it's my one day to shine as a redhead. Every other day, I'm just some gingerkid who "has no soul" or has a firecrotch or something (sadly, at the mention of firecrotch, my mind immediately goes to Lindsay Lohan). But on Saint Patrick's day, I am the symbol of all things fun and boozy and Irish. And I'm NOT EVEN IRISH!! And I get to wear green, which is one of my best colors. On Patty's Day, everyone loves the redhead (especially in alcoholic circles).I don't mean to be a downer on such a great day, but I have to say it: my friends kind of lamed-out on me tonight. I know, it's a Tuesday night. And yes, I realize that we didn't all make definitive plans. And no, I'm not going to be bitter and hold it against everyone (and no, this isn't one of those online bitchfests that you accidently stumble upon even though you had nothing to do with it and then you feel uber awkward because you just read about it online when all you really wanted was to read about gossip girl or my love life. Don't worry, that's not what I'm getting at here).
It's just that: you know when you're really excited about something and you know it's going to be super fun? You skip around all day and text and email a bunch of people about how fun it'll be and they reply with, "I'm totally there! Sounds great!" You even put your hair in a side ponytail because, who cares?! It's the best day ever! And then when the time comes, you get a bunch of texts from people flaking out. It just puts kind of a damper on the best day ever when not one, but six people do this at the last minute. And then the Lakers lose at the buzzer.
On a more chipper note, thanks to A, sis-T and her bf J for coming out! I had a delicious corned beef and cabbage dinner with you guys... and the green beer (ew... doesn't matter how it tastes. It looks disgusting) and Guinness (now that's what I'm talking about) were tasty! And a shout-out to Destructor for being willing to make the trip all the way to the south bay for a recap of last year's Patty's Day, which involved him passing out while making out at a bar and then puking on our futon. I appreciate the thought (and our clean futon).
Now it's time for me to pass out (in true "Irish" fashion).
