clarify: this is NOT my favorite giraffe on roller-skates) in the outside tent. Kitty-Cat spots her giving death stares and overhears her say "I don't like that girl." She looks GHG in the eye and says "You're annoying." Way to have my back, kitty-cat. Side note: GHG is still sad about a silly incident involving her ex-boyfriend and a late night telephone call that occurred circa 2006. Get over it girl.
2:30pm: We make our way inside and share some laughs with some gansett boys. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Sweet Valley High Twins basically swallowing some tasty looking hot dogs whole. Dogs are my weakness. Kitty-Cat, CF and I beeline it to the bar and my YB bartender friend hooks us up with 3 yummy dogs. Healthy choice #1 of the day. After a brief dance party/sing-a-long/photo shoot with Art Smart, our pack of pretty ladies are on to the next one.
4ish pm: Completely lost concept of time at this point. At dockside now and we have lost the SVH Twins (there was some misunderstanding involving the cover charge that led to beer tears. my beer tears would come later). Some genius decided to paint the floors red using water-based paint so all the patrons' shoes are covered in paint. Good thing everyone is too blackout to be concerned. I'm happy as a clam to see my girl Reef Rider (more about her to come) behind the bar getting hit on by every creep in the building. Highlight of Dockside experience: my first bar fight. Kitty-Cat is almost comatose as she walks by some angry broad who apparently spilled her drink on Kitty-Cat (all I witnessed was KC dumping her entire Ketel soda on this girl's dome). What transpired was a lot of flailing arms and me boxing crazy girl out with my badonkadonk. End result: fat lip for Kitty-Cat.
5:30pm: Kitty-Cat and I Newport-ditch it out of Dockside and schlep it down Thames in the downpour, making a pit stop at the pier for a lap around the bar and then at pizza hollywood for a slice dowsed in parm. Healthy choice #2. I get a call from Deadweight Dump and DJ Slumpbuster. We meet them at Pelham and dance around like the creeps that we are until my abnormally tall bouncer friend says we have to scoot, they are closing the bar for an hour clean-up.
7pm: The four of us make our way to Jimmy's in hopes to reconnect with Art Smart and her man for a little Ravers dance party. We are too late. Ravers set is over, AS has moved on to another venue. We decide it would be a fantastic idea to shake what our mamas gave us at On the Rocks. For those of you who are unaware of this fine establishment, it a "club" located in the basement of bar, complete with a DJ, stripper pole and dark lighting. This would be our sixth and final bar of the day. The four of us made up 50% of the patrons and we got DOWN with the lovely gal you see pictured below. I have been called a chubby chaser, and we all know DWD digs a large body type. Big Mama was happy to be alive. While grinding on the pole with her, I told her that I liked her energy and asked to photograph her. Yum, look at that meaty arm.
9pm: Kitty-Cat takes a snooze in a chair, wakes up abruptly, calls me boring and demands I take her to another bar. I deny this request, bring the boys to the frat house and make KC order a large cheese and cinnastix on the way home. T. Healthy choice #3.
11pm: After woofing 2 slices and a few stix, the food coma sets in. My sleep is distrubed by a figure in front of the couch grabbing my leg. I forgot to lock the door and DWD thought it would be a brilliant idea to leave DJ SB at the bar and run the 2 miles to my apt. He is whining about being soaked, removes his pants and faceplants next to me on the couch.
Overall, I would say the day was a disgusting success. See you next year St. Patrick!
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