9 a.m. Ahh, how wonderful it feels to sleep in on the weekends! Seize the day with the energy you have from a full night's sleep.
9:03 a.m. LOL. What is this, dorm life? Disneyland? Sleeping past 7 a.m. is for youths. Whether you woke up early for your child, your dog, or because your body is a slave to the corporate world at all hours of every day, hi and welcome to being a begrudging morning person.
10 a.m. "So, are we going to the parade this year?" texts your one alcoholic hopeful friend, who plays a "responsible adult" front but is low-key looking for any excuse to day-rage. You know, the friend who will vigorously agree when you jokingly suggest flying to Vegas for the night.
10:01 a.m. "no."
11 a.m. Welp it's time to drive to the parade. Yes, drive. Your suburbian ass is not about to pay for a surcharged Uber to Greenville Avenue.
11:40 a.m. You parked 60 miles away from the parade (only slightly exaggerated), but you finally made it and found your friends. You sip a light beer.
12 p.m. It's more crowded than you remember. There are more blacked-out young 20-somethings than you remember. (Maybe because you used to black out.)
12:30 p.m. A group of people next to you to chant, "JELL-O SHOTS!" and to your utter horror, they are your friends. You give them the look that says, "Please, God, no," but they shove one of those tiny plastic tubs in your hands. You take it, trying to remember the last time you actually took a Jell-O shot, and before you've even finished your thought, your stomach starts to hurt.
12:31 p.m. Heartburn.
12:45 p.m. Because aging and digestive tracts are jokes from hell, the Jell-O shot is hurting your stomach so badly that it's actually sobering you up. You begin to ask your friends, strangers, cops, anyone nearby if they have TUMS to share.
12:48 p.m. A kind pregnant woman hands you two Pepcid AC Maximum Strength tablets. It's instant relief and your life is forever changed by this miracle drug.
1 p.m. The drunken atmosphere of the parade is peaking, with loud music pouring from the floats, the smell of beer permeating the fresh outdoor air and a smattering of "woos" from drunk people.
1:01 p.m. However, you are completely oblivious to everything around you. You don't even know what's going on. You're on your phone, looking up that heartburn miracle drug on Amazon, scouring products for same-day delivery service.
1:30 p.m. Your yard man calls. You answer because you forgot he was coming today and you didn't unlock your backdoor. Good luck remembering to reschedule that.
2 p.m. The parade is over. Your friends congregate to decide on the next plan, and it serves as a bold reminder of the polarizing lifestyle differences at your age: Half of your friends are married with children, and the other half are both single and single-handedly keeping dating apps in business.
2:40 p.m. Too old to compromise or care, your friend group splits up. Singles head to the bars, and the rest head to the tribute band concert. Once at the concert, you will find hordes of concertgoers too young to know the words to the Lynyrd Skynyrd song playing.
3:10 p.m. Standing is actually exhausting. That's enough tribute bands for one day.
3:30 p.m. One of your more Jell-O shot-enthusiastic friends texts the group, "Wherbe yal at." Their life is now in your hands.
3:33 p.m. Strongly consider leaving all friends and crowded places to buy groceries.
4 p.m. You're a saint. A God. You found your friend and are now ready to accept a Nobel Peace Prize.
4:30 p.m. Beat the dinner crowds and head to Desperados. Go for the queso bandito, stay for the margs.
6 p.m. Three margaritas and about 12 pounds of Mexican food later, St. Patrick's Day truly is the best day of the year! How could you ever question how sacred and holy this day is? You feel great, empowered, prepared to celebrate and commemorate the rest of the day, through the night and early morning hours! Long live Ireland! Erin go bragh!
6:20 p.m. This is about the time your significant other calls to check in, assesses the situation, and orders your Uber or Lyft ride home.
6:45 p.m. You almost made it through the whole day, almost avoided the rental ride home, this close to buying groceries.
7 p.m. You're asleep in bed.
Alas, even those who feel too old for St. Patrick's Day shall find they too succumb to the spirit of the leprechaun.
Keep the Dallas Observer Free... Since we started the Dallas Observer, it has been defined as the free, independent voice of Dallas, and we would like to keep it that way. Offering our readers free access to incisive coverage of local news, food and culture. Producing stories on everything from political scandals to the hottest new bands, with gutsy reporting, stylish writing, and staffers who've won everything from the Society of Professional Journalists' Sigma Delta Chi feature-writing award to the Casey Medal for Meritorious Journalism. But with local journalism's existence under siege and advertising revenue setbacks having a larger impact, it is important now more than ever for us to rally support behind funding our local journalism. You can help by participating in our "I Support" membership program, allowing us to keep covering Dallas with no paywalls.