Arrive home, shuck off Working Professional disguise and gear up with the official uniform of St. Pat's: green t-shirt, jeans, and comfy shoes for jigging.
5:15 p.m. Hustle to the bar to meet crew, shoving a sandwich engineered for maximum booze-sponging capabilities into mouth. Curse green clad revelers along the way who have obviously gotten a huge head start.
5:20 p.m. Arrive at Fainting Goat just in time to catch a band of actual bagpipers and drummers: Michael Collins Pipes & Drums. With a rousing performance and many well-formed calves under their kilts, it's a perfect kick-off for the night. The roof-top patio allows us enjoy the last of the sun on a 68-degree March day in Denver. The Guinness tastes so good when it hits your lips.
6:07 p.m. Someone knocks into a member of my party hard while running towards the back. When he doesn't return, we realize we've seen our first puker. Celebrate with Car Bomb.
6:45 p.m. See a pair of redheaded twins. They appear to be possibly Canadian. It's so awkward.
7:30 p.m. Leave the Goat after it becomes obvious that we will have to field tackle the waitstaff to get any food; their red pepper jalapeno poppers are so close, yet so far away.
7:40 p.m. Pit stop at crew member's house for jackets. Every one of us was so excited about it being warm out that we completely forgot that it's spring in Colorado and the second the sun goes down, the temperature drops like pants at a mooning contest. Pit stop turns into rounds of shots, which then turns into a photo-shoot, and brief dance party to "This Is Why I'm Hot."
8:00 p.m. Consider going to Irish Rover or Dougherty's, realize that we're serious about food and there's little chance of having better luck than we had at the Goat. Govnr's Park it is, and we score an awesome waitress who is totally on top of all our drinking and hot wing needs. Car bombs all around!
8:30 p.m. Dance off at the table incorporating all available condiments, including a game-winning shoulder-brush-off with a Sweet 'n' Low packet, and really creative use of a ketchup bottle. If you sit at the big round table to the left of the main door at Gov'nrs Park in the next ten to twenty days, I recommend sticking with mustard.
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9:07 p.m. Rent-a-cop security guy gives us the stink eye. See someone decked out as a leprechaun on crutches, wonder if his injury will affect his ability to guard pots of gold. Discover that I'm the best jigger in the entire world.
9:30 p.m. Switch from 7-and-7s to beer to reduce sleepy eye-flapping. Know I will hate myself for this in the morning. Better do another Car Bomb to not think about it.
9:30-11:30 p.m. ???????
11:30 p.m. I am ecstatic to realize that skipping home is not only festive but an incredibly efficient means of transportation. Shake fist at sky in anticipation of alarm clock going off at 6:30 a.m. and having to pretend to be a real person the next day. Chug a Nalgene, eat an entire box of crackers, and face plant onto bed. It was a solid St. Pat's.