St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Well, technically it was yesterday, but I was too busy drinking Guinness and maneuvering Temple Bar to take the time to write about it. Instead, I am writing while riding a train through Ireland's countryside. It is so green and filled with sheep, horses, cattle, old houses, and an occasional church steeple peeking out in the distance.

Sounds peaceful, doesn't it? It was--until the bachelorette party joined our train, placing themselves right in front of our seats. The countryside is just as beautiful, but there have been champagne corks ricocheted, rings tossed onto dildos in the aisle, and an abundance of "woooooo's." At least they are having fun and recycling all of their bottles of alcohol.

Thank goodness for offline playlists from Spotify and noise canceling earbuds.

But back to the festivities of March 17th!

It was a slow morning. We didn't end up getting out of our apartment until after noon. Just around the corner from our place was the start of the

St. Patrick's Day Parade. We walked by the participants waiting for the parade to get in motion rather than actually watching. We got the gist of it, and the gist was...eclectic.

Many costumes and "floats" seemed completely random. If there was a theme, I couldn't determine what it was. There were people in large hoop dresses that went from their neck to the floor; people wearing skull caps with spikes coming out from all sides; people in wheelchairs that looked like the top half of a pumpkin; people sitting inside of floats that looked like volcanoes or Mars. The giant pink zebra and elephant balloons were probably one of the aspects of the parade that made the most sense.

Once we made it to the city center, Preston was trying to to find a new place to try for "brunch." But all I could think about was the seafood chowder I had had the previous day at The Bakehouse. We were walking along the riverfront "looking," when in actuality I was just walking until we found the bright pink storefront.

The food at the Bakehouse was just as delicious again. The pancakes weren't overly sweet. The bacon is thicker. And I think I may have discovered a new love for cappuccinos. Not to mention, the staff was super amiable, suggesting we stop by the Prawn Festival happening over the weekend (too bad we will be in Galway).

The next hour just involved the two of us trying to maneuver the streets of Temple Bar (Temple Bar is the entire area, not just one location.) It was crowded. People were already drunk. There were girls not dressed for the weather and men with

their beards sprayed orange. Eclectic, although not nearly as eclectic as the parade.

It took sometime to find a pub that we were actually allowed to enter. It was so busy that security was barring people from entering until people inside left. This added more time to finding a pub with Guinness.

Before our final destination, Preston was already feeling the effects of his previous beer with 7.9% alcohol. I made the mistake of taking him to the market set up outside of St. Patrick's Cathedral. There was a booth with candy laid out where you buy by weight. He easily could have bought his weight in candy if I wasn't there to stop him.

Eventually, we did find The Front Door, the pub where I was able to get my drink on! It was so crowded that it had to have been breaking fire code, if there even is one here. We snagged a seat (don't know how we managed that one) and ordered two pints of Guinness each.

I made a post stating, "Preston is getting me a drink and Irish men are waving at me." These Irish men were drunk, which is to be expected. One red-bearded man started waving at me--but it was that wave where you are waving your hand at chest level really fast and is usually accompanied by a derpy face. Do you know the one? I waved back with the same derpy wave. They were satisfied and returned back to their drink.

We watched people dance and sing and laugh. We departed and J-walked ourselves back to the apartment, observing all the lit-up green buildings and the man relieving himself in public. Dodged a couple of suspicious looking puddles and we were back on Blessington Street.

Nothing extraordinary happened on our St. Patrick's Day. But it was perfect because we were in Ireland, we were drunk, and it was the holiday of my favorite color.

Shortly, we will be in Galway. It can't come any faster because I think I have lost some hearing from these drunk Irish girls partying on the train with their penis straws, penis shot glasses, and penis necklaces.

I feel worse for the old man in a newsie cap, sitting across the way though. He just wants to read his newspaper, but the girls keep trying to Instagram selfies with him.