I love St. Patrick's Day. I love the cheezy plastic crap every beer company hands out. I love the weird hats. I love wearing green. I love pinching people. I love it when it's a nice day and I love it when it's crap weather. I love drinking early in the day and I love that I run out of money and somehow manage to keep scoring drinks. I love it when Michele buys Jell-o shots to go. I love it when Stefanie wears her straw hat and her Vanity Fair flip-flops. I love it when Sebastien can't stand up straight. I love talking to strangers. I love playing Spot The Foreigner. I love having to walk home because I spent all my cab fare. I love being the first to arrive and among the last ones standing, except for that time I had a migraine and went to sleep in Jacquie's driveway. I love ruining whatever shoes I wear that year. I love being absolutely covered in spilled beer at the end of the day. I love watching the mounted police clearing the street. I love watching people get arrested. I love bumming pizza off strangers. I love going home in a complete shambles every year. I love looking at the pictures and not remembering being in any of them. I love all of it. Every last alcohol-soaked minute of the day.
I do not love the port-a-johns. It's a personal badge of honor how long I can wait before I have no choice.
So join me if you will. It is DisRespecca's biggest appearance of the year. You might even call it her birthday, her bat mitzvah, her sweet 16, her Golden Anniversary, her raison d'etre.
This Saturday. Greenville Avenue. As early as possible. I think I'll have pancakes at IHOP around 10 and then head to The Dubliner.
It's possible I may act inappropriately and loudly. I will tell you I love you. I will probably spit when I talk. I will boldly go where lots of people are also going. I will revel in my abandon, Tom Petty-style.
Go on. I double dirty dog dare you to come with. And bring extra money. I'm so going to make you buy me drinks.
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