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Influencing a man's perspective for centuries
This year, any thoughts of deteriorating my liver further at an Irish pub for St. Patrick’s Day have been squashed by my current job of chauffeur to The Boobs. She had a doctor’s appointment to review her incision, which is healing nicely. It’s like Circus Vargas crashed our house if you watch us try to get ready for such a short outing. I think there’s elephant dung still stinking up the hallway.
As to not feel left out on this festive day, I decided to “make” my own green beer this year at Brazil’s Bar. “Make” = put green dye in your beer. Still, I Googled it. I like things to be done the right way. Mixthatdrink.com helped show me how. Unfortunately, my late-night run to the grocery store didn’t produce any Harp’s, so I settled for Bud Light.
I know, I suck. But I’m also sneaking in some March Madness while The Boobs and The Babies sleep and The Boy reads an audio Finding Nemo book with my mother-in-law for the fifth time today. I think I’ve explained at least twenty different times to him that one of the fishes name is Gill. He still can’t wrap his head around it.
Anyhow, here’s a photo of my green beer and giant, frozen mug.
I also picked up a six-pack of Smithwick’s as to not feel like such a giant poser.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day.