I stopped by Flannery’s, which appeared to have a much younger and wilder crowd than in past years. It almost reminded me of Panini’s down the street, with the frat-quotient. After 15 minutes I actually made it to the bar and I decided that I needed to get all of my alcohol right away, since I would be unlikely to make it back until next year.
I drank my Irish Car Bomb and then had another Guinness and wandered around town until the parade started. The entire set of photos can be found here.
While the parade was going by, a girl started flirting with me who looked just like what Jessica Simpson would look like if Jessica Simpson wasn’t a figment of American pop culture’s collective imagination. Except she thankfully had smaller breasts, was less orange, and had plenty of synapses to rub together. I think she was just enjoying herself, but when she realized I thought she was flirting, she insinuated that she was married quite quickly.
Why the hell did she ask to get on my shoulders then?