Bad luck of the Irish

by Caitlin Johnson

Everyone wants to be a little bit Irish. I know I have some green in my blood, as a mutt with a lineage tracing all across Europe. But the real reason anyone claims to be Irish is because we are trying to use it as an excuse for our hilarious drunken escapades.

My friends call me a “lightweight.” Sure, I get that my small frame may be mistaken for a leprechaun. But from what I remember, I can hold my liquor.

Okay, so that’s a lie.

I’ll admit I’ve had my fair share of mornings where I literally wake up asking, “Why’s the rum gone?” It’s probably not a good thing when you can tell a story about the time you got lost in the movie theater and your friends thought you had died in the bathroom. Perhaps I shoudn’t be laughing at the fact I nearly drowned in a Las Vegas swimming pool because drunk me thought it was a good idea to see how long I could hold my breath underwater. Being a journalist, I have a call recorder on my phone. There’s no better way to encourage abstinance from alcohol than by listening to yourself drunkenly confessing your love to someone in a voicemail.

But what’s college without hazy memories and bad choices?

If anything, Drunk Me is teaching Sober Me what not to do after graduation. I’d like to think she’s looking out for me in that way. Drunk Me is actually fairly considerate. She knows Sober Me is going to be upset the next morning, so she usually makes sure to drink water and put herself properly to bed. Yet, Sober Me wonders why Drunk Me can’t just say “no” to one more drink.

I am not an alcoholic, nor am I truly Irish. Heck, I don’t even have red hair. I suppose sometimes it’s just fun to play the part with everyone else, especially during the holidays. And there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else in the process. It’s about safely getting it out of your system before you finally have to grow up and become a responsible adult. It’s just not classy when you’re the 40-year-old at the frat party who thinks she fits in, pierced belly button exposed by her skimpy T-shirt as she waves her arms and tries to sloppily kiss the cute freshmen boys. Even Drunk Me doesn’t want to be that person, and you shouldn’t either.

This St. Patrick’s Day, go enjoy yourself. You’re young, you’ve worked hard and you deserve it. But remember you’re not the only person in the world, and consider the feelings of Sober You when you make your plans this weekend. Your pot of gold may be nothing more than an amber ale, but the real treasure is being able to find your pants the next morning.