I'm Not Even Irish

Here's a post of confessions. My goodness I enjoyed myself for St. Patrick's Day. I'd been telling my friends that I'd never celebrated St. Patty's, and I think I made up for 26 years of non-celebrations. Let's just say I still feel a little funny in my tummy and my tongue is still green from the food coloring we added to everything.

My day started with a 2 mile run in Mission Bay. I actually didn't do too badly on it and it was nice to be out there again. After the run I collected some free stuff and had a beer. (Mind you, it is 8:30 in the a.m., but come on, it was free!) Then I went home and showered to get ready for the rest of my day, which was a trip up to Temecula with my friends Rebecca, George, and Frederic.

We drank WAY too much (except for Frederic, who was driving us) and took lots of pictures, most of which can't be shared. We had the best lunch I've eaten in a long time (and man oh man it was pricey) and between the four of us we had 3 bottles of wine. We went back to George and Frederic's house and lazied around for a little while.

The night was far from over. We decided to go to the Irish Pub on Coronado, and there we danced and drank and sang. And that is also when things took a turn for the worst. Too much drinkie. I did my favorite thing which is "shotgunning beers" so although I only had 3 (or 4) I drank them in such rapid succession that I was toasted. I don't remember much of the evening, but I do remember the two mile walk back to John and Allison's (who I don't really know very well, I work with John) and they put me to bed while I was sobbing uncontrollably that I only love Romanians. Funny thing about that was that I wasn't saying "I love Mircea, where is he?" I just kept asking for the Romanian people to save me from my drunkedness. Ridiculous!
Allison took such good care of me and Rebecca. I'll forever be indebted to her for getting me into bed and making sure I was ok. She gave me this stuff called Graval, which is like Dramamine (they're Canadian) and I kept crying that I didn't want to eat the "little rocks" because they would make my throat hurt.

Needless to say I am so ashamed of that evening. I like to be tipsy, I hate being rip-roaring confused drunk. It's so embarassing, it's so shameful, and if you do the math, I did a lot of drinking. So immature. So like most people that drink too much I'm feeling like hell. It was good getting stories straight at work this morning because Rebecca, George, and I all had very different thoughts about all that happened.

So Happy St. Patty's Day and thank you especially to Allison and Mircea who explained to me that although I drank WAY too much, it doesn't make me a bad person. Just a smelly one.