St. Patty's Day in the Chi

Source: Chicago Tribune

Another St. Patrick's Day celebration in Chicago is over, and I say thank goodness. This entire city goes nuts for this holiday, and I've seen enough green vomit and boobs to last me until next year. (Not even exaggerating...keep reading.)

Even though the holiday isn't officially until Thursday, Chicagoans celebrate it the weekend before with a parade, bar hopping and plenty of drunken debauchery. The entire city goes nuts with green t-shirts, painted faces, green beer...even dying their dogs fur green. Starting at the crack of dawn, people start drinking and partying, so by noon they are super annoying if you aren't drunk with them.

On Saturday, my mom and stepdad came into town to hang out with Mike and I for the weekend and they weren't aware that the entire city would be going nuts. As I was walking to meet them at their hotel, I saw dozens of 20 something's nearly getting hit by cars. Apparently drinking all day does not equal common sense, and therefore, looking both ways before crossing the street is not a top priority. (It does crack me up when a drunk person crosses the street illegally, but puts up their hands in a stop motion to all traffic in the street. Suddenly by drinking Jim Beam all day, you now have a police officer's authority.)

I kept on walking towards the hotel, and my mom and stepdad saw me on the street and starting yelling and honking. Honestly, the city was so loud, I didn't even hear them. I continued walking, and literally had to step over bodies of people passed out in the streets or girls who were too tired to keep walking in green high heels. I also stepped over vomit and green liquids which was? Not fun.

Then as I was walking into the hotel, a drunk woman across the street starting yelling "Whoo, hoo!" as she pulled up her green t-shirt and exposed her Ta Ta's. (She apparently predicted this would happen when she dressed that morning, which is why she chose to go sans-bra. Mike is bummed that I didn't get a pic.)

I finally connected with my parents around 2 p.m., and quickly said, "I need a drink."

Next year I've determined I either need to a) start drinking at 7 a.m. or b) lock myself in the apartment or c) leave the state. (Unless by then scientists develop a time machine that shoots me back to 1999 and a time where day drinking rocked!)