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I Kan't Spell



Wednesday, March 16, 2005

 
Moves Like Seamus

St Patty's Day Recaps

I'm not much for Xmas or New Years. I spend birthday's alone out of principle and Thanksgiving was a sham since I was 9 and I told my parents, "I hate poor people like us." Easter is, well absurd to me I guess, except if I go to church because I'm all for pageantry. Let's see there's also 4th of July....pthhhihiwwwllllw. And Labor day and Memorial day and Arbor day are holiday's as well. All of these above mentioned days don't mean a fucking thing to me. It's nice to get presents. It's nice, I guess, to see family, but the true love Holiday for me has always been St. Patty's Day.

Unfortunately, since Patty's day falls on the 17th of March (sometimes a weekday) every year and most companies and schools or municipal institutions don't regard it as a "National" holiday deeming it worthy of a day off, it becomes difficult to celebrate it properly. And by "properly" I of course mean ordering drinks like you are trying to hail a cab for a Cantonese family of 40 during rush hour in Manhattan while hugging and kissing your friends. Here are my memories of St. Patty's Days past.

1987 - My family every year went to Bowman's in Perry Hall for their yearly Corned Beef and Cabbage extravaganza. Of course being the brat that I was I would never eat. Well they don't serve anything on Patty's Day except for that, but tell an 8 year old that he doesn't have to eat if he's going to be "that way" and watch him not care and put his foot down as if he was Napolean talking about whether or not to leave Russia. "Give me quarters." My parents finished dinner and we went home. I set a high score on Pac Man. The next day I was supposed to have my tonsils taken out. You can't eat before the operation. I was so hungry when I woke up and when I went to the doctor's office that I managed to not tell anyone that I at 2 brownies and a glass of milk less than 3 hours before my operation. Apparently I almost died during the operation from vomiting in my mouth. I spent a week in the hospital vomiting and curling in a ball of pain. So much for ice cream and popcicles.

1999 - Still legally unable to drink I take Mirel out for our first ever real drinking excursion. At a local house party there are gathered Rosedalians whom I have since become disenchanted with, and a duo of years past named Dean and Davis. There are hot tubs. There are beers and shots. The true meaning of St. Patty's day has yet to really fit in but we are together on a Saturday for some reason and that's a good start. The night moves in circles. I have some sex in the hot tub, in the pool, people watch from a near by bush. Deana and Eric (two friends) join the water exhibition and enlighten me to using silicon in the pool. Mirel gets way to dizzy and I take her home. I return. Booze more. Hug more. Kiss more people on the head. Return home. Mirel in her only ever moment of pure ridiculous behavior is laying in bed passed out and covered in vomit. I pick her up. Throw her over my shoulder and bath her for 2 hours while she attempts to slap my hands away because she's embarrassed and crying. We never really drank together again. We never needed to.


2001 - After a breakup with my girlfriend I find myself hanging out with people who take lots of drugs, drive really expensive cars, hang out with really hot women, and love to fight. My alter ego is born somewhere and yet I'm still forced to baby sit them through a night of car bombs and eXstacy. Yes, they popped pills. No, I didn't. Not my scene, never was. But, the girls that come along with these things are usually...shall we say...of the lower moral persuasion and willing to hang out and suck dick if you dunk their Oreo in a glass of milk for them. We start at my local haunt back then Bayou Blues. A White Marsh fiasco waiting to happen. Red necks watching Nascar turns into Disco night and video games. From there it's down to DeGroen's Brewery (Charm City Brewery and now extinct). At 12 my friend, umm... X decided to drop all the remaining xtacy because he is drunk. It was about 6 pills. I flip. I'm trying to make him vomit. No dice.

I take him to my office on Fleet street where we have a couch and soda and techno music (hey anything to get him from swallowing his tongue). We go there and he proceeds to get angry and pee on the carpet. It was truly a lovely move. I take him across the street to a bar called 1212 and we proceed to get cut off because X won't stop yammering. By this point the rest of the black leather jacket patrol has tracked us down, armed themselves for some insane reason, and insist on going to 1722 for more drugs and strippers. There are strippers and whores in tow and I'm no angel. It's not as though I was standing there holding him up hoping he didn't die and pleading for none of this to happen. I was wearing 800 dollar shoes and a black button down shirt and I was chewing gum. I wanted to, at some point, get laid, and get laid well. In the car ride over with some girl whose name ended in an '..ambi' on my lap I had an epiphany. This is not St. Patty's day. This is awful. I hate you people. Yes, this piece of ass here on my lap is pretty hot, and yes I have to admit that I feel cool being in a black Navigator with armed men, but this, this is not me. This is not me in any way. We get to ghetto land on Charles st. andI hop out of the car, insist I have to piss, and make my way over to the Charles Theatre for an all night showing of Raging Bull (why? I had and still have no idea why an all night showing of Raging Bull was taking place.) I hunched down in my seat. Reached in my pocket and found a little pill with some graphic on it. X must have slipped it in there hoping I would eventually succumb to genetic displacement and hope to give my babies tales or gills one day. I put my feet up on the seat in front of me. Looked at the only other two people in the theatre sitting one row back and three seats to the right of me and took out my pack of cigarettes, gave the universal motion for "Is this ok?" lit one and tossed the pill at the screen and wished them 'Happy St. Patty's Day".

2002 - The Villa Julie Baseball team and I are just starting to get to know each other. It's my senior year and up to this point I guess we never really hung out. We sort of did, but the school is mired with complete tools and aside from my 4 kids that were good friends I never really wanted to tango with the rest of them. This year was different. Having been captain for 3 years and being semi-rich I felt it my duty to take all of the little fuckers out and get them so slam blasted that they may never want to see day light again.

"But Bret, isn't March 17th in the middle of baseball season?"
"That it is my little lamb shank. But we were taking a 2 day road trip to Florida so there was time for them to brush it off."

We started off at High tops because I was banging this Columbian girl from Loyola College and she wanted to tag along and said she would bring friends. I headed out with only the legal aged kids. About 10 of us and we boozed like I hadn't boozed in years. We had guys named Boogs, Jameson, Z, and Bung with us. We drank and drank and drank and then we went to O'sheas where Donnegal Express was playing. The whole crew was a good troop. Boogs didn't want to leave and was so committed that he decided to throw up in a cup by the bar rather than to disappoint our efforts. Jameson and I danced to the Oasis covers. We played darts and somehow smuggled a bottle of Bailey's form behind the bar and poured into the mouths of girls strewn across the tables in the back. The night ended at 4 a.m. with a 3 mile walk to any place with cigarettes. We arrived at the bus for Florida at 9 a.m. piss drunk in the same clothes and Boogs still had his coffee cup of puke (jokes...but that sounded like a good way to end it)


2003 + 2004 later ... this got really long...

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