Kissing the Blarney Stoned

St Patrick’s Day. I began thinking about this upcoming holiday and my drinking past as I was being bombarded by radio advertisements for drunk poker walks and organized bar hopping. Events perversely planned and executed to honor a long dead saint.

Some might say it’s a holiday FOR alcoholics, however the practicing alcoholic I once was would have said it is a holiday FROM alcoholism. Yeah I know this may seem a little counterintuitive, but there actually is quite a good reason for making this statement.

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You see the green day, along with the last/first day and scary day, are customarily regarded as excessive drinking days. So they are the only days of the year when alcoholics get to fit in; no lies necessary. When receiving the evil eye for that first beer in the morning, I just pointed to the emerald green shirt and shamrock pin with a wink. Actually on the thirteenth beer of the afternoon, instead of meekly saying it’s only my second I would get to doff the green plastic derby and proudly proclaim it to be a drunken baker’s dozen. Visiting every bar on the block that night was not only accepted, it was expected.

For a glorious day I was just like everyone else. But the next day when everyone else was peeing green and dealing with a hangover, I was back to hiding that first beer in the morning. And the only reason why nobody suspected I was on the thirteenth beer of the afternoon was that I had visited every bar on the block and drank a respectful two. The night… well the night was for drinking alone because I was just too tired to lie.

I would keep that green plastic hat all year; in fact I would even wear it in hopes to inspire others to get back into the holiday spirit. It saddens me now to recollect and understand the why and the how of my actions. Kissing the blarney stoned once a year is all the sane folks could handle- sort of like a near brush with alcoholism. For me though, it was a holiday from alcoholism and for just a short while I became “normal”.

You want to spot the “me” of twenty years ago, just wait till noon the day after St. Patrick’s and watch for the guy or the gal still wearing the goofy plastic hat. I’ll bet you see a forlorn sadness in their eyes as they watch the world slip back into sobriety and the realization that they have to slink back into the shadows.