Ah, St. Patrick’s Day. It would be wrong, being an entire 25% Irish, to not go out. Last night, after yet another forced death march on the elliptical trainer, I threw on some green (well, army green and jade earrings) and headed down to Doc’s.
You never know what’s going to happen at Doc’s Clock, although the result is always unexpected. During my stay, I experienced the following:
1. Joe’s insistence on having a screaming match with the bartendress.
2. Bonnie’s insistence on running around and adding drops of green food coloring to everyone’s drinks. Thank God I didn’t order Cabernet.
3. John’s insistence of photographing Bonnie and my boobs, with the reassuring promise of “Don’t worry. They’re not face shots.”
I was a little frightened that John would post said pictures of his blog, so I sent him an e-mail expressing this fear and a desire for a percentage of any money my boobs make him. I received the following e-mail in response:
On the status of your aforementioned pictures, I regret to inform you that
your request has been denied on both accounts. Your pictures will be
posted on the internet, and you will not be paid royalties.
--ragingkegger photo team.