Will the real St. Patty please stand up…

Walking into work today wearing an appropriately festive green and white plaid blouse, I realized I was missing a large chunk of Celtic knowledge. Aside from the green beer, corned beef & cabbage, and shamrock décor festivities of St. Patrick’s Day, I had no awareness to the actual facts behind this passionate celebration. Since I was little I have merrily commemorated this day by wearing green, plucking clovers, and in more recent times consuming my fair share of alcoholic beverages. I have even attended the dying of the Chicago river numerous times, but never did I stop to ask myself Who is Saint Patrick?, Why was he important?, What is his association with Ireland? Per usual, I must have been too consumed (wasted) with the excitement of the day, and not so much with the context. So today, I read up on this very green holiday.


Long story short St. Patrick’s Day is an originally Catholic celebration of the patron saint of Ireland. Born into a very wealthy and godly British family around the 5th century, Patrick had long standing family connections to the Catholic Church. At the age of 16 he was captured and enslaved in Ireland. Able to flee captivity, he returned to Britian where he began his mission toward priesthood. Eventually he was called back to Ireland to lead the Irish, both rich and poor into a Catholic lifestyle. It is my guess that he succeeded considering the million and two times I have heard people reffered to as “Irish-Catholic” in my great city of Chicago.

The shamrock, rather than the “lucky” four-leaf clover, graces March 17th as a beloved symbol because Patrick used it as a tool to teach the idea of Holy Trinity to the Irish people. One leaf each for the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Green is also associated with St. Patrick due to the many shades of green that grace clovers, as well as the ribbons wore in the 17th century to celebrate his death.

I hope you feel at least one Leprechaun step more informed after reading this, I know I do. Now go out there and celebrate the day of St. Patrick. As the saying goes “Patty’s Day- Everyone’s Irish on March 17th.”

Gaga googoo…

Walking into my 3^rd floor apartment this afternoon, I almost ralphed as my eyes were drawn to the 14 Cosmopolitan magazines flaunted across my coffee table. Month after month, without fail my roommate or I dish out the $4.29 for this 220-page packet of chick. I mean, God forbid we have a subscription to this trash.  Really, it is much less humiliating to continuously purchase each edition at one of the 20ish CVS locations in the loop, rather than having it delivered to our front door. Doubtful.

Each months issue is altered just enough from the one prior, to convince us that we can in no way live without it. The headlining celebrity alone, be it Kim Kardashian, Megan Fox, or Lindsay Lohan (circa April 2006), manipulates us to drool at the pure thought of reading its contents.  I must say my favorite part is the bold sexual headline that graces each new cover. “The sex article we can’t describe here”, “100% Hotter Sex”, or my personal favorite, “What he’s thinking during sex.” When did we become such slores? Why do we feel the need to read through endless oral sex tips, embarrassing moments, and diets clues? It must be that we find our own lives inadequate to those of the featured beauties. Which is hard to believe considering what has occurred in the last handful of weekend’s… blackouts, plan

B, broken ribs, mysterious receipts…

That said, the newest issue of this women’s handbook, features a barley clad Lady Gaga. Its contents include the usual facts, figures, and tools to improve our femininity and sexual appeal. Thanks, but no thanks. I rather not take tips from Gaga on how to ‘attract’ men, let alone ‘dress for success.’ Remember she did just poison Tyrese with Beyonce’s ‘honey’ in her Telephone video, and wore what looked like a lace crawfish to the VMA’s. Trust me, I rather take dating advice from gold medal mother Dina Lohan.

With a dream and my cardigan…

Per usual, my roommate and I were running amuck in Wrigleyville this weekend to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day when the unbelievable happened. As we turned to continue up the stairs from the basement bathrooms of Casey Moran’s, a seemingly ‘normal’ guy yelled, “Look it’s Miley Cyrus!” and pointed in our direction. Completely bewildered, we both immediately looked behind us figuring that there was no chance in hell that he was talking about one of us. It turns out, he was. This non-attractive definitely ineligible bachelor was indeed referring to me, as Miley Cyrus, the 17 year old ex Disney Channel/Hannah Montana star and daughter of Billy Ray. Let it be known that aside from the long dark brunette hair, there is a very limited physical resemblance between janky toothed Cyrus and me. Also, she is obviously under the legal drinking age of 21. I mean I know they do things a little different in Tennessee, but they do not allow 17 year olds into bars, especially on holiday weekends. That aside, what was this guy thinking?!? I have come up with two possible answers to what could have been running through his Styrofoam ball of a head. First, maybe he thought I idolized her, and that referring to me as the mighty Cyrus would give him a one way ticket into my pants? Doubtful, yet believable from a twenty-something skeeze-ball at Casey’s. Second, he might have been hallucinating due to all of the bright green t-shirts, Mardi Gras beads, and beer that he actually believed I was the one and only Nashville teen star. Either way, I guess I will take it as a complement, and remember to dye my hair back light ASAP.

Green Beer Day Chicago...

Yes, here in Chicago, along with most other towns in the USA, we celebrate the remarkable holiday of St. Patrick’s Day by binge drinking on the Saturday before. It has become a favorite day to many city dwellers of all ages, and is regarded a time to let loose, wear green, and make-out with random strangers. (you people know who you are) I was appalled when the @drinktown twitter feed, dedicated to highlighting phenomenal drink and food specials around town, posted a tweet stating, “A lot of people in Chicago don’t realize that today IS NOT St. Patrick’s Day- Saturday is just a convenient day for a parade in Chicago.” Like, you think we don’t realize that?!? Of course we all know that Wednesday the 17th is truly the Celtic holiday, but who can consume gallons upon gallons of green beer on a Wednesday? Let alone the buckets of Irish Car-Bombs that are continuously handed around. I mean seriously, just because we play raging alcoholics on the weekends, doesn’t mean that we don’t know how to flip on the respectable adult light Monday through Friday afternoon. Plus, it would be quite suspicious if nearly 3 million people all called out of work on Wednesday, and happened to wind up nursing their “sickness” at the local Irish Pub… With that said, I will be calling out of work on Wednesday to commemorate my Irish heritage one more time and shove it to @drinktown. :P Happy Patty’s Day

True, Kind, and/or Necessary…

Monday, while deep in office chit chat, a coworker of mine stated, “my mother used to quote MLK, ‘do not speak unless what you plan to say is true, kind, and necessary’.” Now, four days later, this statement continues to perplex me. First of all, I am pretty sure that in and of itself this statement breaks the above rules. I mean, it is debatably true, hardly necessary, and, depending on the tone, definitely not kind. Secondly, if anyone I knew, have met, or once passed on the street followed this rule, they might speak once a week, at best. (Hell, I might take some of them up on that if they cared to offer) In reality we all, myself DEFINITLY included, say things just for the heck of it sometimes. Take a group of friends on a Friday night. Should they be forced to sit in silence until one of them comes up with a true, kind, and necessary story to tell? Or do they just need to be drunk enough for no one to notice?


As much as I wish I had the power to hold back my sardine comments at times, daily banter would get rather boring if we simply stuck to this dim-witted rule.

Peace, yo…

“Yeah. Peace, as in your middle and index finger!”

While partaking in what has become a bi-weekly wine and movie night, my roommate began to scuffle with her long-distance boyfriend over BBM. (Blackberry Messenger, for all you iPiece “of crap”users) The topic of this disagreement is not particularly important, but the way in which the conversation ended surely takes the cake. After seemingly being ignored my roommate decided to end the conversation; the nightcap went as such…

Roommate: “Fine, Peace”

Boyfriend: “Peace?”

Roommate: “Yeah. Peace, as in your middle and index finger!”

I instantly burst into laughter as my roommate reiterated these words to me in a tone full of satisfaction and pride. Be us three bottles of sweet moscato deep, it wasn’t so much the witty words that caused my hilarity as the tone with which they were stated. The sense of accomplishment in her voice created a snooty air that was surprisingly refreshing.

Rodanthe, or Cancun. Is there a difference?...

“Where are they? It looks like Cancun!”

After popping in the Nights in Rodanthe DVD and struggling through the explanation of Diane Lane’s married life, the camera scanned across a beautiful beach landscape. I then looked to my roommate, knowing damn well the title of the film, and stated, “Where is this movie set? It looks like Cancun!”

Any sane person would realize after staring at the DVD cover that the movie was placed in Rodanthe, a beachy North Carolina town with a knack for hurricane weather. Not I… Sardine.