Unicorn Poofers

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Unicorn Poofers 

I have deleted the start of this entry about 17 times so I am going to start it by just writing. I am drinking a Guinness because as any person in the world knows March is the pigmently challenged people’s month! And I just love Guinness, on that note… I gotta go crack another…. I will be right back… Relax it is only the second one; I am not an alcoholic. If you ever see me with the Jameson bottle out; I suggest you tread lightly or find out what my troubles may be.  Even more so if I have the Glennfiditch out… Scotch is for much more serious things.
 
I find it hilarious when my grammar check tries to grammar-ize my use of curse words. I say them a lot and I type like I am talking to you; I think the grammar checker should just give up, the F-bomb in particular, is more than a verb, it can be a noun, an adverb, and in a lot of cases whilst I am driving it is a pronoun. It is all in the conjugation. My two readers know what I am talking about; anyone else that happens upon this rambling post (it is sure to be rambling tonight) should be honest they have used the word at least once or twice in their lives… I have heard some not-so-nice things come out of a person when they stub their toe. That’s how I know if I can really trust someone, sometimes, by what comes out of their mouth when they stub their toe. If they say something along the lines of “Gosh darn it, poopy doodles, and unicorn poofers!” I know two things: 
 
1. This person is a fucking liar. No one talks like that upon toe stubbage. My grandmother doesn’t talk like that; fairly certain that even Sweet Baby Jesus did not talk like that when he stubbed his toe. Curse words were invented for toe stubbing and it snowballed from there; that’s just my theory. I am not often known to be wrong.


2. This person will likely flip shit when and if I ever stub my toe in their house. Therefore this person can never really be someone I spend a ton of time with or fully trust. God gives a pass on the curse words expelled from your mouth when you stub your toe. He has to; we get tornados, thunderstorms, earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, and all manner of natural disasters when God stubs His toe; that’s what that is. God stubbed his toe. 
 
So yes March is here! I love March, especially the 17^th, which falls on a Saturday this year so there is a good chance I will get to enjoy it. Ooo and I just realized that the tattoo I got is green so I am always wearing green! No dumbass can come up and pinch me without me punching his ass in the baby makers, permanent green mother trucker!

It also surprises me that the proverbial “they” chose February as black history month… the shortest month of the whole fucking year… only to be followed by what is essentially a drunken celebration of some of the whitest people on the planet and one of the longer months. You tell me some racist bastard did not see that and laugh and I will sell you some beautiful land south of N’Orleans.

I have a tattoo. It is a recent addition to my skin. I have long struggled with commitment issues and thus never settled on something; also did not want to listen to my momma freak. The brother, who will remain nameless and will only be referred to as his Lordship and when you read about him the Imperial March from Star Wars should play in your head.

Only the Lego Symphony Version though….

That is just a suggestion, but it is what plays in my head whenever I see him. His Lordship is deploying on some highly secretive and super important missions in Afghanistan or Iraq. That’s what I tell myself, because I do actually love His Lordship so much and it is tearing me apart that he is going to some pointless fight and I cannot save or protect him from it; nor should I try. God makes the final choices and I have no control over anything like that… even though my brain tells me I most certainly fucking do.


Ignoring that little voice is vital here or I am going to end up buying a bunch of adult diapers and kidnapping him…. Not a good plan. He is capable of killing me and would not look kindly in my attempt to keep him from harm. He took me to get the tattoo and it represents our connection by blood and birth. I frankly find it beautiful and I do not regret it in the slightest. Okay maybe I regret it a little when he makes me want to punch him in his baby makers; but the fact remains that in the Scot/Irish world, family is family. No matter what.
 
It should be needless to say my momma was not pleased. I do not really know why since my chances of being a debutante at Cotillion were already ruined by Trucker and his driveway sobbing episode. Fucking Trucker…  That and I am, a bit old to be introduced to society now. (You know at 24-ish) When momma starts I usually tune it out so I am not really sure what is said sometimes when your parents talk to you it is imperative that you do the “Charlie Brown” to keep yourself sane. In other words, you should hear what Charlie Brown used to hear whenever grown-ups talked to him. WHA, WHA WA… I don’t know how you spell that. I do know though that it should be the most effective parent sanity deployment tool in your whole damn arsenal.
 

One of my Pogue favorites. Would post one of him actually singing but people get all upset about his teeth… geez.

So a whole month of Guinness and Irish Car Bombs await me. Lots of Flogging Molly, The Pogues, Dropkick Murphys, traditional Irish music, and Irish drinking songs on the iTunes and iPod; not that those songs don’t play year-round for me anyway but I certainly up the ante a bit in March; because I can; this is my month bitches. Cheers!

 

And one for the road… Probably the most famous Pogues song.