twenty-something

Happy St. Me's Day.

That's right, loyal readers. You tricked me into revealing my real name.

I'm Patrick. Nice to meet you.

I wish it were under better circumstances, however. See I'm in a foul mood. I'm finally re-hydrated and feeling somewhat better -- but because I called into work today, I'm trapped in my apartment all night. No celebration for me.

Of course, the more depressing part is, even if I could go out, I wouldn't be doing so -- I have nobody to go out with. My usual "going out buddy" here in Burlington is away and Duncan is otherwise occupied. And that is all I got, apparently. When it comes down to that, it makes my life seem really small.

Save the pity party, please. It's really not a big deal to me. As much as I have every drop of Irish blood that my family had to offer (which isn't much, outside the name and the increasingly-less-reddish hair), I'm not much for Irish Pride (deserved or not) anymore. I'm actually kind of relieved that I didn't have to wear green today and that I didn't get (much) of the usual, "Hey, you're name's Patrick! It's your day!" crap that I usually get on this "holiday." You don't know what it's like for we Patricks out there. It's like your birthday, only more annoying, and there are no presents or cake. Just annoying comments. And sometimes beer.

But still, I do feel like I'm missing out on something today. Just a look at my friend's away messages -- well, the friend's that are lame enough to have them up (oh, snap!) -- reveals that they're all already getting their St. Paddy's Day groove on. As much as I complain, I really just feel left out.

It's my day, afterall.