Dear St. Patrick's Day,

I don't understand you. Most of the time you pass by and I barely even register the fact that everyone around me is wearing green, talking in incredibly awful faux-Irish accents and drunk. I don't think I've ever been intoxicated on St. Patrick's Day, and I'm not sure why. Maybe you just don't encourage me to drink as much as Christmas does.

Christmas is crazy, because there are so many family things happening and everyone is merry but also, possibly, insane, and then suddenly your drinking aged Merlot in the kitchen with your mother helping her make a bizarre Christmas breakfast consisting of Kraft Cheese Slices and inappropriate spousal abuse references.

To be honest, I don't drink much at all. Two large glasses of Strawberry Zinfandel eventually lead to me phoning the guy I like and giggling at him in a drunken stupor, as though I'm a graduate of the remedial class of dating. My cheeks get all flushed red and everything is endlessly hilarious and I have tons of great ideas that mostly involve taking off my pants and dancing with a broom to some random Christina Aguilera song.

Tonight I'm going to a party! Yesterday, because I am smooth as butter, I slipped and fell in a patch of mud along one of the back paths and skinned both my knees. I am pretty much as graceful as a sack of really awesomely dressed potatoes. "Awesomely dressed" because nothing is hotter than coupling a brown velvet skirt covered in sequins with a pair of bright red crocs. And then wearing it to a job interview.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, St. Patrick's Day, I GOT A NEW JOB!! I am a lab aid at the hospital now, which means I get to wear a lab coat and say things like, "To the Lab-Or-A-Tory!!" while possibly singing an especially operatic version of "Monster Mash". I'm pretty excited. I might have "I'm a Lab Aid" emblazoned on a tshirt. And then I'll wear it to work. And do a backflip-round off-splits combo just to enforce how awesome I am.

Anyways, what I'm really trying to say here, is that this is the first time I've celebrated St. Patrick's Day since elementary school when I made construction paper leprechauns, and while the huge parties we used to have then were riddled with booze and recess showings of Helen Keller's Miracle Worker, I am pretty excited to be officially embracing you again as a blatant, entirely transparent excuse to party.

Keep it real,
Sarah

Labels: Open Letters