Happy St. Patrick's Day from SaDM!

Officially, I'm 1/4 Irish. Except the Irish has a little Welsh
and French thrown in. And married Italians.
Who married Jews. Look, I celebrate all the holidays, alright?

There were no snakes, no leprechauns, no lucky charms or green beer. There was one pissed off Catholic and an island of badasses.

But screw that, my favorite part of Christmas is Santa Claus, so I'm not letting a little thing like "Historical Precedent" get in the way of having a good time.

Honestly, with my friends, it's not even so much about being Irish or doing Irish things. It's having one blessed day where everyone else behaves like drunken Boston scene punkers. So, like, us on a normal Tuesday.

Dropkick t-shirt? Check. Guinnes/Killian's/other delicious stout? Check. Up-tempo music featuring bagpipes, accordion, and lots and lots of yelling? So check I can't even hear you.

Frankly, I have to work all day, so my plan involves getting up at seven a.m. and drinking over breakfast of kegs & eggs, then coming home to change after dropping my friends off at the train station so they can join the parade. By the time they get back, I'll have gotten off work either to sleep deprived to function and pass out–typical of a St. Pat's celebration anyway, though not for the ideal reason–or so sleep deprived that I'll be insane and go out on the town with whichever friends are still capable of forward momentum and raising a pint glass without taking out their own eyes. Either way, Sunday is going to be pretty miserable. Perfect.

Yes, truly it is going to be a good day. The Yankees/Red socks blood feud will be ignored for a spell, everyone will pretend like Ben Affleck wasn't in Good Will Hunting, and dogs and cats will live together. Mass hysteria.

If I may mix my movie references, "My god, it'll be beautiful."