Fake Patrick's Day

I like to think of myself as an upstanding Irish descendent. I eat corned beef and cabbage every St. Patrick's Day. I drink whiskey even though I don't even really like it. My favorite color is green. I don't drink green beer. I know the cultural significance and insensitivity behind an Irish car bomb (the beverage) and, for that reason, I don't order them anymore. I compare Guinness to chocolate milk. Out of all of my beanie babies, I kept Erin the bear (and I had A LOT of Ty bears in plastic cases and tag protectors, thank you very much). I eat potatoes ALL THE TIME and IN ALL FORMS. And every year I avoid bastardizing the holiday of St. Patrick's Day by avoiding my fellow Americans all day on Fake Patrick's Day, because it proliferates poor stereotypes about the Irish heritage.

So anyway I pushed those cautions to the wind like a lunatic, dressed up like a truck driver, and hit the town with my beautiful fermented grape goddess friend Laura because I knew she'd keep my sass under control without stifling my "creativity" (reminder: Laura is the friend who attempted to thwart what would become the Pad Thai Meltdown). I even got political and wore a Patriots hat. I KNOW. I don't even know what sport the Patriots play or what city/region they represent, so I was grossly uneducated if someone were to challenge me on my position.

Here be shenanigans.

The day started off innocently enough. Laura and I attended boozey brunch at the home of our wine friends Nancy and Zach. We feasted upon the food of actual deities because Nancy is a chef who moonlights as a BEAUTIFUL NIGHTINGALE. She prepared an ACTUAL COOKIE SHEET OF BACON AND SAUSAGE. Biscuits and gravy! Egg casserole! LOL HOW WILD!

After we ate brunch and downed a few mimosas and Bloody Marys, we saddled up our more Bloody Mary's into some coffee cups, and we called Uber because one mile was entirely too far to travel on foot at the time. Because of my recent celebrity status random luck, we rode downtown in a Mercedes (yes, we Ubered in a Mercedes).

My friend Laura aka Beautiful Fermented Grape Goddess
and I at the beginning of Fake Patrick's Day celebrations.

My friend Josh giving me a warm Guinness AS GOD HIMSELF DID INTEND
and taking a kind of candid adorable photo with me.

I snapped about it.

We took a picture in front of some hogs. 

I prefer the hogs that turn into bacon.

I mean, don't we look like an ad for fun? We do.

It was at this time that I started getting ~philosophical~ asked the following question:

"What is the actual intended use of the squiggly line next to 1 on the keyboard ~for reals~?"

In response, Laura told me to begin writing everything down that I ask, say, or do for the purposes of a blog entry. You see, Laura is my Jiminy Cricket, just trying to make sure that one day I become a real boy.

So anyway here are the other questions:

• Why are there so many kilts? Isn't that a Scottish thing?  AND AREN'T THE SCOTTISH OF YORE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE PILLAGE AND RAPE OF THE IRISH?
• Okay well it turns out that kilts are a symbol of Gaelic unity/identity, which the Irish nationalists adopted from Scotland. So the answer to the question is "kinda/sorta" but it's mostly confusing.
• I WISH I HAD TAKEN A PHOTO FOR THIS QUESTION. But there was a guy walking around with a black eye which insighted probably too much conversation. The main question: was it an actual black eye or did he paint it on?
• We decided it was painted on because it was, like, really contoured. So evidently he was trying to look...bad?...and probably trying to look like an offensive stereotype of Irish folk. SO WE DON'T LIKE FAKE BLACK EYE GUY.
• Why are parents bringing their impressionable children into crowded bars filled with super stupid drunk people?
• I'm going to revisit this one once I am/if I become a parent. 
• I feigned enthusiasm to a group of three apparent orphans by looking at them and saying, "Yay children." I didn't know whether or not they could understand English or if they possessed basic human faculties, so I didn't attempt to even fake my enthusiasm above monotone.
• Are port-a-potties also Catholic confessionals? A man asked me through his port-a-potty if I had sinned. I pretended to not hear him and got the heck out of dodge as quickly as possible because NO WAY AM I BECOMING THE SUBJECT OF AN EPISODE OF TRUE CRIME IN A PORT-A-POTTY.
• Fake red hair: why? Are they making a political statement? Are they devil worshippers? WE NEED ANSWERS.

We had some mini-adventures:

• We saw six Trump supporters willingly walking around with t-shirts identifying them as such. I seriously thought these were mythological creatures.
• Laura mentioned these miscreants to our cab driver and our cab driver said, "Oh, I love Trump" and the cab ride got super awkward.
• Things Laura and I would not, could not eat: candy on the ground.
• THERE IS A STORE THAT HAS CAT PILLOWS FOR $20 AND I ALMOST BOUGHT 12 OF THEM. They would have all had different cats on them. Why? But mostly YAS.
• Laura and I danced IN PUBLIC to the Lumineer's "Ho Hey" - introversion BE DAMNED.
• And finally, I successfully avoided two former flames.

After that, the day quickly escalated to me positioning myself as a celebrity and taking pictures with a lot of random drunk people.

There are two adorable cows in this picture.

Tater. Because I liked his name.

I like to give back to the less fortunate, like visiting Tinker 
Bell the dog. I'm basically Princess Diana and/or Mother Theresa.

A reluctant leprechaun caught in the wrong place
at the wrong time so he was forced into a photo with me
and some shameless photo bomber WHO TRIED TO
STEAL THIS QUEEN'S LIMELIGHT. DIDN'T WORK.

Then I started tweeting about my experiences. They're pretty insightful.

And Laura saved my life by throwing out a karate-style chop to my torso when I almost walked out into incoming traffic like an idiot. The result was me spilling an entire cup of nasty beer that I never really asked for on myself. 

See? I'm alive and wearing terrible beer. ~Jiminy Cricket~

After that we ran into some FRANDS.

Sad to be heading to Butternut Hut because, who
wouldn't be? The name incites discomfort.

Look at my euphoria, highlighted even further by
the guy looking sad (I'm calling him "Sam") about stuff
next to me. #SmileSam

My friend Adam and I being happy and Brent looking on in
envy because he'll NEVER BE MY FRIEND. But also does my shirt
imply someone getting "lucky tonight?" Because, um, I didn't really
look at it when I bought it because it was $4.

After we left the Butternut Hut, Laura and I shadily hailed a cab down and left the rest of our party, whom we had told we would join for the remainder of the evening. Why did we do it? Because, pizza. We ended up ordering two extra larges and cheesesticks because we were trying to cut down on the calories, drank some red wine for our heart health, and watched the terrible film The Night Before so we could see successful actors become embroiled in something awful. Then I went home and went to sleep.

This post isn't so much a macguffin proposal so much as it is a macguffin fulfilled. I've always secretly wanted to join in on the shenanigans on Fake Patrick's Day but I've always felt like I'd get a good lashing from by ancestors. I totally get Fake Patrick's Day now. Sorry ancestors. It'll happen again next year.

For today, HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY. Because we're all happy I guess that St. Patrick rid Ireland of snakes, even though that might be a euphemism for pagans back in the day, in which case I don't think I really support him because, like, let people live their lives.