St. Patrick’s Day in NYC.
Growing up Catholic, we always celebrated St. Patrick’s Day with prayer and maybe a Shamrock Shake. I often marched in the Pittsburgh St. Patrick’s Day Parade as a Girl Scout and if we were lucky, we got to see the Hess children from my grade school perform with their Irish Step Dancing Club. All of them with their red curly hair, clad in traditional Irish garb and their arms glued to their sides as they flung their legs and feet around wildly.
Now that I live in NYC and am aware of the proverbial shit show that is St. Patrick’s Day, I try to stay as far away from the parade and festivities as possible.
Today will be just a sea of bro’ish faces in Kiss Me I’m Irish shirts drinking on the streets of NYC. If you get lucky you may see someone and peeing and/or puking in public on your commute. Then if you are super lucky, you may see someone get arrested.
Green drunkenness as far as the eye can see.
I like Guinness. I like Jameson. I like corned beef and cabbage. But I do not believe everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day, I don’t want to kiss any Irish people (unless it’s Colin Farrell), and I found out yesterday that there were basically no snakes in Ireland so I’m going to sit this one out.