Where should I start?

There's a guy and that's why my updates are so infrequent; I'm not sure what's going on, so I'm not sure what to write.

I'm overwhelmed with feelings. I guess that's the best way to describe it. Hanging out with him is the best time there is and time apart feels like something is completely missing. Like seeing something without him isn't really seeing it, because he's not there.

Yet we can't see to fully get it together.

I spend all of my time with this guy. I feel like time shoots into oblivion like a rocket when we hang out. Hours, days and weeks disappear without a thought.

I'm unsure of his feelings. He's confusing. I'm trying to maintain distance in case it all comes to a sudden stop and I'm left to move on. I'm cautious, big fan of caution.

*~*

Tonight was St. Patrick's Day. I used to love this day, when we would take off from our jobs and crowd into bars and twirl from the arms of firemen in uniform to police in uniform.

This year, I just wanted to hide. It's too much. Maybe I am getting old, but I don't want to be manhandled and groped and drink cheap beer out of plastic cups.

That said, you haven't lived until you experience St. Paddy's in NYC, and specifically, on the upper eastside.

To stand in the back of packed bar, with drunken frat boys spilling beer in your hair and you not caring because you've been dancing with 20 different singing men in the course of an hour. To step dance to the Pogues and the Coors and then to be pushed aside as bruts of men in kilts charge to the back of the bar, where you think there isn't room for single additional person.

Suddenly, suddenly, the area opens up and the burly men in kilts form a circle, with their drummer at the head, and blow with all of their might, stale beer breath into the bagpipes.

You look around and you see girls have been pulled up to stand on top of the bar to make room for the players and they lay into those bagpipes like they are on their way to battle.

When the song is over but the sound of the pipes is still reverberating in your eardrums, you find yourselfleaping and cheering with the crowds, as if someone delivered a child.

Somewhere along this night, you'll find your own lips wrapped around said bagpipes, thinking that it looks so easy, surely you can play. You will not emit a sound from them. You may get cheeky and lift one of their kilts to check what's underneath.

You will fnd yourself (proudly) wearing at some point, one or more of the following: a "Kiss me I'm Irish" pin, a green lei, a blinking guiness or heineken (god knows why) pin, a green and white striped Dr. Seuss hat, shamrock shaped sunglasses, or a shamrock antennae headband.

It's true. There is no shame in the game of NYC's Irish. It's all good.

It was just all a little bit too much for this girl this year. I just want to hang out the guy and be able to hear him talk.

I'm a loser.

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