St. Patrick's Day, I Should Point Out, Sucks

I want to love it like Alice does. I've been looking out my office window and noticing how all the tree buds have filled out; Dallas is awash in a sea of green, and it won't be long before the sun bakes everything into a mottled brown. Why not throw on a green shirt, find a nice pub and drink down 17 pints of beer while singing terrible folk songs?

Oh yeah. Because you can't.

While this is my first St. Patrick's Day in Dallas, I know where this is headed. All the decent pubs will open early and stay packed all day. Trying to finding a seat at the bar will be like trying to find free valet parking downtown, and drunk people who I don't like will constantly invade my personal space while I drink.

I could go to a non-Irish bar, but things would only be worse. European and craft drafts will get replaced with keg after keg of horse piss, and while I love my horse piss (Budweiser, specifically), pints of green beer make me so angry I want to cock punch a leprechaun.

I might try my go-to tactic, the holiday flip-flop, wherein I patronize a Mexican restaurant on St. Patrick's Day (margaritas are green) and an Irish Pub on Cinco de Mayo (they always have at least one Mexican beer). But I've had so much Tex-Mex lately my insides feel like one big sour cream enchilada.

Maybe I'll fill up a flask with Jameson and check out this parade that Mark Cuban saved. If there's one thing I've noticed Dallas does well, it's big, outdoor parties. Oktoberfest and the Greek Festival just about blew my mind; why not a Greenville Avenue Parade? Maybe if I ditch out a touch early I'll be able to grab a stool at the Dubliner before the massive crowd pushes in behind me. Drunk people invading my space won't be as bothersome as long as I can get drunker than they are first.

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