Yvonne and Addie picked me up bright and early and took me for a full Irish breakfast at Bewley's on Grafton. I was wearing my green tights and the Ireland shirt Daniel (Feldman, former roommate) and Nicole got me for Christmas, so I think I looked nicely spirited without verging onto scary-fuzzy-green-hat touristy territory. At breakfast, Yvonne presented me with a Dalek full of chocolates. It will exterminate you...with deliciousness!
Then we went out and tried to find places along the parade route. We found not-so-bad spots, considering that we waited until the last minute to go out. And the parade was FANTASTIC. Completely unlike any parade I have ever seen: there were marching bands, sure, but there were also utterly bizarre floats and costumes and humongous, grotesque puppets. We really couldn't figure what any of these were supposed to symbolize--like, there was the one that seemed to be in support of lesbian weddings, and the army of people with fake tans, and the smaller army of girls dressed in towels, and the surely-dying-of-cold football-groupie bellydancers, and a running obsession with fish and mermaids, and just...yeah. It was wonderfully, gorgeously alien and surreal. Way to party, Dublin!
There were only two drawbacks to the parade experience:
1. Several times, it began to hail spontaneously. Seriously, it was like somebody emptied a bucket over us. I was annoyed by this, but not as annoyed as Yvonne, who had a piece of hail somehow bypass her scarf, her coat, and her jumper, and make its way down her cleavage. This was probably directly related to the second drawback, namely that:
2. March? Not the best month for a parade. Addie and I got so cold that bits of us nearly started falling off. When we went back to my room for tea and Nutella, it took over an hour for feeling to return to my toes.
But once I could walk without falling into things (er, any more than usual), we all hopped on a bus to go to Yvonne's house in Drumcondra. It looked like a perfectly ordinary bus. Little did we know that it was actually the bus...to HELL!
You see, there were these girls on this bus. Nine- or ten-year-old girls. DRUNK nine- or ten-year-old girls. Devil children. They shouted. They stomped. They shook the seats. They insulted the other passengers. They sang. Dear sweet Jesus, they SANG.
Here are some actual notes passed between Yvonne and myself when this ruckus made actual conversation impossible:
Me: Shouting = singing? I did not know this!
Yvonne: Do you think they'd notice if we dose them with Ritalin?
Me: How about cyanide?
Yvonne: The best part is how they only know two lines of the national anthem. One of which they got wrong, so apparently we owe our loyalty to bread.
Me: It is good to be loyal to bread. You don't want to piss bread off.
Yvonne: Bread will fuck your shit up.
FINALLY they got off and shortly thereafter, we arrived at Yvonne's. We feasted on Chinese food, watched Serenity, and Addie and I got steadily drunk on premixed margaritas, which were a bit odd, but did the job. I also drank the little bottle of whisky I bought in Scotland. Bottoms up!
When I finally dragged myself home, I found some apparently drunker person's lost 10 euro note on Nassau Street. I am a lucky drunk! Yay!
So it was a fabulous, fun, crazy, dorky birthday, and I loved every minute, even if my toes didn't. I hope you guys had great St. Pat's! Hugs, kisses, belated pinches, and love to you all!
(Also, everyone should admire my awesome icon, which a friend made in celebration of Daniel's (brother's!) off-the-cuff genius. *g*)