Ahh, the lasses enjoying a few pints of "sexy juice" on St. Patrick's Day, beautiful
For me, well, I never need an excuse to throw back a few pints, but St. Patrick's Day is a great day to celebrate life as a bachelor. In case you missed it a few entries earlier, let me explain to you where I place this holiday in the pantheon of great holidays.
1. Halloween
2. St. Patrick's Day
3. New Year's Eve
That's right, it's number two with a bullet and standing fast. To be honest, it's a virtual tie with New Year's Eve, but because St. Patrick's Day comes without the burden of expectations, it wins by a clover.
For some reason, St. Patrick's Day has always embodied what it means to be a bachelor. For one day, there are no problems, there aren't deadlines or bills or responsibilities. There's only friends and Irish Whiskey and pretty girls in short green skirts. It's the time of year when the weather starts to turn from bitter cold to warm and inviting. It's a rebirth, a clean slate, a time of dreams without end.
Whoa, deep. But this is why St. Patrick's Day is one of my "High Holy Holidays". There's tradition involved with St. Paddy's. There are toasts and drinks to loved ones lost and those still near. Traditional dinners, time spent with friends.
St. Patrick's Day is the day I got my tattoo with a wonderful woman I met after a particularly difficult time in my life. She worked for the New York Times, out of the Denver bureau. Her name was Katie. She provided a lot of comfort while I was dealing with a painful breakup. One day, on St. Patrick's Day, she calls me up and says, "I'm getting a tattoo, you want to go with me and get one, too?"
See, we had had this conversation. About tattoos and the best brand of whiskey and why smoking cigs is hot and the best Alec Baldwin movie (and you thought journalists just sat around arguing politics and world events). Sure, we talked about important stuff too. But we'd had the tattoo talk and, by God, she was going to get her tattoo on that particular St. Patrick's day.
We both knew what kind of tattoo we would be getting. Mine was the old CU Buffalo logo (long story, don't ask) and she was going to get a four leaf clover on her wrist. We got to the Tattoo parlor, one we were both familiar with, and signed up for a room. We spent about 20 minutes browsing through the tattoo books, talking about what other tattoos would look good on our living canvas and then it was time.
I won't get into the actual tattooing, it was uneventful. But I remember, at one point, I was sitting there and watching her get her tattoo, preparing to get mine, and I was thinking what a wonderful way to remember a St. Patrick's Day. The freedom of getting ink, doing what we wanted, when we wanted. No rules, no one looking over their glasses with that tsk tsk look in their eyes. We had nowhere to be, nothing to do but sit and get our tats.
Afterwards, we acted like giddy children on Christmas morning. It was the first tattoo for both of us and somehow we felt a kinship, a bond as if we had just gone through some kind of adult rite of passage together.
We immediately headed over to a bar across the way called Street's Of London. It was beautiful day, middle of the afternoon, around 3pm, and the sun was out. The breeze was blowing and the Guinness was cold. We sat on the patio and drank slowly, knowing we were committing a definite no-no by drinking after a tattoo and feeling positively empowered by doing so (I mean it says RIGHT THERE in the little pamphlet they give you in bold letter, "Do Not Drink Alcohol" so, of course, we broke that rule right away).
After all, it WAS St. Patrick's Day. How could you NOT throw back a few drinks, right? At some point, a woman walked by with a dog. I don't remember what kind of dog it was. I think it was a poodle of some kind. I remember it was white. Maybe it was a beagle. Honestly, I don't remember much about the do other than it was a puppy. It was cute, it was cuddly, it was the kind of dog a bachelor takes for a walk in the park specifically to attract the attention of hot, single women. We fussed and fawned over the dog for a few minutes and then the lady and her puppy were gone and our conversation turned to dogs of our own.
I think at that point we both realized that we were two ships passing in the night. We were both at different places in our lives. I was ten years older than she was and I was starting a new business. She was the youngest reporter for the New York Times bureau division and had big things in her future. We knew, despite our talk of getting a dog and raising it as our own, that it was never going to happen. We understood that at that moment in our lives, we were good for each other. We both needed each other to help us relieve pains, and build confidence to move forward with our lives.
We had a few more drinks and we got drunk and we had a great day. But then it was over. Maybe it was the catharsis of the tatto experience. Maybe it was the fantasy of the dog conversation, whatever it was, we never really saw each other after that day. We chatted, very briefly afterwards a few times, but then, slowly, drifted apart.
This little tale was not meant to make anyone sad, or anything quite so heavy. It really was a walk down memory lane for me. But it was also a way to illustrate something that I think bachelors understand implicitly. Not all relationships are meant to be. The hardest ones to get over are the ones you were CERTAIN would work out. But as bachelors we have the luxury of turning to a variety of options when things get rough. They can be faceless strangers, they can be very special people, angels, who enter our lives for a short period of time and then move on, their job done.
I'd like to think I did as much for her as she did for me that St. Patrick's Day and few months leading up to that day. As a bachelor, maybe that's why I enjoy holidays like St. Paddy's and Halloween and New Year's Eve. It's a day to let go of whatever burdens or pains you may have and go out and simply enjoy life. That's so much easier to do when you're a bachelor. You can go out and make a connection, be it harmless, platonic or carnal.
I have similar stories to tell about Halloween and New Year's Eve, but I'll get to those when it's appropriate. In the meantime, I will go out tonight and carouse and look for adventures and future stories to tell. Because that's the essence of being a bachelor; adventure, stories, life. And what better way to celebrate all of that than making a toast to old and new friends, drinking some whiskey and honoring the memory of a man who allegedly pied-pipered the snakes out of Ireland? Enjoy, friends. See you on Thursday.
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