mcgrew's Journal: Trolling at the Springfield St. Patrick's Day Parade

Patty was going to be in Springfield for St. Patty's day, and Charlie and Tami were worried. Patty hates them both.

A week earlier I'd been at Allen's, begging him to take them off my hands. He was all too happy to. Poor guy didn't know what he was in for!

Tammy's alien husband is now in Afghanistan getting shot at, which he probably considers a better deal than being here with Tami. He'd sworn off her over a year ago, leaving her homeless when he enlisted in the National Guard. He couldn't divorce her or he'd lose his green card.

She found out that according to military law he was bound to support her. I doubt if anyone ever paid as much for a green card! He got in a bit of trouble for non-support, and was ordered to send her $640 per month, which, as Bill Gates denys saying, "ought to be enough for anybody". She'd opened a checking account with the first check and promptly overdrew it by a few hundred dollars.

She gave the second check to me to cash for her. I deposited it in my account and was told the funds wouldn't be available until this week. I gave her the money when I got paid, anyway. So she had some cash to blow at the Parade.

Patty called Thursday morning and said she'd be in town late, and was staying with her friend. So Allen had a little reprieve. Tami, Charlie and I did some drinking Thursday night, a "last hurrah" since Patty thinks I drink too much (and she's probably right). They got a thirty five dollar room at a sleazy motel up on Peoria road and kept drinking. I went home to bed. Allen had a reprieve.

I'd taken Friday off to be with my daughter, and Friday morning Patty didn't show up and wasn't answering her phone. She finally called around noon; she'd just woken up.

I washed clothes and dishes, thought about cleaning the bathroom and then thought better of it, watched an episode of STNG and another of DS9, and still no Patty. So I drove to Family Dollar for some cooking oil and toilet paper and stuff like that, and called her again. "We're leaving right now," she said.

"Who's 'we'?" I asked. She was babysitting, and was bringing two little kids with her. I told her to meet me at Top Cat's, my second favorite restaraunt in town, right after D'Arcy's Pint. Top Cat's is named after the old animated cartoon, and I may be wrong but I think the owner may have been the guy who originated the cartoon. He's a cartoon character himself, bearing a striking resemblance to Yosemite Sam.

They took forever to get there. I chatted with Lori for a while; she's been a waitress there since forever. I used to work at an office the south end of town and ate at Top Cat's every day, and the other waitresses would kid her, saying, when I came in, "your boyfriend's here".

I told my waiter as he served me a beer "if you find my dead body laying on the floor, I died of hunger waiting for my daughter."

They finally showed up and we had a fairly pleasant lunch. It would have been better without the kids, one of whom was sick and the other of whom was bratty.

I got a fairly early bed time, after having a few beers at Felber's.

Saturday morning I got up and poured Friday's leftover coffee from the thermos and started a new pot, and went and sat on the other pot. When I was done I poured a fresh cup, and the door knocked. It was the two crazy ladies wanting a ride downtown to the parade.

We parked at Farley's, and there was Danny Boy. Danny's Tami's son's father. A die hard alcoholic who has some belongings stored in my basement, I hadn't seen him in nearly a year. He proudly told us that he'd been sober for ten months now. I congratulated him and we traded phone numbers.

I went inside and got a Pepsi; it was way too early to start drinking and I still needed to feed my caffeine addiction. A prostitute I hardly know (and never hired) saw me and gave me a big hug. If you're ever in Springfield and want to get laid, go across Washington street from the train station. If you're straight you'll usually find whores at the bar on the right, and if you're gay the gay bar is right next door.

Farley's has the world's worst bartenders. At least, I've never been in a bar with worse bartenders. But that's to be expected, as it's about the sleaziest bar in town and it's hard to get thrown out of the place, let alone barred. I seldom go there any more since they raised the price of draft to the same as everyone else's, and every time I drink their draft beer for some reason I get the runs the next day.

I took Tami and Charlie to McOffal's for some dollar burgers, and back to Farley's, where I ditched them and started walking. Patty called while we were at McOffal's and said they were just getting ready. "You're going to miss the parade," I told her. I'd been trying to call her all morning, and so had Leila. Leila had called telling me her sister wasn't answering the phone and she was supposed to take her to the parade.

I walked down past the parade route, and there was already a big crowd there, most of whom were wearing green clothes and silly hats. As it was so early I decided to walk to Recycled Records and see if I could replace some of my missing DVDs. As I was searching the titles, a voice exclaimed "Steve!"

I looked up, and saw a face I hadn't seen in years - Levi Leach, who was often featured in the old Paxil Diaries. In fact, he was in the one I reran yesterday form 2003. Levi lives in Chatham, but he's still rather cartoonish even though he doesn't live in Springfield. Levi's a nerd -- a large, portly fellow with a tiny red goatee, always wears a smile and has bright red cheeks. He'd been a fan of the Paxil Diaries, not realizing that I was mcgrew and that he was the Levi in the diaries; at least, until I pointed it out (that's chronicled in the diaries somewhere).

We chatted for a while; I hadn't seen any of the old gang for years as I hadn't been drinking downtown, and he hadn't either, living in Chatham and all. I bought a new used copy of The Terminator to replace the one that had been stolen over a year earlier and went on my way.

I sat on a bench waiting for the parade to start and my daughters to show up, Leila calling about every ten minutes asking where her sister was.

A woman walked up and started chatting with me. Wow, she wasn't bad looking and she was hitting on me? No, it turned out she was passing out leaflets for her church. The leaflet gave a short history of Saint Patrick's life.

In Springfield we do our trolling offline. At a parade dedicated to a long-dead Catholic saint, a t-shirt read "thank God I'm an athiest". If there was a parade dedicated to Israel, someone would undoubtedly be selling ham sandwiches.

Ten minutes before the parade started, Patty called. "Why don't you go get Leila?"

"Because the parade starts in ten minutes! Why didn't you have me get her an hour ago when I talked to you?"

Still needing caffiene I went in search of coffee, and asked a cop if he knew where I could get coffee. He looked at me like I was crazy. "Maybe in one of the bars," he said. I noticed then that about everyone had at least a little green (I was wearing my old field jacket from when I was in the military), and there wasn't even a tiny bit of green on a Springfield police officer's uniform. In fact, they look all black, like a Nazi stormtrooper, or Darth Vader.

They were selling American beer in plastic green bottles outside Sammy's. I asked if they had coffee. "I think they do inside," the girl said.

I went inside, and asked the bartender if he had any coffee. "No," he said, looking at me like I was crazy.

I crossed the street to Floyd's Thirst Parlor, where they were selling Irish beer outside on the sidewalk. But no coffee. So I got a pint of Killian's Irish Red and walked back to my bench.

A trollish fellow dressed in green was telling awful Irish jokes. Terrible Irish jokes. Actually they were lame old pirate jokes dressed up for St. Patrick's day.

"Where's an Irishman's favorite restaraunt? IRRRREBY'S!"

After two or three of these lame jokes that nobody was laughing at I walked up and said "How many Irishmen does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

The women who were boredly listening to his drivel looked at me, and he said "I don't know, how many?"

"Three," I said. "One to hold the bulb and two to drink until the room spins!"

All of them laughed. I walked on.

The parade started, and I walked up closer, and stood on the concrete footing of the wrought iron fence that surrounds the old State Capitol. As a giant American flag was marched down the street carried by a bunch of soldiers, a couple of trolls unfurled an Italian flag. As the American flag was passing. On St. Patrick's day.

"Those stupid degos are going to get their asses kicked," I thought, despite the fact that one of the "Italians" was black.

My phone rang - the girls were there, only ten minutes late. Patty had her friend and her friend's small children with her. I didn't actually see much of the parade, as I was busy talking with my daughters and watching all the pretty girls. And the ugly ones, too.

Leila and I walked back to Floyd's for another beer for me and another soda for her. We chatted with her sister, and the parade was finished. I told Patty I'd give Leila a ride home. Leila and I walked back to Farley's, where the car was.

Charlie was at the car, drunk on her ass. Shitfaced drink. Staggering drunk. "Look at all the shit I got!" she slurred. She'd gotten beads, two hats (a little one and a big one, and she tipped the big one revealing the little one underneath. A t-shirt. "I even got a cabbage!" she said.

Tami staggered out of Farley's and she was as drunk as Charlie. "I didn't get nothiin' but a blow to the head!" She'd been trying to get some beads thrown from a float and some guy knocked her on the head trying to get to them first.

We took Leila home, then started to my house, the girls laughing and giggling all the way. As we drove down Martin Luther King Drive, Charlie spied a prisoner transport van and decided to flash it. She stood on the seat, through the sunroof, and lifted her blouse.

Man, she's got some really pretty titties!

I looked in the rearview mirror, and there was a car with four young men in it, all of their jaws dropping. "Look behind us," I told Charlie. She turned around and flashed them for a good minute. They had cell phones out, taking pictures. This would be a St. Patrick's day they would never forget. So it's almost certain that somewhere on the internet is Charlie's pretty boobies.

It made them miss their turn and they did a u-turn about three blocks later. Now I know why in California they call a u-turn "flipping a tit."

I found a picture that almost looks like Tami, except the subject isn't fat. If you find a picture of the back of a red Chrysler Concorde with a strawberry blonde sticking out of the roof with her blouse pulled up, that's probably Charlie.