St. Paddy's day on the beach

It is that glorious time of year when school is out for a brief period, just enough time for you to get used to sleeping past 6:30. They call it "Spring Break". Where I am from "Spring Break" sometimes means you spend the week sledding in 6 inches of snow, and sometimes means you lay out on your friend's roof trying to get a tan in the 70 degree sun.

However... there are always "Spring Break" trips too...

So in honor of Spring Break, and my lack there of, this week's posts will be devoted to memories of Spring Breaks past. Ah... nostalgia.

I am lucky enough to have extended my education through the University for 6 years, and thus, lay claim to several epic spring breaks throughout my collegiate career. And yes, even grad students can throw back shots and parade around in their bikini on the beach. Hell, even as a professor, I have claimed to be on Spring Break.

Our first Spring Break story will cover the "road trip" version of the mini vacay. James and I decided to head down south to visit my grandparents in Florida for a few short days during one of my graduate Spring Breaks.  We drove the 8 hours or so from Louisville, and picked up our good friend Bueter in Montgomery, Alabama along the way.

So, the three of us, packed into a rental car, finished up the drive and pulled in to my grandparent's driveway around 4:30 am.

To me, a road trip is not a real road trip unless it requires leaving at night and driving for hours and hours, only to arrive at your destination when the sun is just getting ready to peak up over the horizon. My parents and I, when we drove to Florida every year, would do this same thing, so, to me, this is what qualifies a real road trip.

Even now, when I wake up extra early and the breeze is chilly on my skin, but I can feel the breath of spring just barely hanging in the air, I get chills remembering road trips past.

But let's get back down to the  Florida spring break biz. My grandparents are excellent hosts. They always have been. They have enough bedrooms for all of us and my grandma always calls ahead of time to find out what we like to eat, just so she can make sure her fridge is stocked with our favorite things when we arrive. It is my favorite place in the world to be.

When we pulled into the driveway at the crack of dawn we found a fridge full of grapefruits, yogurt, sandwich fixings, and bud light - all per request. We snoozed until about 10 am then got down to the beach.

It is an amazing thing when St. Patrick's day falls on spring break. Especially when you are out of town and have no shame. We just happened to arrive in the sunshine state just in time for the real irish get-down.

We headed to the beach for a long day of sipping beers and bushwackers, swimming, reading, and sunning. We had planned on coming back to the house, showering, and heading to the bars to celebrate St. Paddy's. So, after hours and hours of laying out and sipping drinks we decided to pack up.

Before we headed to the house, though, James and I decided to walk across the beach, the road, and the boardwalk to bring Bueter to one of our favorite sandy floored restaurants, Flounders. Flounders makes a mean bushwacker if you've never had one. It tastes like a Wendy's frosty with rum and 151 all swirled around in it. It is the perfect drink for sitting on the beach.

Le yum. 

We went in search of green beers originally. However, once we got to the bar we decided to pursue our own different drinks, mine: a bushwacker, James: a beer, and for Bueter? We bought him a Diesel Fuel and asked him to oblige.

The Diesel is a great mix, similar to an LIT, but more beachy. Remember, this was supposed to be our stop off before we headed to the house for dinner and showers. But, alas, spring break had struck. The Diesel Fuel worked its way into Bueter's system and James' one beer had turned into 4, and "Oh man, this guy over there said theres an irish bar just down the street, let's go!"

So we went. I had stopped drinking already, knowing that we were going to need a sober driver at some point that night. The boys took off the road. This road is lined with narrow hotels and beach on both sides. The salt air is inescapable and the heat swells up off the sand.

We walked a very short way down the road, mostly following the masses coated in green. We arrived to an outside bar, with a giant stage, paid our $5 to get in, and were each given a little irish flag sticker, on account of not wearing any green.

The first green beer...

The band was playing cover songs mingled with irish jogs and by 8:00 the whole place was jumping and dancing. The boys indulged in the green beers, which had originally set us on our search. At $2 a cup, it wasn't a bad place to be. It was also very clear that we weren't making it home for showers.

...and the last.

So there we stood, surrounded by a sea of green, in our bathing suits and t-shirts, dancing, singing, and sloshing green beers. James asked one of the irish dancers to give him a tutorial and she obliged, all the while Bueter ran laps around the crowd, yelling and singing the whole time. I stood back and watched, still in my beach clothes, with my hair tousled from the sand and salt, my nose burnt from the sun. I thought to myself, "Only on Spring Break would I ever go out to a bar without a shower and a straightener".

The dancing fool, surrounded by green.

James, getting his riverdance lesson, and Bueter running laps behind them.

After several hours of dancing and drinking the boys had worn themselves out. We walked back to the car and as I drove, James fell asleep and Bueter leaned out the window. We finally arrived back at the house after midnight. The chili granny had cooked for us for dinner was simmering on the stove, kept warm for when we finally made it back. Bueter and I dove in and James promptly locked himself in the bathroom.

It was the only St. Patrick's day I haven't worn green and also the only time I have worn a bikini to a bar. The great thing about Spring Break, though, is that after a day like this, you wake up and start all over again.