St. Patrick’s Day

My day started by playing golf on a vibrant green course under a bright blue sky, the sun warming my back as I swung and the ball flew far and straight.

Then I woke up.

I did play golf this morning with Cupcake.  However, the sky threatened to rain the entire time.  We played in a tournament.  There were only eight people signed up, so the mens league that played this morning was also included.  We played with a woman who had just started playing a year ago, and she was doing quite well.  She wasn’t in the tournament though.

Eighteen holes went by surprisingly quickly.  By 2pm we were drinking a beer and listening to the results.  The third place team came in at 50.  The second place team scored 46.  And we, the only women playing, scored 45.

We won!

Thank goodness for handicaps.  Cupcake and I play well together because it usually works out that if one of us is having a bad hole, the other is doing well.

We then went to Lilly Macs for a late lunch and a couple of Guinness.  It was busy for a Saturday afternoon, but then again, it is St. Patrick’s Day.

I went home to “walk the dog”, and fell asleep for a late afternoon nap.  I showered and dressed and went back out around 2030.

Parking was atrocious.  Cars were just hovering, waiting for an open spot. I went to the Caltrain garage.  When I pulled in, there was a Lexus that was almost blocking my way.  Someone got out of the passenger side.  I was a bit annoyed at having to go around.  And then the woman put her window down and indicated she wanted to speak to me.

She was blonde, in her late 40’s, well dressed.  I turned down NPR as I rolled down my window and wondered what she was going to say.

“Do you know you have a headlight out?” she said. I smirked. “You probably already know.”

“Yeah, I realized it yesterday morning.”

“Be careful out there tonight.”

“Thanks.” I’d forgotten.  I was grateful for the reminder.

“I think we are wearing the same shirt.  Is that H&M?”

“Yes”

“I have the black one on underneath.” She showed me. “They are a bitch to keep ironed, aren’t they?  Especially that crease on the back.”

She kept chatting.  I was making friends with a random woman in a Lexus in a parking lot over my burnt-out headlight.  Then I noticed that the friend she’d dropped of was ready to back out and I was in the way, so I thanked her again and parked.

I walked back into Lilly Macs.  It was packed. All the Irish pubs on Murphy Street were.  The band was playing.  The young girls were getting ready to do a set of Irish dancing.  Reaching the bar was near impossible. It was loud and crowded and my senses were immediately overloaded.

I have a headlight out.  There will be tons of cops out soon.  I couldn’t stop thinking this.

I looked around to see if there was anyone that I know besides everyone working. Nada.  It seems my friends had all done the same thing I was about to do—walk in, and walk out.  Where are all these people on a normal night?  I love being there when it is busy, but I don’t do crowded. Not my scene any more.

Out the door I went as the bouncer was telling a woman she couldn’t bring a pizza in.  I stopped off at the bookstore down the street just to reset my equilibrium.  I was all dressed up and was out, but couldn’t justify staying out, so I took my car with the burnt out headlight and went home.

I’ve spent the evening on my couch listening to This American LIfe and Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me.

I’ll get my headlight fixed this week.

But first, to bed early.

Good night!

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