St. Patrick’s Day Is Not Special

Because I have gotten wasted every night since November 9

By Siobhan Saffron Jenkins, Guest Columnist

St. Patrick’s Day is neither a good holiday, nor a special one. It is just another day for me to drink an entire bottle of bourbon alone in my apartment, as I have every day since November 9.

The green is entirely coincidental.

Do you think you need a parade as an excuse to get wasted? You do not. I knock back a Guinness and Baileys-mimosa chaser as soon as The New York Times arrives on my doorstep, whether I’m wearing green or not. Today is not special. You can live to forget every day, just as I have since 3:30am on November 9, 2016.

You don’t need to pretend to be Irish to drink a case of Coors Light every afternoon, you just need a pulse and an internet connection. In fact, you know what starts with the same letter as St. Patrick’s Day? Sean Spicer. I dare you to sit through one of his pressers without at least eight Tanqueray and tonics. I can knock back two before he’s even squeaked out his first “robust.”

Don’t think you’re better than me because you have a shower beer only one day a year. I turned my shower head into a margarita machine just so I can be lush enough to check Twitter. Yes, I have gotten drunk and flashed my breasts in exchange for beads on a random Wednesday after watching The Lead With Jake Tapper. It doesn’t need to be St. Patrick’s Day; it just needs to be a day when the White House does some shit. (Oh, gee, but isn’t that every day? Yeah, now you’re getting it. Try to keep up.)

So please, stop pretending this day means anything, especially when the only thing stopping you from drinking every day is a lack of interest in the world around you. Remember, if you’re not drunk, you’re not paying attention.*

*And if you are paying attention, please do so responsibly.

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