Scene On St. Patty’s
St.Patrick’s Day 2013 taught me some real life lessons. I’m not even Irish, but I am a young woman, making her way through a college town full of weirdos, and trying her best to maintain a sense of humor, even when some kid spills a pint of Rolling Rock on your hair.
We can all agree that Gainesville, FL. is a weird place – take that as you may. It is hands down the ONLY city in the world that can sustain a bike shop–meets-café and the only place where the most hideous of shades on the primary color wheel can come together so harmoniously. No other place in the world gives this much of a crap about alligators.
Come one, come all, come as you are to the college town that is wedged in the middle of the most defunct city in all of North America.
But, most major holidays and/or sporting events and/or sweaty, delinquent punk rock festivals turn this small, endearing, albeit bitterly land-locked city into the true freak show it promises to be. Being a college town, with a median age of 12, overtly concerned with binge drinking, moronic debauchery and free pizza, St.Patrick’sDay is a festival for ALL ACR’s, especially the ones lame enough to proudly refer to themselves as ACRS, too.
I’m a full-blooded Italian and never really cared for corned beef, so up until this year, St.Patrick’s Day was another holiday I glazed over and treated pretty ordinarily. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not getting any free pasta, celebrating the glory of Michael Angelo or blissfully bathing in a pool of Nutella, so I’m not too interested in getting into the spirit with my bells and whistles on, much less dawning an awkward kilt or coming dangerously close to looking like a real leprechaun (I’m just shy of 5’0. My saving grace is how I’m the farthest thing from a ginger).
Point is: most holidays fall flat for the same aforementioned reasons. Minus my birthday, on which I do religiously bathe in Nutella, but that’s for another article…
Being it’s my last semester as a student and an amateur Stupid, and considering how I’ve spent most of my four years studying, working, stressing and trapping up my anxious free spirit, I figured “what the heck”, let me try out this irresponsible thing, as I join the masses in acknowledging a holiday we all truly know nothing about, but unabashedly celebrate anyway.
And my oh my, what a freaky set of festivities it was.
Below you will find a short mini-series, a timeline of events and epiphanies about how to Survive a St. Patty’s Day, encompassing fleeting, confusing and disorienting moments I encountered as I treaded through downtown Gainesville, bar hopping and jaw dropping on what amounted to be the most bizarre night of my college experience.
Publicly Shattering Glass – All the Kids Are Doing It!
7:20PM, West University Avenue
I push through oceans of green as I make my way to Tijuana Flatts for some quesadillas. It’s just shy of 7:30PM. No one in a 200-ft vicinity of midtown knows we’re still in 2013.
Young man hangs out of the classiest of Gainesville dive bars, Balls. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t think of sports when he says this bar’s name, but instead, seizes the opportunity to praise his own scrotum. Probably for the third time that night.
He is violently smashing Heineken bottles outside the ‘window’/concave/literal hole in the wall at this bar. You can tell a lot about a person based on whether they think Balls is the best thing to ever happen to them in Gainesville or a place where their dreams and unborn children go to rot.
He spots me and follows his half-hearted wish for a Happy St.Patty’s Day with “MY HOW RATCHET YOU ARE.”
Right.
I envision his St.Patty’s was just as successful of a learning opportunity as mine because he discovered a new word and just really needed to use it in a sentence as often as possible to make sure he had his new vocab down pat.
“MY, HOW RATCHET THIS GREEN BEER IS.”
“MY, WHAT A RATCHET LEPRECHAUN.”
“MY, I’M STILL DRUNK AT WORK ON MONDAY,MARCH 18, HOW NOT-RATCHET OF ME.”
Right.
Green Comes in A Lot Of Shades
10:31PM – 10:42PM, Downtown Gainesville, 2nd Ave/Main St.
Here’s the basic palette.
Forest Green.
Ireland Green.
Light-I’m Indecisive and Can’t Commit-Green.
Dark-I’mma lurk in the corner of the bar-Green.
Neon-I Want Everyone to Know How Drunk I am From a Mile Away-Green
Pastel-I’m Confused About My Sexuality-Green
Tye-Dye-I’m Always On Drugs-Green
Glitter-I’m Not Even On Drugs But I Wish I Was-Green
Booger–I Never Learned to Dress Myself-Green
And then last but not least, that one noob in midnight-I’m the least fun person in my friend group-black.
You Can’t Get a Free Blow Job on St.Patty’s Day
11:45PM, Tall Paul’s Brew House
Sorry to break it to you.
Tall Paul’s does offer up a very addicting ring toss game that admittedly does jumpstart my competitive edge. Surprisingly, though, I am no more inclined to win this game when a complete stranger, 20 years my senior, has offered me the gracious opportunity to prostitute myself unto him if I win the next round.
For the first time in my 22 years of living, I was truly speechless.
He has stolen his toddler’s leprechaun costume, consumed double his weight in Irish potatoes, borrowed some of his 16-year-old son’s recklessness and ruined the happiness of his poor, poor wife all for a little awkward and clearly unsuccessful fun on St.Patty’s.
He continues to bellow and laugh for a good 4 minutes, as I stare, in awe. I find myself at this tricky crossroads of deciding whether to run or deck him in the face. Usually the choice is much clearer.
Luckily enough, my face did all the right talking and must have successfully conveyed my exact emotions in that moment in time, “I will call the cops on a fat Leprechaun and no one will stop me.”
Via: Tall Paul’s Brew House
Irish Car Bombs – Stage 1: The Decline
12:11AM, March 18, Tall Paul’s Brewhouse
Any alcoholic drink that has the word ‘bomb’ in it might not be a good idea. No thanks.
Irish Car Bombs – Stage 2: The Cave
12:12AM, March 18, Tall Paul’s Brewhouse
Okay, just one.
Irish Car Bombs – Stage 3: The Infatuation
12:20AM, March 18, Tall Paul’s Brewhouse
It’s like a naughty milkshake!
Irish Car Bombs – Stage 4: The Betrayal
12:33AM, March 18, Tall Paul’s Brewhouse
Oh, what, these things can go sour in more ways than one.
Irish Car Bombs – Stage 5: also, The Decline
1:12AM, March 18, Tall Paul’s Brew House
Put these on the list of things to avoid like the plague here on out.
We’re All Very Lucky Because Gainesville has 8 million boobs
2:27 AM, March 18, The Midnight
Yep, that’s right. We all need to bow our heads in grace over the feel-good vibes of this blessing.
A mysterious man who hides the secrets to a good life under his Irish potato-sack cloak ripped off the’90s rap that was playing and ambushed the stage. Mic in hand and an undying need to be heard, this potential Turlington preacher proclaims to a bar full of people why we’re all really, truly lucky on a holiday like today.
Accompanied by an ambiguous background of intergalactic sounds, this dude recited a few Haikus and then urged an intoxicated group of college students to open their eyes to
the grand scheme – we really have it good here in Gainesville,if only for the great poetry and female assets.
“Boobs. Eight million of them. Don’t you all understand?”
I didn’t, but after repeating it four times, I sure do.
All Bathrooms Are Unisex on St. Patty’s Day
2:53 AM, March 18, The Midnight
I saw three gentlemen head into the powder room, and two girls consciously (as best as they could have) head for a urinal.
It was like freaking opposite day.
Irish Car Bombs – Stage 6: These Drinks Can Go Screw Themselves
9:46AM, March 18, Weimer Hall
I will say no more.
I now know how to compartmentalize my holidays by how much alcohol people intend to consume and by how annoying the general festivities are. Considering this information, St.Patrick’s Day is right up there with emotional drunk sobbing on New Year’s Eve and an embarrassing Cinco de Mayo stint with mariachi band member.
Can’t wait for May 5.
Image courtesy of: Tall Paul’s Brew House
