most don't believe i've got the slightest bit of irish in me, but i do. it seeps through the little freckles on my tan cheeks and the subtle red tint to my dark hair. sometimes, if a guest on the boat doesn't believe my mexican/irish heritage, i take my watch off to show the stark pale on my wrist. i'm proud of my contrasting backgrounds.
so in honor of my irish subtleties, i make a point to celebrate st patrick's day fully (the only way i know how)--with irish car bombs and copious amounts of green beer, of course.
i'm not always the craziest of partiers, but there's something about a national drinking holiday and the total lack of inhibitions it brings that i find intriguing and provocative and hell, even a little charming considering the unabashed vulnerability of us all.
i've had some pretty crazy st. patrick's days in my days. one year in college, i drank green beer for breakfast and then went and aced an exam at noon. another year in denver, the altitude kicked my ass and had me hurling before the sun went down. one year, i put tally marks on my hand in order to pace myself throughout a 12-hour outdoor event.
but my st thomas st patrick's day makes the others look like child's play. i can't go into details, but i will admit this... i bounced around all the bars in redhook, running into just about everyone i've ever met on this island. i accumulated twice the st patty's gear that i arrived with, and then lost half of it throughout the night. i kissed a boy i know too well, and met some i don't know well enough. i started a tab that i forgot to close, but thankfully got charged correctly anyway.
and now, i have more bruises on my body than any well-cared-for girl should. my clothes are somehow ripped to shreds. and there are little bits of glitter everywhere. (it appears i was mauled by a savage leprechaun).
worth it? we'll see. i can't remember just yet.
image via tumblr