The St. Patrick's Day Massacre

Where do I begin?

Given the title to my last entry, my subsequent absence may have led some of you to fear the worst. But rest assured, I’m okay. I’ve had some interesting happenings over the course of the past week, though. The day after the St. Patty’s celebrations, I hopped—make that crawled—onto a plane for a business trip to Tampa. Yes, “TJ’s-stomping-grounds” Tampa. Why the Heavens didn’t take advantage of the rare opportunity to open up and destroy us both at once with one massive thunderbolt is beyond me.

Last Saturday began with my alarm blaring at 7:30 a.m. Grumbling, I shut it off and was about to go back to bed, when I remembered why I had set it in the first place. As you’ve gotten older, have you slowly forgotten what it feels like to be a kid waking up on Christmas morning? Wake up early on St. Patty’s morning, and I promise that you’ll get the same nirvana-like anticipation. I danced while I showered. I danced while I shaved. I danced while I stopped at Wendy’s for fortitude. And then I set off for Shannon’s like a kid running for the tree.

Her place was already jumping by the time I walked in around 9:30. I made my way through her apartment, saying the prerequisite greetings, and then headed straight for the keg, which sat on the deck—iced down and glimmering. I drank a bottle of water during the car ride over, and as I stood with it at the keg, I realized that it could hold more beer than the party-provided green plastic cups. God bless my friends; when I walked back into the party with a plastic bottle full of golden nectar, not one of them blinked.

I walked into the kitchen to see what Shannon was up to; when I saw her with two cans of Guinness in her hands, filling up cups, and shot glasses full of beige liquid lined up nearby, I knew what was about to happen. I slowly started backing out, but it was too late; I had been spotted. “Get back here! You’re doing one!” My first Irish Car Bomb of the morning blasted a hole in my innocence. Okay, my perceived innocence. While I was reeling, someone handed me their Irish cap to wear. It sort of looked, like a Kangol, but for the life of me I know nothing about its Irish heritage. It looked kind of cool, and I looked damn good rocking it, so there you go.

Shan’s sister, Dr. Kelly, was on hand for the day’s festivities. She had also brought a crew of friends from where she currently lives and works. I’m sure each of them is a capable partier/drinker in his or her own right, but they were lambs being led to slaughter that day. I don’t think any of them fully expected everyone to be drinking as early and as heavily as we all were. Earlier in the week, Dr. Kelly had told me she would be bringing her new beau with her to the party; but as I was introduced to all of the new faces, none were referred to as “Dr. Kelly’s boyfriend.” Maybe I was expected to read into some subtle clues, but St. Patty’s Day ain’t for subtleties. At one point, I was following Dr. Kelly down the basement stairs, on the way to play beer pong with her and her new friends. I said to her, “I thought you were bringing your new boytoy?” She gleefully responded, “I did—he’s right behind you!” I turned around and he waved. D’oh.

The rest of the day is one big blur: games of beer pong, where I established myself as the most dominant player at the party; my friends and I eventually made it down to Station Square around 2 p.m., where we met up with others such as Chief, Haze, and Tony; I remember being given beads (or did I earn them?), but eventually losing them; I remember being given a plastic half yard with rapidly varying levels of green beer in it (I lost that, too, at some point); and various intelligent and engrossing conversations, most of which probably sounded about as eloquent as a whoopee cushion.

I ended up breaking away from the rest of my assorted crew around 8, and headed for home base. I was of the mind that I could pass out, or at least relax, at Shannon’s for awhile, and then head back out. But no one was at her place, and the door was locked. And that’s where my 2008 St. Patty’s Day ended. I’m disappointed that I didn’t make it later into the night; but after last year’s letdown, I’m just glad I made into the night.

Oh well, there’s always next year.