"Get Lost, Killjoy!"

After a 6 day house arrest due to illness I am losing my shit in a major way. I decided it was finally safe to leave the house for longer than it takes to scurry to the Rite Aid for Robitussin or to hail a cab to the emergency room (I will never get over the fact that I ACTUALLY HAD TO GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM I WAS SO SICK), so after some deliberation I decided to head to the local diner for some motzah ball soup and such. I realized that being sick gives you an excuse to leave the house dressed like an escapee from the lunatic asylum. But I made an attempt to dress attractively. Unfortunately, I chose (without meaning to, it was CLEAN) a kelly green t-shirt layered over a long sleeved waffle-knit. The realization of my terrible, awful, no good, very bad choice hit me the minute I stepped out on the sidewalk.

Let me say this: as a tall, redheaded woman with fair skin & freckles, I make a point of avoiding St. Patrick's Day. I think it's boring. I am neither amused by it nor angered, more baffled and frankly embarrassed that people need that framework to get ripped off their asses. Give me a late Sunday afternoon, "Ooops how did I get so drunk at brunch and now it's 1 am and I'm at a bar I've never beento in Mexico dancing onstage and I have to open the store at 8:00 am since I'm the only one with keys aw fuck it tequila shots on me ya'll" anyday. That's a fucking Brandy Barber holiday, people. Know that.

Also right now I am sick and in a terrible mindstate and the last thing I need or want is intoxicated male attention. So you can imagine my delight as I tried to stroll nonchalantly past Ceol, some "pub" on Smith Street. Out front there was a bunch of office trash who, I presume, took the day off!!! BECAUSE THEY'RE SO CRAZY!!! OMG!!!!! They, like, started drinking at like 3!!!!!! They haven't been this drunk since like the Beta Kappa mixer in '98!!!! I hope they all end up drowning in their own vomit because they can't get their Brooks Brothers ties off to properly yack in the gutter of MY STREET that's right MY STREET WHERE I LIVE, not on the Upper East Side where you take cabs from to fun places where real people live so you can urinate on their doorsteps and buy bad coke cut with baby laxative, Gordon Gekko Part II. Get fucked.

As I was walking I was saying in my head, "Please don't notice me please don't notice me please don't notice me" as my mantra, pretending I was the Invisible Woman. Which as we all know is a sure way to get pestered. And so, one of these chubby ruddy trolls in a fucking button down and khakis decided to slobber at me, uttering some dumbass ninny shit like, "Hey now there's a real Irish lass!" WHAT. This leads to his friends all demanding he kiss me. Do you like how this little gang rape scene is playing out so far? Oh, it gets better I assure you.

I turn and say, "You're gross. Really. Just, ugh. Look at yourself." I look him up and down, make time to glare down at his brown bowling shoe-style Campers circa 2000. And I shake my head as I keep walking by.

I expected at least some yelling, or booing, or perhaps projectile vomiting. There was silence. I somehow managed to shut them all the fuck up. I wasn't even in top form. Man. I seem to be invincible. Next up: I take "Showtime at The Apollo" by storm!

Again, let me restate my position that if you need to use this as an excuse to get drunk all day, I feel real fucking sorry for you. Feel free to contact me, Brandy L. Barber, and I will GLADLY show you what a real honest-to-goodness all day drunk good time is. And yes, you did also read that scrawled in the men's room stall in Peter McManus, and it is indeed accurate. Solid.

After my trip to the diner, I came home, and watched "Same Guys, New Dresses", laughed until I cried/hacked over Scott and his Robot Dog, and punished myself for not working hard enough on my writing. I declared tonight would be different! As you can see I am clearly doing so. (sigh)
Get it together, chief! Good gravy!

Also, I suggest when you want to be in the bestest mood ever you listen to "Summertime" by The Sundays. I never read too much fiction, is this how it happens?