Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Just Class and Craic

Well, top o’ the mornin’ to ya! The day is upon us – my favorite holiday: St. Paddy’s Day. I never really appreciated the value of this day until about four years ago, when my journalism conference, which was held in NYC, happened to fall upon the weekend of St. Patrick’s Day. I had visited before, but on the way to our hotel, I remember thinking that NYC must have little Irish pubs stocked away under the streets that popped up like a children’s book when that day of green debauchery approached. I had never seen so many damn Irish pubs in my life. Little did I know, an Irish pub would soon be the death of me (and my dear friend Rabbit).

Rabbit and I ventured into a small little pub near Times Square called Connelly’s. It must have been mid-week because the bar was pretty empty. A creepy older man, and two younger Irish lads approached us and started buying us drinks, so of course, we went with it. Despite the destitute bar, there were still three cute Irish boys workin’ it behind the counter. With the free drinks flowing, I must have been drunk when I went to close out my tab from earlier in the night. You know those receipts where they ask you to write your phone number at the bottom? Well, most sane people probably don’t even know what I’m referring to because you just scan over this part. If you do know what I’m referring to, you realize that nobody has EVER filled out this portion of the receipt. It’s seriously just a waste of a tree. Well, in my drunk state, I felt it necessary to completely fill this receipt out. I mean, I am a diligent student, I dot all my I’s, cross all my Ts’ and write my cell phone number at the bottom of the receipt. Readers, if you take anything from this blog, I hope it is this: do not fill out this portion of the receipt. Ever.

Anyways, the three Irish boys start hootin’ and hollerin’ when they realize I “gave them my number.” ‘Scuse?? No, no dear little irish men who I can’t understand. I am just doing my part, filling out my shit, yadda yadda yadda. I forget about this and pass out in our hotel only to wake up to a missed call from my cell phone. 212 area code. That’s a NYC number? But I don’t know anyone in this city? Until Rabbit reminds me that I may have written my damn cell phone number on my receipt last night. After a quick 411 call, we realize that, yes, indeed I just had a missed called from the bar last night. Well, two can play that game boys!

The next night, we decide we really must go back to this bar. I mean, they already have my number, what else do I have to lose? I’m not sure if I met him the first night, but I certainly remember him from the next night. Leprechaun. Of course he was the least cute of the 3 bartenders there, and of course I fell for this red-haired, crazy little Leprechaun. I mean look at his pour! Actually, gentlemen listen up. The way to this lady’s heart: As I stand there at the crowded bar, a annoying young man approaches me. This man, will not, despite my rolling eyes and cold shoulder, leave me alone. I’ve momentarily lost my friends. I am in dire straights. But this will not go down in Leprechaun’s bar! Leprechaun rushes to my aide and softly explains to the man to “please leave my wife alone.” Oh Leprechaun, my knight in shining armor and savior from creepy men. Now, maybe I should have been equally creeped out by Leprechaun’s savior tactics, but he had me at “Can I get you another apple martini?”.

The next day was Paddy’s day. No one but Rabbit and I wanted to go out, but damnit, we were going to live it up on this evening of regret. And then, standing semi-naked, frantically trying on clothes in the dressing room of an H&M I received this text: Hi love! Where’d you go last night? Will I see you tonight?” My Leprechaun lover was calling for me! And who says love?…..swoooon (texting was also the only form of communication I could actually understand what he was saying). Rabbit and I quickly knew what our plans were for the evening: hang out with cute Irish bartenders. On St. Patty’s Day. God, we are so cliché.

That night got a little blurry. When we finally did stumble into Connelly’s after midnight, chaos ensued. I’m not really sure how exactly we passed the next 5 hours at that bar. All I know is that at one point Leprechaun was kissing me from behind the bar and the bouncer was glaringly at us menacingly. I mean, is that even really legal? Also, I lost Rabbit for a solid hour. When she finally reappeared the only thing she kept repeating was, “Have they played 50 Cent yet, I put that on the jukebox and they haven’t played it yettttt”. Oh girl, not only had they played it, the whole bar bust out in “Go, go, go, go / Go, go, go shawty / It's your birthday / We gon' party like it's yo birthday / We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday”. And let’s be honest, this is just a song Irish chaps should just not even attempt.

As the morning drew near and we returned to our hotel, Leprechaun needed one last goodbye before I left the next morning. I was staying in a nice hotel, but sharing a room with 3 other girls (including Rabbit who was now, beyond drunk and passed out), so Leprechaun and I said our goodbyes in the hotel lobby and sitting out in the hallway. I made out with a Leprechaun on St. Patty’s Day, and I’m damn proud of it. We stayed up talking and kissing all night. Literally, I had to tell him to leave so I could pack my shit and go to the airport. I surpressed his request to go get breakfast, or stay and just leave the next day. I was on a legit field trip, I am a responsible student, Leprechaun!

And that was my first St. Patty’s Day spent with a true Irishman. While other Irishmen have come and gone over the years (that’s a story for another time), four years later, that same little Leprechaun still has a soft spot in my heart. Is he a gentleman? That is debatable. Is he a little crazy? Most definitely. Does the fact that he is a bartender and hooks us up with drinks add to his appeal? How could it not?? Will I always remember him on this here holiest day of drinking? Ya betcha. He’s just class and craic, and that’s how I like ‘em. 

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