Living in my neighborhood on St. Patrick’s Day is both a blessing and a curse. Coming from an Irish family I love St. Paddy’s and it’s so nice to see all the people out celebrating – even if they are smashed out of their minds.
Then there’s dealing with the people who are smashed out of their minds. The drunks tend to think that they have the right of way today – and in a way I guess they’re right. But that doesn’t mean they should puke on the sidewalk at 3 in the afternoon, or push old people out of the way, or scream at babies. All of which has been known to happen. See, the parade ends right near my apartment, which means that everyone comes to drink right near my apartment.
My dear husband has deemed St. Patrick’s Day in NYC a menace. We’ve lived here 8 years now and we have never gone out to celebrate. I usually look wistfully at the revelry outside my door and go home to make myself a green beer with food coloring.
This year I’m hoping to get Brady in on the fun and go to the parade. He fell asleep early, so we’ll have to see how it goes.