Mark Hayes: A survival guide to Lent and St Patrick’s Day in LA
Let’s quit booze for Lent, says I to me. Easy enough, says me back to I. Erra sure, go for it, we all agree.
So that was the plan. Not sure why. Still stick with Irish traditions while here in LA for some reason.
Go to Mass on Christmas Day, drink seven litres of Barry’s Tea on a daily basis, attempt to give up something for Lent. The old reliables.
I blame guilt and shame. Don’t want to let my parents, community, or country down.
Maybe it’s just me, although, I do like to paint all Irish the same as myself when explaining my odd ways to confused Americans over here.
“You get a particularly bad hangover on Sundays and have the fear of God in you? Why?!”
I don’t know. Having to go to church on Sunday ever since I was young and hearing about someone dying just for me and my sinful mistakes.
Being told not to do stuff. Stern priests more or less saying “Jesus won’t be happy if you’re having too much fun.
“Poor Jesus, up there on the cross, dying, while you’re out having a laugh and getting drunk until all hours.
“Do you think Jesus would think that’s fair, huh Marky boy, you tell me?”
No. Probably not. Sorry, Father.
To make up for it I’m going to lie in my bed every Sunday night and stare at the ceiling in a cold sweat while my brain remembers everything bad I’ve ever done, like the time you didn’t say thank you to a bus driver and also maybe my brain is going to make up some stuff I’ve never even done but you never know, I could some day, so maybe I should feel extra guilt for it now in advance and hello monkey on my back and what’s that, it’s five in the morn and I’m still wide awake, well this is nice, the mediocre weekend out was well worth this.
Americans just stand looking at me even more confused, asking “Why even care about all that?”
Fair question really, something I’ve been working on.
Except now I feel guilty for feeling guilty, so that’s nice.
So yeah, quit booze for Lent. Should be grand.
People in LA don’t really booze anyway, not properly. Booze off. Lent on.
And then I remembered how tough it is to deal with people in LA a lot of the time.
As in you kind of need a drink to take the edge off them if you’re out at night.
Chatting to guys who just stand there looking pretty, giving the odd nod, vacant look and choosing carefully from their restricted vocabulary of “bro” “dude” or “sick”.
Chatting to girls who strain fake smiles as they try to figure out what you’re saying then realising you’re Irish so they break into “Oh my Gawd I’m Irish too” and explain in detail how they’re part Irish, part German, part Cherokee and one part cat (their spirit animal) before just repeating “lol” instead of actually laughing. “Lol, that’s funny. Lol.”
So yeah, you kind of need a drink if you’re out and about at night in LA. Otherwise you’ll go mad.
Alternatively, you could stay in and read a book. Cook a meal. Watch TV.
Enter the comfort zone. But that’s not why you moved to LA! So no, no can do for a month. Have to be out and about.
In fairness, I’m particularly brutal when out sober. Being at and doing comedy shows are grand. It’s going to the bar after where I struggle.
Break into cold sweats. Feel socially awkward. Look around and judge all these people for drinking and wasting their lives.
Why am I out sober? This is awful. I’m far superior to these bums!
At which point I run out of the bar like a werewolf about to fully transition, only being able to relax once I finally get home and can take off my socks and pants.
At least I knew I was always going to have one cheat day during Lent: Paddy’s Day.
Too hard not to booze here for it. It’s full on.
Hulk on steroids, probably fifty times more than I’ve ever seen in Ireland.
By the end of February shops are already stocking outfits, balloons and all the rest. Fake Irish tattoos seem to be the next big thing, as you do.
In Ireland the most I’ve dressed up is wearing some shamrocks on my jumper. Maybe a plastic green hat that they give out free in the pub.
Over here it’s like Mardi Gras.
Green beads, green suits, green leprechaun outfits, green beer, green vodka, green whiskey, green grass, green faces, green lanterns, fifty shades of green everywhere and anywhere you look.
One year I wore a white T-shirt in a sort of silent protest at how over the top Paddy’s Day is here. Did not go down well.
I had straight guys tell me “Bro, not cool.”
I had gay men wailing at me for not being fun. I had beautiful women laugh at me for not being really Irish (“if you were you’d be wearing green”) even after I showed them my passport and pleaded my “I’m actually Irish” case (that was a particular low point in my LA life).
Never again I told myself, I’m going to Paddy the sweet Jesus out of it every year from now on. If you can’t beat them, join the green pretenders.
Just one cheat day.
Except, I cracked already. Booze wise. After five days.
My buddy from Ireland, Krin, was here for a few days for work. Arrived in late on a Friday night. Decided we’d meet up at my local, The Den, for a glass of water and catch up. We did well.
Krin!
“How’s it going boss?”
Grand.
“No boozing?”
Nope. You?
“The same.”
Good work.
“…”
…
“…”
Pint?
“God, thought you’d never ask.”
Fun night. And sure, there’s always Lent next year.
Mark Hayes is a comedian and author of three books including RanDumb (#1 on Amazon Humour).
He can be found on Twitter and Instagram @trickaduu or at www.markhayes.tv
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