ST PATRICK'S DAY IN DALLAS

Let me start by just admitting that I am now a wussy when it comes to day-drinking. Or any long-term drinking. I just don't drink like I used to and really need to build that tolerance back up. St Patrick's Day in Dallas, TX is sort of like gay pride, but for straight people. Well, all people because we always have a group of gay guys out there. And, remembering John's seemingly incessant obsession with waving to a guy (that he may or may not know) across the street, we discovered that there were definitely other groups of guys who happened to be gay. We also discovered that we could high-five well over 450 people in a very short amount of time (more on that later).



We ride the train (go DART) from my house to Mockingbird and walk over to our special annual spot. Our friends D1&D2 are always super-prepared and get there early, lock down the location, provide food and bevvies and all-around jazz up any situation. Hangin' out, drinkin' like a mug, laughing, talking and the like. Attendance was actually really low compared to other years with nicer weather.

Fast forward to the end of the parade... D1 is clearing all of the supplies and offers shots to passers-by (a totally normal thing for SPD in Dallas). Enter Marjorie Beatrice. Now, we have no idea what her actual name was, but we dubbed her "Marjorie Beatrice" and it fits. I tend to shy away from odd strangers in public, but my good friends sure love to reel in the crazy. Somehow she was flashing her boobs for beads when I noticed her in our group, and let me be clear when I say that no one within eyesight wanted to see her bosom. So she showed em a second time. Lucky us. Brad and Marjorie Beatrice are talking to each other the entire time, about what, I have no idea. Boobs turned into Brad shoving cupcake onto her face and then kissing the huge glob of face icing. Yep, they kissed. Don't be lewd, there was no tongue. But lips appear to have touched. Then Brad has icing in his nostril. I'm not exactly certain at what point Marjorie Beatrice had too many shots, but she went down. Like DOWN. There aren't words to describe how hard and how fast Marjorie Beatrice went down. Then she kinda looked dead. Not in a funny way but more like an "oh shit, this dead lady has our cupcake and Brad's lips all over her face" kinda way. See photo below. Please note the background crowd and also that Marjorie Beatrice urinated on herself.

After trying to get her up (seriously the crowd around us was a sea of WTF), the police appeared (THANK GOD). Apparently Marjorie Beatrice had been telling everyone that she was supposed to meet her husband, he was going to get her. Brad and Sean were calling him, he basically said "No." Hahah rude. The officer told her he wasn't going to arrest her, he just wanted to get her some help. The guys told the officer that they were trying to find her husband, he asks if we know her, uhhh no sir we do not. Of course, I stayed WAY out of all of this (I don't deal with f'd up strangers) and would've loved to just turn this H. A. M. over to the cops. But no, Sean was on some sort of mission from God to save Marjorie Beatrice. 

I just checked with Sean's bf Adam and they were able to securely transport Marjorie Beatrice to her husband. And grandson. Can you imagine your granny all drunk with pee-pants and cupcake-face?! No wonder the poor husband didn't want to come get her. Awkward. 

I really wish I could post the progression of photos here haha but with my luck this would go viral and I'd be sued. 

 While waiting for the parade to clear out, rain to stop, etc, we are hiding under an awning and somehow we started high fiving everyone who walked by and either cheering, yelling "good game" or laughing. No lie, we high-fived well over 400 people. Some were into it, others were not. Typically I would fall into this latter category but all of the vodka coursing through my body pushed me into being a stranger-high-fiver. 

You'll all be happy to know that none of us drove, St Patrick's in Dallas is a total shitshow, take a cab. Or Uber. 

We went and ate lunch and then went to the gay bars. Then my wussy-ness took over and I couldn't be out in public any longer. Had to go. So we all Uber over to Brad's house and pass out / drink more / play games / dance. It was maybe 4pm. Oops. Later on I find out that my poor lil cousin who just moved to Dallas threw up 3 times that day. At least I only threw up once (at Brad's house). Champs I tell ya, we are champs.