….is every alcoholic’s excuse for his actions.

For those of you who often say, “He has a real estate blog, and sometimes he doesn’t even write about real estate,” you might want to skip this post.

It’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to…

Forgive me if I sound like a party-pooper, and I certainly hope I don’t take anything away from last night’s festivities, but I just don’t understand the point, the fascination, nor the practice of St. Patrick’s Day.

First of all, who is St. Patrick?

I just think it’s somewhat lame that society uses this excuse to drink needlessly and in excess, when I guarantee only ONE out of every TEN-THOUSAND people in who celebrate the event actually know who St. Patrick is.

Saint Patrick was a patron saint of Ireland who lived circa 390 – 460 AD.

Awesome.

Now, let’s drink!

The first time I really “celebrated” St. Patrick’s Day was in second-year university when two new friends of mine suggested we go drinking on the holy day.  My buddy told me, “I’ll pick ya up tomorrow ’round 10:30 or so.”

That was all well and good, until I realized he meant in the morning.

He told me this was the only way we’d ensure we get in to Slainte’s the next day since it was sure to be packed.

I had never even heard of this bar before, and can guarantee that on 364 nights of the year, it sits empty.  And I’d be willing to bet good money that they aren’t even open at 10:30AM any other day!

We arrived at Slainte Irish Pub around 11AM, and fortune smiled upon us that day since we beat the line of people who soon formed behind us and gleefully waited to gain admittance in their silly hats and shamrock-shoes.

The noise of the awful Celtic band was overwhelming, but was not unlike any other night club in any other city where you have to shout to speak to the person standing right next to you.

I drank three pints of beer in about ninety minutes, and then for reasons which elude me, we left.

I arrived back home just before 1PM on a Wednesday afternoon, and I was drunk.

This is perhaps the most awful, needless feeling in the world.

Oh sure, the legions of St. Patrick’s Day fans will protest that this is just par for the course, but who wants to be drunk at NOON on a WEEKDAY?  Oh, right….alcoholics…

I hate Celtic music.

It’s awful, and it all sounds the same.  And who really likes the song “Home For a Rest” anyways?  Isn’t that a little overplayed?

I hate green beer.

I hate Guinness.  Is this not the most vile concoction ever created?  It’s as thick as molasses!

And most of all, I hate university kids who need yet another reason to drink.  Call me an ole’ fuddy-duddy, but as I approach my 29th birthday, I have no desire to dawn a green t-shirt and jockey for position in a sardine-can of a bar amidst drunken nineteen-year-olds for which drinking is merely a formality in order to puke.

Last night, my friends and I got together not because it was St. Patrick’s Day, but rather because we don’t see eachother enough and it seemed like the perfect excuse.

We avoided any and all Irish bars, and ended up at Brass Taps on The Danforth.  But even this bar was packed to the rafters!  We finally got “a spot” where we could relax, which in this case meant leaning against the out-of-order pool table.

Seriously.

Leaning against a pool table was the best we could do.

Forget actually sitting down in a booth, or even standing at bar-tables; we were just pleased to have something to lean against!

There’s something seriously wrong with this picture.

And by the time the fifth drunken moron spilled green beer all over himself and the people around him, it was time to seek greener pastures (pardon the pun…).

The crazy part is, I’m actually Irish!  But I just don’t think that getting needlessly drunk on a weeknight and painting the town green is the best way to respect and celebrate my heritage.

I’m aware that St. Patrick’s Day isn’t the only holiday or special event that is blown out of proportion.

Who is St. Valentine?  And why is it that on this one day a year, we feel obligated to spend needless sums of money on consumer goods for our wives and girlfriends?  Sorry, I shouldn’t say “feel obligated;” I should say “are pressured,” since the Chocolate-Flower-Diamond-Consortium has spent billions and billions of dollars in the last few decades to turn the event into a materialistic extravaganza.

As a child, I used to count and catalogue every single present I got for Christmas, which to 99% of the people who celebrate it has lost all meaning.

So in the end, maybe St. Patrick’s Day is no different.  The Toronto Raptors have been wearing green jersey’s for the past two games.  If a person, company, or product can benefit from St. Patrick’s Day, they will.

But I don’t understand it.

How many people across our city have wicked hangovers this morning?

How much coffee and Tylenol is being consumed by the cubicle-dwellers in downtown Toronto?

Was it worth it?

I guess part of what spurred me to write this post was watching the 6PM news last night and seeing interviews with people who had been sitting in bars drinking all day, and were proud to tell the reporter, “I took the day off work today so I could drink for ten hours and celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.”

Wow.

How different they and I truly are.

I’d rather have gone for a run outside on a beautiful 14-degree day then sit in a dingy bar drowning in my sorrows.

And if I was going to take a day off work, I’d rather save up a few in a row and go skiing or do something seemingly more rewarding.

But that’s just me.

We’re all entitled to our own opinions.

It’s just that those who “celebrate” St. Patrick’s Day probably don’t remember theirs, or aren’t sober enough to formulate one in the first place….