With St. Patrick’s Day just two days away I thought it was time to tell the world a few home truths. Speaking as an Irishwoman, who was born in and still lives in Ireland, I don’t like St. Patrick’s Day. Not because I’m Pagan and it’s a Christian celebration. Far from it, seeing has well over half of all Christian celebrations and ceremonies are actually re-brandings of much older Pagan ones that would just be silly. No, it’s my least favourite day of the year, because of the stupidity that it spreads across the globe.
There are literally dozens of reasons this day makes me cringe. But with a little effort, it can be boiled down to only a few. So lets break it down in to three simple categories here. The social stupidity, St. Patrick’s Day traditions and wannabe Irish folk.
1: Social Stupidity.
I like a drink as much as the next Irish person. I like my whiskey neat, my vodka to be Boru and I prefer it to come in a large glass. But for all that I do have certain rules I follow. Like I don’t get plastered when I’m out and about. (For those who don’t know “plastered” like “pissed”, “locked” and “flutered” are all terms for being a little “worse for the drink” over here in Ireland.) I only drink with someone who I know can stop me before I make a fool of myself. I don’t mix my drinks and above all I make sure I don’t get drunk where there are cameras of any kind.
On this most Irish of days however I don’t drink, at all. Period. Why? Because on this day every idiot in Ireland does get plastered, locked and flutered. They then proceed with, alacrity to make anyone who isn’t drunk feel horribly uncomfortable. And they manage to do this while they orally pebble-dash every available surface, be it the road they’re standing on or someone elses downstairs window. Well anyway turn on the Irish news (or YouTube it) at say 9pm that day to see perfect examples of these.
All of this is bad enough but eventually, usually far sooner than later, someone will remember that he likes women. Oh and it turns out that the drunker he is the more he likes them. Suddenly he can’t keep his hands, lips and sometimes other parts to himself. Suddenly at least one woman’s night is ruined, though it’s actually far more likely to be several women. To give an example from my own life…
Have you ever stood at the bar after ordering a Diet Coke and when you reached into your pocket for your purse found something you didn’t expect? I have. I reached in and found the penis of the only straight guy in a horribly packed out, gay bar waiting for me. He thought it was hilarious. And said with a huge grin on his face that I was only into women cos I hadn’t met the right cock, ’til then. All this was said in a barely comprehensible, drunken drawl.
Silly boy, never say something like that to an angry lesbian…while she’s holding your most vulnerable area.
2: St. Patrick’s Day Traditions.
I know they say that everyone loves a parade, but it’s simply not true. I was a scout leader once upon a time. So I’ve been in my share of Patrick’s Day parades and let me tell you, they suck. If you’re in one you go out and walk through the town, usually not wearing enough, in March! Now March can be lovely and warm. Of course this is like saying that the doner kebab can be delicious. It can be, but it probably won’t. Besides parades are monumentally boring. Seriously I have better things to do than watch you take a walk down the main street in your Order of Malta uniform. I could for example be cleaning the grout in my shower.
I have of course already mentioned the drinking aspect. But somewhat attached to that are stupid outfits. Seriously people it’s not Halloween. There is no reason to wear a costume that you wouldn’t be seen dead in the rest of the year. No really, if you’re not in the hateful parade, you don’t have to dress like a cartoon Saint Patrick and then invite every woman you see to “have an ole rummage under the cassock”. You also don’t need to dress up as the mutant love child of Andre the Giant and a bowl of shamrock. No-one needs to see that.
Parades are of course a tradition, the costumed idiots are more of an expression of national inbreeding which has become tradition in recent years. But my most loathed tradition of this day is actually the wearing of the shamrock. Look I’m not fond of vegetable matter at the best of times. I like my two veg with my meat but apart from that I don’t want a garden. Unless they’re black lilies I don’t want flowers. But most of all I don’t want bloody clover with ambition pinned to the front of my favourite outfit. Quite apart from there being zero evidence that Saint Patrick, ever used shamrock for anything other than something to sit on, it’s ugly, it stains and you’re left with a hole in your top.
This isn’t a self-loathing Irish person speaking by the way, I’m all for showing your national patriotism and pride. But if we have to stick something to our breasts to show our national pride why not a nice Celtic harp? It at least actually is part of ancient Irish culture. But I know this is one that definitely won’t change, not now that Hallmark have their claws in it.
(for the record shamrock actually is just a form of clover, jumped up clover that thinks a bit too much of itself)
3: Wannabe Irish Folk.
To quote The Simpsons, Patrick’s Day is the day that “Everyone’s Irish, except for the gays and the Italians.” Well guess what? They’re not. Just because your great-grandfather once owned a red setter, that was bred in Britain, does not mean you have a claim to being Irish. Lets make this very, very simple. Do you have an Irish passport? Irish birth certificate? I know are you married to an Irish person? No, damn, okay how about an Irish parent? No, they’re both from Bolivia you say, hmm right then how about an Irish grandparent? Still no. Right then, you know what? You’re not frikkin’ Irish, stop claiming to be!
Alright this is by far my least favourite aspect of St’ Patrick’s Day. The legions of wannabe Irish people. I don’t know of any other situation, where someone with no real claim to a nationality will get so…pissy if you deny it to them. Seriously I have actually met a guy once who had seven, seriously seven, Greek great grandparents and a single Irish great grandparent. That’s fine, everyone has to come from somewhere and someone. But this person got so belligerent over their stupid claim to being Irish. Stupid to the point that they absolutely denied that they were Greek, but then tried to punch me for saying they weren’t Irish.
In the first paragraph I was being generous to wannabe Irish people by going as far as their grandparents. It seemed only fair when that’s the criteria to play football for Ireland. But let’s be honest here. Unless you were born in Ireland, were born to Irish parents or have otherwise taken Irish citizenship then you are not in fact Irish. You may well be of Irish descent, which is a damned fine thing to be proud of. But come on be truthful and have some manners towards those who actually are what you only claim to be.
Let’s put it this way, this song…
…isn’t true. You do in fact need to be Irish to be Irish. You don’t however, need to be Irish to be of Irish descent. Just as I am of Spanish descent, but I don’t need to be anything but Irish to still be of Spanish descent. And you know what? I’m proud of my Spanish ancestry. But I don’t wander around Spain declaring myself to be Spanish. ‘Cause I’m not, it would be at the very least, annoying to real Spaniards if I did and frankly, I really don’t want a country that kills bulls for fun pissed with me.
There’s a lesson there world, I’m looking at you America. We Irish don’t kill bulls but we do play hurling and rugby. You have been warned.
My Random Ruminations. 
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