Kiss me, I'm Irish and I'm sick of your shit

"I've been a wild rover for many's the year.
And I spent all me money on whiskey and beer.
And when I'm returning with golden great store,
I NEVER will play the wild rover no more."

Lyrics of an old Irish song, which has been around for God knows how long, and has been redone and reworked by countless ensembles, and will surely be around for many more years. This song has had a special meaning in my life. I've known it since I was little, but it has really started to come to life in my teenage years. This song is what I promise myself pretty much every St. Patrick's day since I was 12. Another St. Patrick's Day has come and gone and let me say, I will never get that crazy again. I know what you're thinking, "You just said you promise that every year." But I really mean it this time. I put up one hell of a fight, but St. Patrick kicked my ass again this year. I love St. Patrick's Day. It's the one day of the year where people are honored for being a foul-mouthed, drunk, womanizer. And for me, as no different from years passed, I embraced this honor.

March 17, 2006
Midnight: Pinched the SHIT out of my roommate for not wearing green.
1:00 am: Went to bed
9:00 am: Went to class
Noon: Went to class
1:oo pm: Cracked open the first, of many, beers
2:oo pm - 5:00 pm: Steady drinking with friends
5:00 pm: Enjoy a nice meal
5:30 pm: Back to the bottle
9:00 pm: Go out to a party with friends
9:00 pm - 3:00 am: Steady drinking, bad dancing, worse singing, surprisingly good flirting
3:00 am: Take the last shot of the night. Go to bed
It was a great day, although it was exactly like all other years (Except nobody got into a fight, fortunately). The next morning was not so great. Huge quantities of beer will make you sick the next morning, but huge quantities of green dye in the beer will make you wish you weren't born. However, morning vomit is much more pleasant when it's a bright festive green. All in all, I payed for my St. Patrick's Day, with my hangover, and with my now-empty wallet, and next year, I'll be sure to chill out a little. But even though I indulged in the stereotypical festivities of St. Patrick's Day, I still didn't abandon what the day is all about. St. Patrick's Day is important, not really so much for the saint, but for the country he represents. St. Pat's is a celebration of Ireland.
First of all, both sides of my family are Irish. NOT posers who wear shirts that say "Everyone loves and Irish girl" or "Irish guys do it better" year round. We're an Irish family. Yeah, we're proud of that, but I'm not going to be like, "Look at me. I'm Irish so that means I'm a rough scrapper from the mean streets of Cork. I identify with my downtrodden Irish brethren, and have experienced the harsh times in the land of my forefathers." The truth is, those kids who wear "Republic of Ireland" shirts or get shamrock tattoos are most likely half Irish or less, but wish they had the street cred. Now I'm not just hating, because I acknowledge that I have no street cred, but that's because our Irish ancestors endured the strife SO THAT WE DON'T HAVE TO!!! What a slap in the face for those who struggled so that we can live a better life. I'm declaring that I'm an American, with strong Irish roots, and I live a comfortable life, with every opportunity in that life, and I have never encountered prejudice because of my family's ethnicity. And for that I thank the millions of people who came from the land where they were persecuted only for their religion and nationality, to a country where they met parallel discrimination and faced the hardship, and have throroughly overcame all obstacles. The Irish have done it. They have made it in America. And that success, along with thanking St. Patrick for bringing to us the religion of Christ, is what St. Patrick's Day is all about.

So it's not just an EXCUSE to get drunk, but rather an opportunity to take pride in your roots, or to cheer on the country's honor, and celebrate in the appropriate Irish fashion. So drop the act, kids. You're one step below wrapping yourself in a green, white, and orange flag and doing a jig. Stop thinking you're a bare-knuckle boxer, don't call yourself a Mick, and don't flood your facebook profile with a schmillion Irish proverbs. Be proud of your heritage, but let's not go overboard.