Wake up, game face on. Pack your bag with all the green clothing you own. Wear a green scarf at work, it shows your coworker that you are not a Debbie Downer around the holidays. However, don't be the guy who shows up in head to toe in all different shades of green. You are not a leprechaun or amusing.
Go to your 9 to 5 and only eat a salad for lunch.
Instead of making your daily required phone calls, spend your day texting everyone you know to meet you at such and such a bar. But remember to change the location of which bar at least once every fifteen minutes, pissing everyone off.
Watch the clock for the rest of the day.
5:30 on the dot and you are out of your fancy clothes and putting on your green eye liner and attire.
Get to the finally decided already incredibly packed bar (at 6pm.) and instantly order a shot of whiskey and 2 bud light drafts, to start.
Since you only ate lettuce all day, the smell from the whiskey should already get you tipsy. Get hit on by the lonely bar creeper and the married man, but still make playful eye contact with the boy you will never have the nerve to talk to.
The beers have now taken their effect.
Raise the volume of your voice and laugh at everything that is not funny.
Try to create a dance floor out of the space between the bar area and the dinning room. You will most likely have no success in getting others to join you. However, you are of course the greatest dancer in all of Boston, so you are ok with owning the floor in your one man show.
A boy will now try to impress you and offer to buy you a drink. You'll accept and ask for a whiskey ginger. He will return with a bud light dollar draft. You will not be shocked, this is Boston and most guys are tools. Drink 'free' beer, and get ready for him to tell you that the next round is on your tab. Run away.
Steal any type of clothing (leprechaun hats, glasses, beads, etc.) from the next person who approaches you. Leave the bar before they can take it back.
Head toward Fanieul Hall. Find a random boy to have a heel clapping contest with you. Own it. Then continue to the next bar.
Cut the line. And when that doesnt work, allow one of your friends to kindly shell out $130 to the bouncer to get the group into the bar.
It's now time to unleash the St. Pattys stickers you had hidden in your wallet. It's a known fact: Everyone loves stickers. You have now made yourself a few new friends. One of which is very unwanted. Relocate to new area in the bar. Create another dance floor. Own it.
Check time. 9:30.
Continue to text everyone you know to come meet you at the new bar but disregard the fact that the line to get in is over an hour long. Minor Details.
Where are all your roommates? One is lost out on Mission Hill, pants shitting drunk, probably crying over chapstick. One is already home cuddled up to a half eaten bag of tortilla chips at her bed side. More importantly, where is your leprechaun hat ? ! ?!
Your time to call it a night is approaching fast. Bring this to the attention of your last man standing friend and she trys to convince you to head to the Fenway area. However, you have had all the green beer you can drink and more phone calls to make at 9AM. You seriously contemplate following her to the next bar with the oh so popular "you only live once" motto.
Convince your self that you believe in reincarnation and promise the next 'you' that you will continue to rage on St. Patricks Day. Proceed to Hynes and wah lah! The C line pulls up right away. You are about to find a nice quiet seat alone to put on you head phones and mellow out to Justin Beiber when your name is called out by bar regulars from your other job.
You have no excuse but to talk to them so you take the opportunity to get into a drunken ramble as to why they should never eat/drink at this place of employment because it is over priced and zero fun sir. They will just nod their heads in amusement, and will not take your bitter advice.
Jump off the T right as they are closing the doors to your stop. You are 'that guy'. Race home, Rape kitchen. Egg white with half a bottle of ketchup, two week old pizza, and lucky charms (keeping the st patricks theme alive til the very end) become the reason for your horrible stomach ache in about 7 hours.
Jump into bed and turn on your 6 favorite F.R.I.E.N.D.S. from New York and remind yourself how cool it is that you bought all ten seasons for $11 in Vietnam. Never gets old, to you at least.
Pass out after 3 minutes, dream of random people you havent seen in years and how they became magicians and live in a studio apartment on Beacon Hill that also turns into the stage on American Idol.
Hit snooze 5 times before waking up. Do a head count in the apartment. Once everyone is accounted for, continue the day as normal.
Spend the T ride to work going through all the text messages from last night, and give yourself a pat on the back if there are no inappropriate ones in the bunch.
Deep breath. You survived.
Now spend the next 48 hours preparing for the parade on Sunday . . .
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