Last year on Saint Patrick’s Day I woke up at 7am and hiked with Gretchen through the early dawn to go to the sorry excuse for an Irish bar that’s just off the corner of Wittenberg’s campus. I drank green beer, ate scrambled eggs, got a free t-shirt, and skipped all my classes. I remember that it was warm outside and that I was wearing a headband with glittery shamrocks attached to springs that bounced around like antennae. I don’t remember a whole lot else.
At Wittenberg, Saint Patrick’s Day is probably the biggest holiday of the year. It’s an excuse to celebrate in excess and to blow off any and all responsibilities and obligations for just one day. Well and maybe for like half of the next day, too, when you’re recovering from the epic hangover that is induced by 12+ hours of nonstop drinking. I think it’s awesome that today I got text messages wishing me a happy holiday from friends who don’t even text me on Christmas or New Year’s. It really warms my heart on this drunkest of days.
But for the first Saint Patrick’s Day in four years, I’m not drinking a drop today. Because my motto has always been “go big or go home,” and without being able to pound 50 cent drafts of green beer while watching the sun rise over the river by Station One, Saint Patty’s Day just can’t measure up. So instead of blaring Dropkick Murphys and drinking Guinness until my insides turn black, I spent this Saint Patrick’s Day working, exercising, doing laundry, and going grocery shopping. What did I tell you, people? I’m like an adult and stuff.
But just for good measure, and because I like to brag about the time I went to Ireland with my friend Kim during the semester that I studied abroad in Amsterdam, here is a picture of me at the Guinness factory in Dublin, completely ecstatic about the heavenly deliciousness of real Irish Guinness:
I get seriously nostalgic for the four days that I spent in Ireland, because staying at a 9-Euro-a-night hostel in a room with 8 other people was an experience in itself, but tack on the fact that the hostel was right on the River Liffey, and the fact that Dublin is a totally awesome city where all the men have badass Irish accents, and the fact that the Guinness factory is seriously like a Willy Wonka heaven on earth for drunks, and the fact that Guinness there literally tastes like liquid CANDY, and all in all you end up with an equation that makes me never, ever want to leave. I have been waiting to go back to Dublin ever since the day that I left, and at the end of a depressingly uneventful Saint Patrick’s Day, that’s really all I can think about.
So whether you got piss-ass drunk and vomited green eggs and beer all over your sorry American self or whether you played it safe like me and did semi-responsible semi-domestic things instead of guzzling dyed green Bud Light from dawn til dusk, I hope you enjoyed your holiday.
I just hope you didn’t ruin Irish car bombs for yourself.