Not Irish

I'm not Irish. Not even a little bit. Nope. So of course last night I went out to celebrate St, Patrick's Day with the horde of other non-Irish people who use it as an excuse to drink copious amounts of all manner of booze and throw up in their friend's cars/lawns/beds etc. I didn't see a single person throw up this year so I consider it a majorly successful evening. I also remember most of the stuff that happened so another success right there. Of course I was dead to the world until well after 9am today but the kids didn't complain too much about their late breakfasts. Anyway, every two days after the ides of March one of my oldest friends both literally and chronologically, in fact for the blog here we'll call him Methuselah, throws a party to celebrate his drunken heritage. He happens to be Irish but he also happens to be a drunkard and that second thing is what he's celebrating before you get your hackles up and get all pissy about Irish bashing or some such (and by the way, Methuselah's little brother The Cowardly Lion also just as Irish and somehow never as drunk, I'm just saying). I see I've lost my point, has anyone seen it anywhere? I seriously doubt it but hell, it never hurts to ask. Oh yeah, Methuselah threw a party as he is wont to do. Methuselah's parties are generally the most random I've ever been to. You never know who you'll run into from what phase of your life. Sometimes that's cool but more often than not it's incredibly awkward. Occasionally it leads to Lucky Champagne having a throw down while Napoleon and I scream insults at people. I gotta tell you, that's some role reversal, Lucky is much more an insulter and Napoleon and I are not shy with the face punching. Moderately amusing aside, the throw down mentioned above took place for a number of reasons which mostly involved some idiot punching Lucky in the stomach for no real reason but also because Napoleon decided that some other idiot wasn't allowed to talk to or about me in the particularly insulting manner in which he had been. I find that funny because the last time I got into a fight it was partly because some bitchy girl was talking about Napoleon in a similar manner (also I punched her boyfriend for grabbing my ass and she was pissed about it, you know, like you do). See, this is why none of you six or seven readers would really want to know me in the real world, clearly I don't abide there. The more I blog about my life instead of my knitting the more charming I sound, right? So last night Red Todd Kidd, Lucky, Kaylee, Edina and I all head out into the unkown of Methuselah's place. I'm happy to report there was no fighting not screaming of insults and we all had a pretty good time. But then again, I haven't heard from anyone yet today and it's entirely possible that my version of events has nothing to do with reality, it wouldn't be the first time. I bet you're wondering what the hell this post is about and what it has to do with anything. Sadly, there is no point. I was just posting because I had a few minutes and it's been awhile and also if I ramble about this I won't have to dig out the pictures of RTK's socks I've been meaning to post for hella days. I hate loading pictures.