There couldn't be a greater day than today, St. Patrick's Day, to be in Boston. Well technically the best day would have been Sunday to partake in the Southie Parade, but let's not quibble over details. Where am I, a blonde haired, green eyed, freckled Irish lass, on such a wondrous day of drunken debauchery? Oh, I'm just sitting in an apartment that smells like cat food and feet while watching the blood elf consume sausages and play computer games. Apparently the "guild" isn't partaking in today's holiday either and instead they are all sitting at home tethered to their respective computers by their headgear. The Elf is wearing an "Irish Lacrosse" t shirt though, so all St. Patrick's Day glory is not lost.
Despite my inability to partake in the traditional Boston St. Patrick's Day festivities, today wasn't all bad. I figured out today that my employer has a liquor license. Now if I worked in a restaurant that wouldn't be that weird; however, I work in a traditional office where one wouldn't expect to be served a beer. Nonetheless, at five o'clock today I was invited to the party on the 6th floor where there was a bucket of Harp and Guiness on ice just waiting to be consumed. It was magical. Had it not been for the assignment I have due tomorrow, I could easily have joined in on the fun, bouncing along to the Irish tunes blaring from the communal i-pod enjoying a Harp or two for quite some time. Sadly, after one rogue beer I found myself back at my desk to finish up a few things. Se la vi.
In other news yet another form of "southern" public transit has managed to screw me over. I put southern in quotation marks because despite my placement north of the Mason Dixon people in this region like to think they can toss out "ya'll" and "shoot" like candy from a parade float. Here's a gem overhead this weekend at the Smithsonian: "Shoot, when I was little my momma had a bobcat as a pet!" But I digress. Today after sitting on my train for an hour and not getting lost, I waited for a bus for 20 minutes. Ten minutes later, I stood up to bring it to the driver's attention that my stop was approaching only to have him hit the gas, hurling me backwards (and almost to the ground) and sail right past my stop. Why must I learn every lesson the hard way? I mean, I get that they have the string you can pull to sound the little 'ding' noise so the driver knows someone's stop is coming up, but honestly, I was standing right in the guy's periph. Kind of ridiculous. Lucky for me I was dropped off 500 feet down the dimly lit road and then had to walk up said dimly lit road while conveniently wearing all black and uncomfortable shoes.
Such is life.
