Almost one year ago was the most epic St. Patrick’s Day throw down of my life, and likely to be the last. Some lessons are learned hard and fast. Some lessons are only learned after you wake up in a drunk tank. However you may learn them, make sure you use that knowledge to the best of your ability. My life lesson was founded on the effort to wear different funny Irish t-shirts for every hour, drink only Jameson whiskey and green beer, and make-out with at least three women.
This St. Paddy’s Day began like any other. I was intending to pub crawl my way through several establishments over the course of five hours, drinking at each stop, and trading a funny Irish t-shirt for a kiss once an hour. Thusly, I wore five funny Irish t-shirts in preparation for the night’s activities. The first hour started by walking into the pub and slamming down several shots of whiskey and ordering my first pint of green beer. Huge mistake for a typically light drinker. I gave my first funny Irish t-shirt away and kissed a pretty girl on the cheek.
The second hour found me farther down the street. I was separated from my friends and I was getting too drunk to care anymore. To illustrate this point, I gave away two of my funny Irish t-shirts to two girls to watch them kiss each other. I shed another funny Irish t-shirt to do body shots off of a chunky girl in the corner, who seemed pretty excited that someone wanted to hang out with her. I then made out with her for at least fifteen minutes.
Hour number three began with me getting punched in the face by the chubby girl’s brother. I swear I was trying to give her one of my funny Irish t-shirts before I moved down to the first pub in order to find my missing brother, who turns out got a ride to another pub to meet up with all of our friends. I was alone and very drunk, but I guess people felt sorry for me because I kept finding drinks in my hand. Hour three was a blur.
Hour four is a mystery, because I do not remember anything until I started sobering up at hour nine. Hour nine found me in the custody of the police, wearing no funny Irish t-shirts at all, my eyes raw and red from what I can only presume was pepper spray, and my hair dyed green. Not only do I not remember anyone dying my hair green, but I do not remember going to jail. I am still paying court costs for the incident and I doubt I will be going out for any Saint Patrick’s Day celebrations at all.
