Monday, March 19, 2007

Why a good Irish lass shouldn't go out on March 17th

I swear I'm not a fighter. I would be a vegan hippie if only my favorite animal wasn't steak and if I didn't enjoy showering frequently. But in true Irish fashion, I found myself in a fight on St. Patrick's Day.

I showed up to Cabane 2 hours late, greeted all of my friends with a warm and tipsy hug, ordered a pitcher and did what every well bred lady does: went out for a smoke. Two drags later, 3 of my friends who were accompanying me in the nicotine fix, noticed a group of angry young punk wannabes walking towards us. The only girl in the group was mouthing off about nothing at all and when she saw us, she targeted one of my friends.

Being a lovely little drunk, my friend tried to pacify the situation by saying "Hey, there's no problem here, we are just havin a smoke... happy st-pats!" The angry punk twat (APT for short) flipped out and started giving my friend shit. One thing led to another and next thing you know APT lunged at my friend to smack her. I broke my peaceful silence to say something like "Don't fucking touch my friend!"

That was mistake number one.

Now APT is after me, mouthing off and well, I don't take kindly to stupidity so I keep responding with "Just go fuck yourself" and of course, I added in the ever insulting smirk-like laugh.

That was mistake number two.

APT who has long forgotten my friends walked up to me and hit me twice on my head. I flipped and screamed bloody murder.

Note mistake number three.

APT threw whatever was in her hand down, ripped her jacket open, got in my face to scream "WANNA FIGHT? WANNA GO, BITCH?!" I walked right up to her, raised my smoke in a fist and yelled "YOU DON'T WANNA FUCK WITH ME."

Okay, see that was mistake number four, but it clearly blows all the other misdeeds right out of the water.

Then APT slapped me. Bitch style. I smirked because well, I was braced for a brawl. I was ready for fists, tackling, anything really... but not a stupid bitch fight. Then I think, well, let's play this game.... so I lunged at her cat clawing, bitch-slapping and shoving until it was a flurry of a full blown chick fight.

Definately mistake number five.

Then something happened - I stumbled - and in the split second I felt a bit off balance I thought "Either I get up right this moment, take her down and end this bullshit... or get the hell out of here right this moment because I don't want to fight, I didn't want to fight, and quite frankly - this whole situation is getting really dumb really fast." So I watched myself slowly fall to the snow as one of my friends said "Get inside the bar, NOW."

So I got up, went inside and faced the table full of 10-15 of my friends all staring, jaws hanging and eyes like saucers. They watched me as I beelined for the bathroom to collect myself. By this point I'm wondering why my face stings and I look down to the ground and see blood...

I realize that APT had somehow managed to make my nose bleed despite not being able to actually cause any pain whatsoever. She also clawed my cheek - a series of three little wounds that are the evidence that I got into a scrap. Evidence that I greatly resent.

So, I did what every well bred lady does after a fight and I ordered a round of tequila shots for the table and cheered every last drop of my Irish blood.

After I went inside, APT turned back to the friend she originally attacked but quickly stopped because this friend of mine had turned insane during my scrap and was now being held back by two of my other friends. So APT continued her journey north on the Main, saw some girls heading her way and began instigating a fight with them. I betcha she got hers by the time she hit Mont-Royal.

My night also took me north on the Main to Mont-Royal where I was greeted at an apartment by a guy wearing white boxer-briefs, a tie and a sock on his right hand. This special specimen then passed out on the floor while my friend and I drank some of his leftover beer and laughed about the hilarity of the evening.

I love potatoes. I love beer. But drunken fights on the Irish holiday? Thanks but no thanks. I think that next year, I might just stay home.

1 comment:

JonasParker said...

Oh, for Christ's sakes. Happy St. Pat's.htt