Well, friends and lovers, it is my second favorite holiday of the year (topped only by the eloquently named "Weaster") yet I am not, in fact, enjoying 5 cent beers at a local watering hole decked out in my all time favorite color from head to toe and betting my brother shots of Jameson that I can spot more gingers than he can. Nope. I am here. At work. And pretty much no one else is. And I'm sure you can guess how excited I am.
It's also fairly gorgeous outside and I am not out in the sunshine enjoying it because I ducked out early yesterday to enjoy it and probably can't fake needing to pick up a friend from the airport two days in a row. I also can't go from work directly to happy hour, because I will be heading straight from my romanticized cubicle to the belly dancing class that Roommate and I started last week. Let me tell you, I am not great at belly dancing. Nor do I take it as seriously as some of the others in the class. There are a large handful of "those girls" in the class. You know which ones I mean.
Not to be confused with "those girls"- the Ugg boot and Victoria's Secret Pink sweatpants wearing, kissy face, Comic Sans, Facebook whores we all went to High School with. These girls are the ones that were self declared Wiccan and drew pentagrams on their notebooks and wore hippie skirts but didn't smoke pot and were secretly into Anime. Those are the ones. They still wear those skirts. And they looooooooove belly dance.
Sigh.
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