St. Patrick’s Day is a holiday I used to think I took seriously, until I moved to my neighborhood. Haha to me. Turns out I might as well be Polish for all the celebrating I’ve done over the years.
So, yeah, it’s almost a week later, but I thought my readers - more numerous than the stars in the heavens - (There are like 100 stars in the heavens, right? I’m bad at estimating.) deserved to know. Plus, I’ve been
Nothing happened as wonderful as last year, when I watched a severely intoxicated 15 year old wander into the street. His drunkly heroic friend pulled him to safety and the kid rewarded the act of bravery by yelling at him and pulling them both into a knee-deep slush puddle. Erin go home.
You know there’s going to be ruckus, cavorting and ballyhoo going on when there’s a NYPD Mobile Command Unit stationed on your corner in the middle of the afternoon. This ain’t no Upper East Side, son, this a war zone!
On my way to the bar, I overheard probably the saddest pickup line of the night. “Yeah, it’s my last name and it’s also the town in Ireland where my family is from. Cool, right?” Um, you’re stretching it, even on SPD. Save it for the genealogy message boards.
The other great line of the night was a girl stumbling up to a guy smoking outside his apartment door, which she thought was a bar.
"Do you have a bathroom?"
"What, like in my apartment?"
"You're not a bar?"
"No, I'm not a bar."
"Oh."
The day was mild, the beer was flowing and NO ONE WAS GUARDING THE CITY! Arsonists and larceny-ists I’m looking in your direction: 3/17 is your day to strike, on account of every Irish cop and firefighter stumbling around and crashing into things. There aren’t enough Italians on the force to make up for their absence. The firefighters I met at the bar had grown special old-timey handlebar moustaches for the big day. Which led to someone asking me: “Hey Freckles, wanna help us shave them at the end of the night?” as he pulled out an electric Norelco. Say what you will, but homeboy thought ahead enough to A. Remember the razor. B. Know he and his friends would be too drunk to wield blades close to their faces.
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6 comments:
is "freckles" your real name?
Patty O'Furni....Ahhhhhhh, yeah! Got it! Nice.
This is even funnier if you read it and substitute "Easter" for "St. Patty's Day."
First of all, Freckles McGee, there is no excuse to not hang out with firefighters, even if they do have hideous mustaches (which all mustaches are).
Second of all? I love the I'm Not a Bar dialogue. In NYC there really is no cushion between you and wackos, is there? Granted, my neighbor shreds phone books and throws them at me, so who am I to talk.
The only thing worse than drunk shaving is drunk myspacing.
You do know, of course, that I'm Skough-ISH and from a town that bears my name, founded by my direct descendant Adam.
Oh, and how 'bout them Toppers?!?!
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