Happy Hoboken St. Patty's!

So, this past Saturday was Hoboken St. Patrick's Day. As many Missing LiNK readers know, the town of Hoboken, NJ celebrates St. Patty's Day on the Saturday a week or two before the actual holiday. By and large, Hoboken St. Pat's consists of an inordinate number of 20- and 30-somethings dressed in green crammed into trains so they be crammed into bars, only later to be crammed into local apartments and eventually crammed back onto trains. And all of this starts around 8AM and involves copious amounts of alcohol.

It's been a few years since I've been part of HSP, mostly because the commute takes about two and a half hours each way. But this year I ventured out to celebrate with friends at a house party. Ah, the wonders I have been missing. Alcohol + parties - restraint = entertainment! Here is a brief recap.

3:00pm: Leave my apartment and head for the Long Island Railroad into NYC.

3:15pm: Best slice of Buffalo chicken pizza ever.

3:30pm: Train leaves Long Beach.

4:30pm: Train arrives in Penn Station.

4:45pm: Get on PATH train. Not sure if it's the right train, but the 50 people wearing green shirts that say some form of "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" gives me confidence. (The two best versions were "I'm Not Irish. Kiss Me Anyway" and "Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced.")

5:10pm: Arrive in Hoboken. The air smells like beer (plus or minus a waft of puke.) Drunks are dancing in the street, even ones with cars driving on them. The debauchery has been underway all day, and I'm now dropped into ground zero.

5:15pm: Hot chick. Hot chick. There's another hot chick. Oh yeah, this is why I remember this being fun. Ooh, look, another hot chick.

5:20pm: Spot a girl wearing a very short skirt. Unfortunately, she has no business whatsoever wearing such a thing. She had legs like Jerome Bettis. I know sharing this serves no purpose, but I had to. No man should have to carry the burden of this image all by himself.

5:30pm: Arrive at house party. Spot someone I know. The fun starts. Beer me.

6:00pm: More people I know arrive. They're drunk. I'm not, but I'm on my way.

6:30pm: Joe Rockhill and I get destroyed in Beer Pong. WTF! Pissed off, I'm determined to drink more.

7:00pm: Yolked some dot. (This entry may have been changed slightly to avoid openly admitting illegal activity.)

8:00pm: Three beautiful words...Irish Car Bomb. Delish!

9:00pm: Decide it's time to leave and begin my never-ending trip home.

9:15pm: Overheard on the street:

UNHAPPY GIRL ON CELL: (unhappy) Seriously, I lost my shoes. [pause, then angrier and almost crying] Yes! I'm literally barefoot right now! [pause] I don't fucking know!

At this point, I turned around to see what one would expect...an angry girl on her phone walking through downtown Hoboken barefoot. Yet somehow I was still surprised.

9:30pm: I wait at the PATH station for the next NYC train. While waiting, I see a familiar face. No, not one of the many friends I know were there that day. Instead, I saw WWE ring announcer and Spanish-language musical artist Lillian Garcia.




Yes, she's kind of hot and yes I'm a fan of professional wrestling (fuck you, don't judge me!) Unfortunately, when she is piss-ass drunk and squeaking at her fiance, I'm much less of a fanboy.

9:40pm: I joke with Lillian and her fiance about being on the wrong train. She may be hammered, but she seems very sweet. And he's a pretty boy, but a nice guy. I guess they aren't spoiled by marginal C-lister celebrity.

10:00pm: While on the train, a quickly fading Lillian sits on the floor of the car. I hear her fiance mention another similar night where she didn't remember stopping for calamari and french fries. For her sake, I hope she doesn't make a habit of these nights. Rock-hard abs and a great singing voice will eventually fade if you're a blackout drunk. I don't think she is, but it's a cautionary tale.

10:20pm: The fucking PATH train sits at 14th Street for 15 minutes. Ugh.

10:35pm: Get to Penn Station. 15 minutes or so to my train. Phew.

10:40pm: I am quickly reminded that yolking dot makes you hungry. McNuggets rule!

10:50pm: Get on train to Long Beach.

11:45pm: Finally make it all the way back to Long Beach. Some more math...Beer + car bomb + McNuggets = trouble. A few deep breaths and I'm okay.

MIDNIGHT: I get home, I drink an entire Vitamin Water in one shot and pass out in bed. All in all, HSP was a success. Hopefully Newark Arbor Day will be just as cool.

(Editor's Note: While sending an email from the party, I discovered that my BlackBerry apparently thinks that when I type "Hoboken," I really mean "hobo ken." I wonder how many of those dolls Mattel could sell.)