Touting my Irish ancestry today is not particularly important to me. I’m a little bit Irish every day, why only celebrate it one day a year? Okay, really, I am just pissed off at myself for not making any plans.
So with a corned beef on rye in my belly and a song in my heart I post my first blog entry at 8:30pm on St. Patrick’s day.
I did a whole hell of a lot of nothing today, aside from having to take a piss test for my new job. Only one observation there … I would NOT like to be the guy that handles the pee all day. Not only is it completely disgusting that I was adamantly discouraged from washing my paws when I finished the pee, I was also discouraged from flushing the toilie. Eew. And then I have to hand over the product of five cups of coffee to a man with a goatee and a bad dye job. It’s hard to be my usual pleasant self and make conversation with a dude that is holding a cup of my urine in his hand. Needless to say, I didn’t make conversation, I hung my head and feeling dirty and maybe a little violated, I shimmy my way out of the pee place and back to my car.
I have ample opportunity to make this night something other than me sitting in my bedroom with Harry Potter on the tele in the background. Panini’s in the Valley. I was invited. Am I going to go? I’m thinking probably not. I should, mind you, because I haven’t seen these friends that invited me in a while and would LIKE to go, but my corned beef makes me nervous. No, the corned beef doesn’t make me nervous, the drinking mass amounts of green beer and PUKING corned beef makes me nervous.
It’s all about self-control, right?
phuktneurotic 