knights_say_nih | Reflections on a good St Patrick's Day

Well, it wasn't st pat's, but it was the saturday before, and my friend Lauren's boyfriend, who plays in an irish punk band, was performing at the Railway Club.

That was obviously the place for me.

I'm not a barbie-attractive person, you know? I'm a little too busty/hippy to ever fit into any of the Fashionable Clothing. My hair goes to my ears, and curls crazily, and all my blonde Jennifer Aniston haircut friends tell me that I should totally let them straighten it, but I never, ever will. I have the greek nose. I'm not willing to back down in an argument, I'm not SHORT (5'6) and I STILL wear three inch heels.

So that, on top of being at an all girls school, on top of being a vocal crim major who's not afraid to speak her mind, has kept me kind of out of luck in the men department. I've had two two-week dating adventures since June, and both of them were dicks who in retrospect, I should have known better than to even really bother with. And who, friday night, both happened to be at the same party with me, and made my life miserable.

This said, we were going out saturday. So I was like 'what the fuck, I'm single, and I'm going to be empowered and enjoy myself.' I got out the high heels and the black tights and the little black dress, and the dark green eye shadow (yay st Pat's) and I put a curl intensifyer in my crazily curly hair and I went out to have some fun with Brigit, Kody and Lauren.

Apparently, I'm the irish man's ideal. Or at least, the fakely out being pretend irish on St Pat's. I had one follow me out to the band-balcony, where Lauren and her boyfriend (from the band) and I were taking pulls out of a whiskey bottle, and be niiiiice and attentive. Then, when I got back in, he vanished off somewhere (to have a smoke, I think) and another one asked if he could buy me a drink. He did. A chocolate martini.

So we then went back and sat down with Lauren and another band member and one other guy, who'd been smiling at me too and was a teeensy bit sloshed, and we converse, and at some point the band member looks at me and says 'hey, you look like the girl from dirty dancing' and the one who got me the drink says 'BUT HOTTER,' and then for the first time in my life, someone tries to make out with me in a bar.

The only problem is that both of my first times are at once, and I end up smushed between two attractive, greenclad redheads who are trying for a kiss. It was like 'GENTLEMEN, PLEASE.' And so Lauren dragged me off to play coy and dance a little, and the one who bought me the drink (who I shall now refer to as Patrick, as it is his name) came and danced with me for the rest of the night. And we fucking JIGGED, not slowdanced, and did the swing and when he found out I knew how to charleston he made me start teaching him, but it was too crowded to do properly.

Then, he asked for my phone number, like a good gentleman, and we made out a little (because, although I can hold my liquor like nothing else and was only slightly tipsy, I HAD had seven drinks (combinations of cocktails, beers, and whiskey,) and that is enough to get even ME just a little bit happier than usual.) And I'm NOT one of those drunks who's like 'i shwear to god guys, tooooottally sober.' I talked to Brigit on the bus on the way back and she asked me how much I'd had and couldn't BELIEVE IT.

So, even if Patrick doesn't phone, and it'd be nice if he would, my night was completely fabulous, and I felt very beautiful for the first time in a whiiiiiiile. Since the guys my age are all a little too young to be attracted to anything other than what the media flashes up in front of them. Apparently, my answer is twenty three year old third year poli sci majors who will have a perfectly earnest Clinton-vs-Obama discussion with you over a chocolate martini and a guinness.