Well, it seems that at my paternal Grandmother's funeral nigh about "a few years ago" I found out from some long lost relative that there was a great-great Irish Grandmother somewhere in the family tree. I was deeeelighted, having always been enamored of Ireland and all things Irish! So now I could exalt, "I have the blood of Erin runnin' in me bones!" And the next St. Patrick's Day I was living in New York City, where I pursued my writing and performing while working as a gourmet salad chef at a place called, "Blazing Salads" (well, that's just a whole nother story waitin' to be told ), and I was planning to really 'do this St. Paddy's Day up' and celebrate my knowin' that I, indeed, had the blood of Erin runnin' in me bones! So that St. Patrick's Day must've fallen on a Sunday, too (I worked six days a week). And, since I lived on E. 11th St., we went off to start the "day" (with some new acquaintences from work) at McSorley's Tavern down on 7th St. in the Lower East Side (East Village) at, oh, about 10-10:30 in the morning. At bit early for gettin' a start, but, hey!...it was only one day a year, and a very secial day now that I had 'some Irish in me!' McSorley's is a historic, and once very-traditional barroom...didn't allow the ladies till about '75, I believe. Giant marble urinals, belly up to the bar (no stools), and sawdust on the floor to soak-up the spit ('course nobody spit anymore), and small wooden tables and chairs arranged around the small barroom). There we grabbed a table and started with pitchers of beer and a shot or two of Jameson (always had to be Jameson for me...the old Jameson/Bush Mills debate...and I remember parties where we drank flaming shots (literally) of Irish whisky...always Jameson...and, 'course, there were always the panty-weights who insisted on sipping their Bailey's Irish Creme, but who needs these bores around at a GOOD party, right? ) So, there at McSorley's, we commenced, ate lunch, and then continued our journey uptown for the famous St. Patrick's Day Parade...well, to make a loooong story short, we partied the entire length of the parade, stopping in the bars, buying beers to take out along the route (nobody cares about public drinking on this day in New York!), and a little bit of sweet smoke or two. Well it all became just a joyous, raucous blur, when, suddenly, there I was at a Blarney Stone Pub on 6th Avenue and 46th street at about 1am in the morning, still going strong. All through the day I'm cheering myself, "I've got the blood of Erin runnin' through me bones!", and periodically flashing a small paperback copy of a Eugene O'Neill biography I had tucked inside my coat pocket (well, I fiigured he oughtta come along for the party! ). But everyone enjoyed the weirdness, because, on this day in New York too much is never enough! So, there I be, strikin' up a conversation with this little lass named Mary (it had to be Mary, wouldn't'cha know?) from Boston (it had to be Boston, wouldn't'cha know?) at the Blarney Stone in the wee hours of the night. Finally, we walked outside at about two o'clock to share a joint and we hit it off so good that we exchanged phone numbers (nothing was going to happen that night, trust me folks, at this point we were both entirely too obliterated). We kissed good-night and ventured on our way...probably sure we'd never see each other again. Well, it just so happened that I had a friend move to Boston and I went to visit him about a year and a half later. First thing I did was call up Mary when I got to town, and she insisted on dropping eveything and giving me a whilrwind tour of Boston...a day I'll never forget, like out of the movies! (sigh) Capped off by some of the finest Irish coffee I ever tasted!
We kept in touch for awhile after that, but, you know...those long distance romances....

So there you are, the grandest St. Patrick's Day Party of them all! (for me, anyway) And its Boston sequel.
Guess I'll never top that one! Anybody else have a good one?...St Patrick's Day party story, I mean?