Thursday, March 17, 2011

Pour Some Guinness On Me

I remember St. Patrick’s Day’s better than I do Easter and Christmas.  I’m sure a large part of this has to do with the fact that I do the same thing every year on Easter and Christmas so they all kind of blend together.   Or maybe my priorities are entirely messed up.  Definitely one of those.  Here is a special segment In honor of this spectacular holiday, in which we wake up to a bowl of lucky charms, deck ourselves in green (marveling at how MANY shades of green there really are) go out (or are pestered to go out) to drink knowing that the significance of the holiday may be weak but the Irish American’s are strong and prevalent.   

In 5th grade my teacher spent an entire lesson on how people like me, who dress up on St. Patrick’s Day are just trying to get attention.  Thanks Mrs. S. 

In 6th grade I wore a “Kiss me I’m Irish” shirt and then got a kiss from my 6th grade Science teacher.  Weird, Mr. Testa.  Weird. 

7th – 12th grade I made green colored Banana nut and Blueberry muffins—roughly 8 dozen—which would be completely gone by the time lunch period rolled around.  Nooooo I wasn’t trying to buy friends. 

Freshman year I made several batches of Bailey’s Irish cream and made everyone watch Brendon Grace—only none of my friends could understand him b/c his brogue was too thick (I could hardly hear it). 

Sophomore year in college I filled my mini fridge with Guinness.  Before we drank, and before we went out for the night, we got caught by the RA (no doubt b/c I was laughing too much). Rather than trying to hide anything, I ended up opening the fridge (she was bound to open it eventually and she did ask) and showed that where the Brita pitcher used to be was more beer than should fit in a mini fridge.  Somehow, Kristy’s older brother put all of the beer in a duffle bag and left the dorm with it instead of giving it to the RA.  While many people were in the room, only Julie and I had to take the campus no drinking class.  (The second warning your parents got a phone call.  I begged them to call instead—but instead I had to watch a video of someone drinking 20 shots.) 

Junior year… I think that I went to Joe and Christine’s house and my Uncle was visiting.  I wore a ridiculous green vest that I found in my dad’s closet.  I wonder what happened to that vest.    

Senior year though, I had just gotten back from break.  My mother had sent me home with 5 pounds of honey ham.  An hour after I got back there were 5 ladies standing in my tiny kitchen eating my Momela’s ham straight out of the corning ware dish.  Classy.  This was followed by a trip to the bars.  First, Mad Mex, naturally, and then that bar in the basement with the singing and the tables—Phyrst?  I can’t remember exactly what we drank, but I know for a fact that we did some shots as I distinctly remember the glasses.  :P  (Later that year, my roommate’s and I would go for my birthday with my brother and Sarah would spill Guinness.  I would consequently, get up on the table with her, pitchers of Guinness in each hand, and sing at the top of our lungs “POUR SOME GUINNESS ON ME!!” to make her feel better. I’m a giver.)

My first year in Seattle I went on a first date on St. Patrick’s Day to the Rusty Pelican – I haven’t been back since. 

There were at least 4 in which I was either in Vegas or LA at GAMA/WWLA trying my best to stay awake long enough to have one drink before heading in early so I could be responsible at the show. Every year my brother would call me and demand to know why I wasn’t out—and every year I was a disappointment. 

The next was in NY.  My mom made Irish Soda Bread which I brought into work and really did try to bribe people into liking me (I like to think it worked).  This was followed by an evening at Brodie’s in which I saw some people from HS and immediately steered clear of them in a moment of sheer cowardice.  (I’m not proud of this.  I saw a friend having dinner with his family and literally hid in the booth until my friends showed up.)  Later, I would drink a bit and reconnect with old HS “friends” but not a moment before. 

Last year I forced people to go out and came dangerously close to hiring the fireman’s pipe and drum band to play at my birthday party—and now this year—where my sole purpose is to go out and show off my new T-Shirt. 

And that, my friends, is how this Irishman celebrates.  I hope you are ever more successful—enjoy your day and drink one for all of those pregnant ladies that can’t this year.  J

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