St. Patricks Day in April: Or Teddy Go Home.

Right, I know I said Friday, but I really didn't get around to finishing this until this morning.

So, St. Patrick's Day.

(Is that going to be funny every time when I put "St. Patrick's Day" in bolded green font?)

St. Patrick's Day was supposed to be mellow. There was a plan. The plan was that K-Rock, Hott Scott and I were going to run Six Tunnels and then we were going to go see Flogging Molly at the House of Blues that night, have a few cocktails and then turn in. That was the plan. Mellow, more or less. Nobody (by which I mean me specifically, but might mean others) has been in a mood for a rager here in a while. And honestly, I'm okay with that.

Six Tunnels was delightful. Hott Scott insists that we show up at the crack of dawn, which turns out to be not necessary but nice nonetheless because you can see some special sights in an off-strip casino at 6:00am. The run is beautiful, the weather is beautiful, it's a great way to start the day.

Things begin to go wrong right after that. To begin with, I don't get a chance to nap at all between awaking at 5:00am to run and meeting up for pre-Flogging Molly drinks at 5 or 6pm or whatever time we met up. I intended to nap, but I had a bunch of errands to run and it didn't quite work out that way. So I'm already exhausted by the time we hook up at the classy, classy Mermaid Bar at Mandalay Bay in the early evening.

It's fight night at the Mandalay, which means that the crowd is a mix of frat boys who never quit being frat boys ... and Mexicans. And then there are a bunch of hipsters and punks and aged-out punks and Irish nationalists running around for the Flogging Molly show. I was sure there was going to be a race riot, or more accurately a social-class riot, but in the name of St. Patrick everybody seemed to get along just fine.

So, the show. Firstly, the show begins with the single most awesome opening act you will ever see - The Cherry Cokes. Apparently, Irish punk is all the rage in Japan, and so there are now a series of Japaness bands that play Irish punk. I'm not making this up, and also I almost enjoyed this band more than I enjoyed FM. They were brilliant in a completely non-logical way. Enjoy.



And then we meet Teddy.

Teddy is everything you hate about people who answer the question "Where are you from?" with the answer "I'm from Seattle, but me and my band moved down to LA. And then we broke up."

Firstly, let's talk about Teddy's form of introduction. Scottie has wandered off, and K-Rock and I are chilling at the bar when I sense that somebody, somewhere, is WAY too far into my personal space. I turn, and there is Teddy, standing silently and stalkerishly about half an inch from my body. Teddy also looks like everything you would expect from somebody who answers the question "Where are you from?" with the answer "I'm from Seattle, but me and my band moved down to LA. And then we broke up." He has on the obligatory hipster striped Sesame Street reminiscent shirt, the shaggy but still sculpted hair and the kind of "dead behind the eyes but not quite" stare.

Teddy wants FRIENDS. OMG TEDDY WANTS FRIENDS. And Teddy is going to get friends using the most tried and true method of obtaining friends: Round after round of Washington Apple shots. I am having one of those nights where I am immune to alcohol (unlike Friday night of this week, where I had four cocktails over four hours and have now been violently ill for two days), but Teddy is not having one of those nights where he is immune to alcohol, and he gets progressively drunker and drunker.

Now, anybody who knows me knows that I am and have been for a while now a tad bit irrationally hung up on a boy, and Teddy is about the polar opposite of K-Rock's kind of thing, but it's St. Patrick's Day and we're out and about and so we're enjoying the company of our fake, hipster, shared boyfriend, Teddy. That is until Scott comes back. Scott will steal your date straight out from under you at any time in any place. And he turns to Teddy and asks him about what kind of music he plays, and Teddy is gone to K-Rock and I. Hott Scott has stolen our boyfriend, and frankly I'm still a little pissed off about it. Teddy LOVES Hott Scott and his interest in his music and decides to celebrate by buying another round of Washington Apple shots.

And then Teddy is obliterated. He begins obliterated by sidling up to me and saying, "I think you're really pretty and I want us to be best friends forever."

"Really," I say, "Would you still want us to be best friends forever if I were forty pounds overweight and played the washboard in a band for a living?"

Teddy, in fairness, actually takes a solid minute to think about this. And then he says, "No."

At which point, I was going to entertain him and talk to him anyway because at least he was honest, but the band got good and I wanted to listen. And so Teddy moves on to K-Rock and her luscious boobs. And, well, that doesn't go so well because Teddy is so drawn in by the voluptuousness of K-Rock's boobs that he can't help but to reach out and grab them, at which point Hott Scott can't help but to reach out and grab Teddy. And so, Hipster Teddy and his Hipster Ways are forced to exit the night under the heavy hand of the punk rock version of Hott Scott. And what have we learned? You don't grab women's boobs at an Irish punk show unless said women are too drunk to know better and/or don't have their ripped up runner bodyguards with them.

After the show, we head over to the bar at Fleur de Lys to meet up with Al and Sue, who are finishing up dinner. We sit in the bar, having more drinks and truffle popcorn and watching the rowed up testosterone lovers exit the fight. And then Al and Sue join us for drinks and popcorn and then Al says, "I'm a VIP Gold member at the Penthouse Club. Wanna head over there?"

Because what St. Patrick's Day is complete unless you end it with some naked boob hanging over your table and a free bottle of vodka? Screw you and your green beer and leprechaun chicks. We want Stoli and some girl whose resume says "Dancer" and who carries a little purse onto stage with her to put her thong in when it comes off.

It was a good St. Patrick's Day. If I see Teddy's band around, I'll go to a show. There'll probably even be a song called "Washington Apple" in which he laments not having been able to fully realize the passionate love of K-Rocks breasts.

That is all.