AMATEUR NIGHT: ALL THOSE TIMES YOU CAN'T SEEM TO PARTY LIKE A GROWN-UP
Happy March everyone, or what those of us residing in near-subarctic climates refer to as “the home stretch.” Daylight savings begins restoring our will to live on March 8th, and the first day of spring makes it official on the 21st (and I see you there too, World Kidney Day, you little cutie pie, I couldn’t forget you!) Also, I think there’s a bunch of made up religious stuff going on too but that’s neither here nor there because SAINT PATRICK’S DAAAAY! Saint Patrick’s Day, otherwise known in North America as “the day every jukebox in every dive bar is playing that Dropkick Murphys song from The Departed.” It’s an exciting time for those who can appreciate green milkshakes, and drinking, but for those of us having already reached (or are currently in the process of reaching) our alcoholic rock bottom, there’s a special name for holidays like these: Amateur Night. Amateur Night applies to several recognized holidays wherein the prospect of getting sloppy hammered all day in public attracts those not found already sitting home and getting sloppy hammered in isolation. St. Patrick’s Day certainly is not the only holiday reaching Amateur Night status; there are plenty of other days of the year to make an ass out of yourself both in person, and on the internet.
New Year’s Eve. January 1. I’m not sure how this ended up being the grandfather of drinking holidays, but whoo boy, do people love to get twisted up for New Years! What better way to recall the previous year then by immediately erasing any memory of it, and how better can we set ourselves up for the promise of a new one than to greet it with the partially digested foods of yesteryear? New Year’s Eve activities typically look like this: dress up, selfies, black out, Taco Bell, reevaluate life choices as you pull your disgusting self together to make the brunch shift you got scheduled to work the next day. I can tell I’m either getting older, or have been sober for a little while now, as when I asked friends if they were doing anything this past NYE, I was met with a unanimous “fuck no.” Shots may be fun, but jaded just feels better- fits nice, like cashmere.
The Super Bowl. No idea when this happens. February? For as much as I hate sports, and drinking-centered holidays, the Super Bowl is actually the one thing on this list I can get behind, as this one highly encourages pizza consumption. Much like any party I attend, you can find me at the pizza and chips table at a Super Bowl party, blatantly refusing to even feign interest in whatever else is going on. No, I’m just kidding, I don’t get invited to parties.
Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. February. More like “Party Gras!” Actually, that is exactly what I thought Mardi Gras was, a party, I had no idea it was a holiday that signified anything. I do know that showing of the nudie parts is highly encouraged during Fat Tuesday celebrations, which isn’t actually all that risqué or exciting to me as I have to transfer at Canal Street everyday anyway so, not much different from any other Tuesday. I do love me a marching band, though.
St. Patrick’s Day. March 17th. If Dick Butkus is the patron saint of class clowns, and Saint Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland, then St. Patrick’s Day is the patron saint of Amateur Night. For all you self-important dicks out there that are all “I’m Irish, I’M IRISH!” let me clue you in on a little something: everyone in the Northeast is fucking Irish. I’m Korean and I’m somehow still a little Irish, so calm down, shut up, and just tell us why you’re really so happy (“I’m drinking, I’M DRINKING! There are girls here in shamrock sunglasses AND THEY’RE DRINKING TOO!”)
Cinco de Mayo. May 5th. This one isn’t even really our holiday and we somehow managed to finagle a few margaritas out of it. Most people mistake May 5th for Mexico’s Independence Day, but most people are idiots, so you can’t really blame them. Not me though. I’m not sure if you noticed back there but ehh... well I translated Cinco de Mayo into English for you. Yep , I can count to five in Spanish, proving doubters everywhere (mom) once and for all that I am no idiot... I’M IRISH!
July 4th (Duh). The Fourth of July just feels really gross to me for some reason; the whole thing is like a Kid Rock video. When I think of the Fourth of July I just picture shirtless dudes yelling “WHOOOO!”, but unlike Mardi Gras there aren’t even any beads! Also bad about the Fourth of July: fireworks scare my dog, forcing me to stay home and shield her from the environmental stress like any good, insane person would, which I suppose keeps me home and away from any trouble. You know, I know I technically rescued her... but sometimes it’s like... who rescued who, you know? (I did, I have the paperwork, I OWN YOUR ASS, BITCH!)
The eve of any holiday in which you have to go back to your hometown for. What better way to measure cool points after the social structure of high school has been diminished yet the years of residual resentment have only exponentiated over time? Shots! Shots and a credit card. Actually this one shouldn’t be on the list either as this is kind of just a fact of life- there’s no way around it, we’re all in this one together. This year let’s try to support one another and commiserate over how much we hate our families.
I realize I just took a big number two all over everything most of you have to look forward to in your otherwise boring lives, but you don’t have to feel mad or embarrassed; if you want to avoid looking like a lameass to a snarky writer who uses her words to hide behind, all you have to do is develop a crippling dependency to heavy narcotics until your only remaining chance at a life worth living is total abstinence! Then we can point and laugh at everyone on the together! Well not “together” together... you can DM me on Twitter though I guess.