Leprechauns and Shamrocks

On St. Patty's Day, everyone here beats a heart of green. Well, everyone but me, apparently. If it wasn't so noisy outside my window, I would have been satisfied to stay home yesterday. Not because I don't enjoy a nice beverage or two, but something about this holiday brings out the worst in people. It brings out the angry, obnoxious, drunk, rather than the friendly, happy, alkie. Maybe this is what happens when the beer is dyed green.

Ironically, last night was the first night that I went to a bar and saw a significant number of black people. I didn't know any of them, but I made a point to say hello. Ok ok ok. So the men were hot. The really hot one was wearing a wedding band (bastard). The next hot one was with his girl (who was hatin'). The next two just didn't measure up after I saw the first two. And true to my pattern, they were ALL younger than me. That's it. I'm officially a cradle-robber. (Although the young'n still holds the title as the youngest cradle I've ever robbed). Just call me Mrs. Robinson.

But I digress. I've never been all that color-specific. I'm content to hang out with any cool person, so long as s/he isn't green -- because that's usually an indication of some sort of illness. But, since moving, all I see when going out are white people. Now, my dear white people, you're very nice, but can you please play nice with others? One night, not so long ago, I was out with some of my Asian friends. That's a lie, they were all half-Asian. Anyway, my one friend LeAnn were discussing this very subject. And she referenced that night, pointing out that I'd seen a hot --black-- guy. (Although he could quite possibly have been mixed). To which I responded "I shouldn't be able to count the number of people of color!" Between our table, that guy, and "THAT guy" there were maybe 6 of us. Hooo Ahh.

Ok, so all of that ranting to say that I ironically spent a better portion of my Irish night with the least Irish people I could find. And, I must say, despite my eye-rolling toward the general idea of St. Patty's, it was quite enjoyable. Even if the hot one was wearing a wedding band. That was particularly sad since I got chills when he touched my leg. AND he was a metro. Dang it. Ah well, as the SiQ reminded me, the American Homewrecker's Association went bankrupt. Jerks. :)