Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I'm a little more Irish Today than usual.

This morning I woke up with resolve. I was determined to get my systems assignment finished so I could start in on studying for my Monday midterm.

.. but the phone rang. "Come on! Cooome ooonnnnn!!! It's St. Paddy's!! You're friggin' name is Colum for crying out loud!"

So naturally, I gave in to the lightest of peer pressure.

We walked down through a heavy, saturating fog, skidding across black ice toward the pub. Surprisingly, there was no line up, but of course it was before dinner, I hadn't eaten.

Pints of the dark stuff started flowing relentlessly and soon a band fired up. To my surprise, I knew most of the songs and we all started singing (bantering) along, pounding pint glasses on the table top and stomping as heavily as we could.

It didn't take long, but soon the place was standing room only. I couldn't really tell you what happened in between that and just before now. I might be able to tomorrow.

What I do recall is a classic event I haven't seen played out in ages. It actually made me home sick.

One of the fellas (I hesitate to say friend), began to talk to a girl, a girl who was undoubtedly, much too hot to be there alone and obviously a girl friend of someone. He didn't just talk to her, he put on his best Irish accent and brought her over to our tiny overcrowded table.

"Lads, Meet Melissa" - lads, real original...

"Melissa, these are my mates, That's Sean, David there, Jules, Thomas, and Frank."

I smiled as he pointed to me, it wasn't Francois, but close enough. "Frank's actually from Australia."

I almost coughed. What the hell, but instead, I put my Guinness pint up and drowned my smile in a bitter swig, choking it down, trying to get the balls to take up the roll that had been given to me.

"Melissa!" I said, my best Aussie pouring forth. "Whatever this bloke has told you, don't believe a word, I'm the real gentleman here." I said, Taking her hand and giving it a gentle shake. "Care to have a drink with us?"

To my awe, she laughed and waved to a couple of her friends and sat down, pulling up a chair across from me and beside "Hugh" (the name he had assigned himself).

"Hugh" kept his eye on his prize while we went back to drinking. Then something happened.

"Hugh" stood up and raced to the bathroom. Perhaps, unsurprisingly, a bouncer evidently
followed him in.

About 10 minutes later, with a bouncer under his arm, a now somewhat paler, more incoherent, "Hugh", missing his Irish accent passed by our table.

"Sorry boys, Your friend's gotta go, are you going with him?"

I looked across the table at the girl he was talking to all night and said with a smile, "Sorry, Looks like we're done for tonite..."

We all stood up, thanked the bouncer for whatever reason and assumed the bouncers load. My Australian accent now dropped and with a man on either said of our fallen man, we walked out and began the long struggle up Sackville Street.

"I'm.. really sorry guys..." He struggled to say, obviously totally canned, spitting every couple of seconds.

I laughed. "No worry, I've gotta study tomorrow anyways."

"Ya, we're all done anyways.. It was a good night.. excellent ending!" 'Jules' laughed.

"Shit" He said, stumbling up the hill. "I didn't get the chick's phone number!"

"Don't sweat it." I said, passing him my cellphone. "She programmed in her number for you."

"Haha, unbelievable!" "Hugh" laughed, pulling out his own phone to transfer the number.

"F--k that, It's probably a fake"