1. St. Patrick’s Day
I’ll go ahead and start with the biggest offender: ‘Ol Saint Patrick. If March 18 wasn’t, itself, a day in March it would be my favorite day of the year simply because it’s 365 days away from Doom’s Day. I hate how people look on St. Patrick’s Day. To be fair, I should provide my scientific rationale. It is statistically proven that most Italian girls named Erica who work in PR, live in NYC and regularly listen to 50 Cent believe green is the worst color for pale people. That said, St. Patrick’s Day is the grossest holiday of them all. If the dictionary had a photo next to “St. Patrick’s Day” I envision it would be a group of super wasted, pale 20-somethings draped in the dreaded color and sporting those headbands that make it look like they’re wearing small felt top hats. The ground around them would be covered in crunched solo cups and in the far back corner would be a fat guy face-planted in the dead, dried up grass with his ass crack showing.
Before you get your shamrock boxers in a bunch, let me quickly defend myself. If you’re allowed to stereotype me and my paisans as the cast of The Jersey Shore, than I’m rightfully entitled to tell you that you look terrible with your ghoulish skin, bloodshot eyes and beer dribbling down your beard. If I were a leprechaun I’d hide far away from you at the end of a rainbow, too — even without the promise of a pot of gold.
Please, dear Irish ones, riddle me this: Why does this holiday last for weeks on end, with seemingly nonstop parades? What is all this building up to? The celebrations don’t culminate in many luxurious gifts under a tree and smiles and hugs and love. It culminates in fist fights and yucky guts filled with corned beef and cabbage and maybe even a missing tooth. If that’s a true celebration than I hope to never celebrate anything again in my entire life.
2. March Madness
I don’t know or care about March Madness. I don’t even really understand what it is — unless it’s referring to a wild competition at the mall where you have to run around/fight others for the best bargains (or is that Mall Madness?).
No, I do not want to give you my hard-earned dollars to pick a bracket – whatever that means — so please stop sending me emails about it. But if I did win all of your money I’d offer it to President Obama as a bribe to shut down sports competitions forever. And then I’d nicely ask if he could take into consideration my idea to legally make every Sunday “Girl’s Day” at all bars, where we get dressed up and drink heavily and men are forced to come loiter around as we watch The Voice-esque competitions on giant TV screens. Bet on that, biatch.
I understand this sacrifice is a worthy one, but what I really want to know is how me not eating cheese for 40 days is going to get me a ticket to heaven. My assumption is it will not. Especially after God just witnessed the effects of my withdrawal when I flipped off every individual person in the entire Meatpacking District.
4. The Ides
Just kidding – this is actually the only good thing about March. A nice, scary day right there in the middle when you don’t know if I’m going to stab you directly in your back for sending me that “LAST CHANCE!!” March Madness email.
“Et tu, Erica?”
“Yes, BasketBallGuy23@myoffice.com. I told you – I’M. NOT. INTO. SPORTS.”
OK, I digress. On to the next…
5. Close to Beach Season…but Not Close Enough
I’m not particularly thin in March. I find myself in an odd stage where I want to get as fit as possible before bathing suit season, but being stuck in leggings and a giant parka all day doesn’t give me the motivation to get to the gym. So I stay home and eat instead. Fast forward two months and my tight Memorial Day dress is sending anthrax-filled hate mail to March.
Despite your best dieting efforts, March is the kind of month when the delivery guy continues to bring you two sets of plastic silverware for your solo meal, even when you deliberately ordered what you thought was a “healthy” serving. Then you use the second set to eat ice cream right out of the carton because, hey, it’s March and you’re depressed – and rightfully so.
6. Many Lions, Few Lambs
Whoever invented the saying “In like a lion, out like a lamb” must have been Irish, because that saying sucks. More often than not March comes in like a lion and then leaves like a mean old lion, too. That’s not the worst part, though. It’s that people do not stop talking about the iffy weather alllll month long. The weather this month makes otherwise normal people either 1) unbearably annoying and/or 2) crazier than those screwballs I’ve heard about who pick up roadkill off the side of the street for fun. I guess I lean more towards the latter, as 30 minutes of chatting in the Company break room about weather-related topics makes me want to smash someone in the head with a water cooler.
In March, radio show hosts do things like play Katy Perry’s “Hot and Cold” and precede it with, “Well, this song surely sums up how the weather has been acting lately!.” And then I switch the station because is that really the most clever thing they could come up with?
Here’s where people really start to lose it: There’s an ice storm one day. Then the next day it’s 49 degrees and my neighbor is out for a stroll in shorts and flip flops. Dude’s got a case of March brain. When he finally realizes he’s acting nuts, I’d rather be frozen to death in a March snow pile than listen to him make a comment like, “Wow, it actually is pretty cold out here.”