I love this holiday, but when you live out in BFE, you can't just catch a cab home after too much green beer. And, I'm a huge Flogging Molly fan and these rednecks (I am using it as a word of endearment, as I am married to one) don't have any taste in music for the most part unless it rhymes with Garth Brooks or Lynyrd Skynyrd. It seems ridiculous to me to listen to rap any day, but especially on St. Patty's day, and the nearest "club" is actually an old bar in what used to be a Ramada, which now has a huge yellow plastic sign with a diamond on it that says "Anderson Inn." As though a big diamond will make the dump anymore appealing.
I have big plans to take Woody to Ireland. Big plans, low budget. But we'll get there. We may be on ventilators and have 24-hour nursing care, but by God, we are going.
It's not that I am antisocial, but I am exhausted. After cleaning out the coop and all the other work we've done, I'm content to just sit here and type this and drink this beer. Yes, I know that is a run-on sentence, and no, I haven't drank that much.
And IU plays at seven. I'd like to see our boys win, even if it is with one eye...
And as with anyone in this type of life, there is always something to be done tomorrow that requires energy and not to be sweating out Guinness as you are trying to do it. And if we were to go out, I will drink too much, eat Burger King at three in the morning, and do nothing tomorrow but drink coffee, take Tylenol, and watch the History Channel.
Am I just getting older, or is the History Channel getting more interesting?