What's A Party Chick To Do?

Molly O'Malley is a South Buffalo chick that really has it going on. 

She's... In the Mix!

What's a Party Chick To Do?

Well, it finally came. The weekend every true SouBuffaloian lives for- St. Patty's Day. And, as usual it was so awesome. Everyone who is anyone was out in full party force celebrating our common Irish heritage and good old St. Patrick, who…who…well, I don't really know what St. Patrick did or why he is a saint. Maybe he came up with green beer or was the first guy to put corned beef with cabbage. 

At any rate, he must have been really one excellent dude to have such a total blowout weekend named in his honor and when you think about it, why we get hammered doesn't really matter anyway, just so long as we do. 

You know I never realized all the hard work and planning that goes into organizing some of the events and parties that we all enjoy so much every year. But I received a first rate education in what takes to make these awesome SouBuffalo events so great by signing up as a volunteer on the Goin' South committee. 

Yeah, my dad was really on me to stop being such a waste after the Christmas season, where I partied all but four nights over a six-week period. He freaks out because I basically spend most of my days working off hangovers until it's time to go to my part-time job as a lifeguard at the Connors-Kait-Harrity Swimming Pool. It especially got to him this past Christmas.

But, I don't really know why he has such a problem. I mean, sitting in a chair watching an entire Olympic size swimming pool for three full hours a day can be extremely stressful. Sometimes when these kids get to messing around I have to blow my whistle really loud and tell them to cut whatever shit they're doing- out. 

And let's not forget the very lives of these kids depend on me, which is a lot of pressure when you consider I wish most of those punks did turn into pool buoy's- making all that noise when I still have remnants of a hangover, it's so obnoxious. 

Anyway, to get my dad off my back I got another job- bartending two nights during the week at Molly McGuire's on Abbott Rd. Unfortunately, that didn't last too long. On my second night a bunch of my awesome SouBuffalo friends came in and were buying me shots all night long and I sorta passed out while I was working and the till was short something like $400. Mike Morrissey, the guy who owns Molly's was so pissed- like he never passed out while he was working, sure. 

Although passing out at a bar isn't that big a deal to me, being woken up at 8 am is. Gus, the cleaning guy found me that next morning all hunched over in a stool with my head on the bar. I never realized how different a bar looks with sunlight streaming through the front windows- it was really sad in a way, but I don't know why. I also never realized that there were actual people, who weren't cokeheads, up doing things at 8am. 

It was shocking. Stores were open; people were walking their dogs, men in suits picking up their shirts from the cleaners. I was amazed at all the activity going on at such an ungodly hour. I might of stopped and watched some more, but my skull was so throbbing I needed to get home pop mega Advils, drink some water and bury myself in the sack.

Having lost my gig at Molly's I still had my dad on my back and that's when I signed up for the Goin' South committee with my friend Madonna O'Sullivan. The volunteers met at the Irish center twice a week and like I said earlier, a lot of work goes into these things. Madonny and I didn't do any of the actual work, but while we sat there drinking beers and talking about people everyone seemed very busy getting things in order. I also got to know this guy Jim Baggot, who delivers beer for Gohr Distributing. 

He was kind of boring and stupid, but he looked so cute with his Notre Dame cap turned backwards I couldn't resist. Although he always had to go to bed early because he was one of those people up doing things at 8am, we did have a good time hanging out at his house. The guy is barely 30yrs old and not only did he not live with his parents, but he owned his own house. Everybody I know lives at home until they're at least 35. 

The house itself kind of sucked, but had this finished basement with a wet bar and a pool table, which I got racked on more than a couple of times. It was so awesome. 

Baggy and I did all right till the day of the actual parade. We ripped it up both Friday and Saturday night all over SouBuffalo, going up and down both Seneca St. and Abbott Rd. seeing and partying with all the best SouBuffalo people. After getting an early start Sunday morning at his house with Bloody Mary's we went downtown and somehow I lost him and found myself on the Ironworkers Float with my girlfriend Madonny. 

One thing led to another and we're up on that Float waving to everyone along Delaware Ave. when we start seeing all these guys waving signs that say "Show Us Your Tits" and they're throwing green and white beads at us. 

Madonny and I, as you can imagine, were quite hammered by then and more than a little confused. I mean, we knew there was some kind of street festival where women whipped them out for beads, but we weren't sure if this was it. All the guys on the Float kept telling us it was and they started chanting: Whip Them Out- Whip Them Out- Whip Them Out. So, eventually, we did. The crowd went nuts. Everybody loved us. 

Well, everybody except Baggy, who was at the curb and saw the whole thing. But, the hell with him. I mean, what's a couple of party chicks to do?