The Wee Democracy

i like irish girls.

there's just something about fair skin, beautiful hair (generally brown, or, god help me, red) and bright blue eyes that just reduces me to a smitten puppy. ireland would be like, my graceland... my xanadu.

and they're all named molly -- to me. until i learn their real name. why molly you say? well, it all goes back to when i was around 9 or 10 years old, just a little josh. it was there, and i sigh to think about it, that i first came to know the young molly fitzpatrick. only god knows where she is now, or what's going on in her life, but names don't get more irish than that.

which is to say, i don't know for sure if she's irish or not. she looks it, and i have a pretty good hunch that she was at least part irish. but i think of her now, what she'd look like now, and i bet to holy god she's finer than my feeble skills of articulation allow me to say.

and then, oh lord, and THEN, there was my fourth grade teacher. miss foley. sweet....merciful...crap. i knew that woman was fine back then (a hard teacher, and a bit scary for a 10 year old), but a 23 year old now...ooooh lawdy. my heart leaps like a gazelle to think of it...

anyways, that's all beside the point. my point is, if you know an irish girl, or you are an irish girl, for the love of god, let me know. the rest of ireland would never forgive you for ignoring me!

i'm a racist. i race to the irish!!!



feeling: that point of sadness where you just start laughing
thinking of: barbecue
song of the day: she's a rainbow - rolling stones