Irish Whiskey Makes Me Frisky

Heyyy happy St. Patrick's Day!

I'm listening to U2 (like I needed an excuse) to celebrate. In an effort to make this a more family friendly blog (see note), I'm not going to say how I would really like to celebrate today (it rhymes with...uhh...whiskey. Okay, its whiskey.)

So, lets see. It's St. Patrick's day... this seems like an appropriate time to do a slightly obligatory middle-schoolesque essay, "What Being Irish Means to Me."

My great-great uncle founded the IRA, so I am required to have at least some Irish-American pride.

Hmmm...I think my first favorite thing about being Irish would be my iron-clad liver. My Italian mother can only have one or two drinks before she is sick, and my brother is the same. My father, on the other hand, is and always has been a tank, and I inherited some of that tankliness from him.

Or maybe my first favorite thing would be our sense of humor. While some groups freak out from the tiniest joke, Irish-Catholics handle jokes like champs, and more often than not are the ones cracking them. (Although, if there is malice with these jokes, you'll get the shit beat out of you, so watch yourself.)

So, being Irish is cool. I am glad that I am half Irish (the other half, of course, being Italian. The Long Island Mix)

OH! My number one favorite thing about being Irish? That I come from a group of people that were convinced to change from paganism to Christianity by a three-leaf clover. Really think about that one.

Note: Both of my brothers are on facebook; it is only matter of time before they somehow find this, too. I have to comb through and get rid of some stuff as it is.