Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone. As the resident drunken Irishwoman, I feel the need to impart some wisdom upon you all. I'll admit freely: I'm quite drunk. Which is one of the many reasons this column wasn't posted before St. Patrick's Day, instead of the night of. It's also one of the reason's this will probably be the shortest column I'll write. Ever.

So. You're looking for that excuse to be Irish. Let me impart a few words of wisdom from the fine city of Boston, before you go dragging your sorry drunk ass around in a whirlwind of alcohol. To help you, not tonight (since I'm obviously too late to do much good now), let me dispel some common myths for you:

Kiss me, I'm Irish. Ok buddy, it was almost cute for about five minutes. But let me tell you. When your name is Juan, I'm pretty damn sure that you aren't Irish. Let me put it this way: I'm not making out with you because you're wearing that damn pin that say "kiss me I'm Irish". I'm making out with you because I'm drunk. So lose the pin. It just makes you look like a loser.

You gotta drink green beer for St. Patty's Day. NO. Just stop right now. While you may claim that green beer is "festive" and that you're celebrating the holiday, what you're really saying to me is: "I'm a pansy ass. Watch me drink my green beer and pretend I'm cool". If you want to pretend to be Irish, drink a real beer. Guinness, Bass Ale, Killigans. Or, if you want to be hardcore, drink some whiskey damnit. Because if a girl (i.e. me.) can beat you in a drinking contest, then really, how attractive is that?

Speaking with a fake Irish accent is so cool. No, damnit! No! Stop. You're hurting my ears with you horrible attempt to be witty and clever. I don't care if you can say clever Irish sayings with a bad Irish accent. I really only care about whether or not you can buy my next drink, and if it's going to be worth making out with you tonight, for the pain it might cause tomorrow. So cut the accent, buy me a drink, and settle down. Because a real Irish girl knows when you're faking.

I'd come up with a few more myths to prove wrong, except it's St. Patrick's Day, and a half a bottle of Jack Daniel's says that it's almost time to go to bed. So if you'll excuse me, I've got to make out with a boy pretending to be Irish. Because everyone is Irish on St. Patrick's Day in Boston. Except for you, you asshole. Who do you think you're fooling?