Pretty going down, not so pretty on the way back up
St. Patrick's Day is way more exciting for me than New Year's or even Christmas. Coming from a rather large Irish family on my mom's side, can you blame me?
As a kid the holiday started with the local St. Patrick's Day parade through downtown a few days before. Both of my parents along with various other relatives marched in it. Most times I was with my grandmother watching with my sister and some of my cousins.
We would then all go out for dinner afterwards.
The actual day usually started with my mom and I picking out something green for me to wear. Not because you get pinched if you're not wearing green (because you do) but because, as my mother and grandmother told us with a straight face, if you didn't then the leprechaun's would come and take you away. Forever. And no one would ever find you again.
I was well into my teens before I finally got over my fear of not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day.
Now though, now St. Patrick's still means the parade, but it also means lots of Smithwicks, Guiness and Jameson's Whiskey. Not necessarily in that order. And green eggs and keggs at Cobblestones. And being incredibly blitzed by 9:30 a.m. And hanging onto the toilet by Noon.
At least I didn't have to be at work until 3. Too bad my hangover didn't end until 5:30. Work, needless to say, was a rough experience.
Thank god for sleep and Tylenol.
Luckily I was able to put some time in with Little Sis and Bro-in-law yesterday and today before they headed eight hours south again. They were in town to see the families over Bro-in-law's 96 hour leave, earned after his 8 months in Iraq. I told him they should have given him a t-shirt that said "I spend 8 months in Iraq and all I got was this lousy 96 hours of leave." He didn't find that too funny. As much as I hate to admit it, I do miss them. Especially Little Sis.
She's the only one that gets the proper way to spend St. Patrick's.