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Top of the Freakin' Morning to You

The baby's room is all put together and decorated. The hospital bags are packed. We have the birth plan and the phone list. Now we wait. The due date is still weeks away, but due dates really don't mean a thing. The baby could show up tomorrow or 3 weeks from now. It's all very mysterious. How does a woman's body decide when to go into labor? What is the trigger that sets that stuff into motion? I'm sure it's chemical and/or hormonal, but what triggers the chemistry? I feel like I should know this kind of thing by now. I should have paid more attention in Biology class.

Today is St. Patrick's Day. I work in Boston. Here is an equation for you:

(March 17 + Boston + 500,000 idiots) x bars open at Noon = streets and trains full of vomiting drunks = Cranky Dave

Don't get me wrong... I have great affection for Irish culture, literature, and music. I'd like to apologize for my various ancestors who may have been complicit in over 800 years of bloody British oppression. Dreadfully sorry about that. I might even indulge in a Shamrock Shake today... and I'll probably have a little Jameson's on the rocks when I get home and maybe listen to the Pogues.

It's just the crowds of staggering drunken college students and investment bankers in sparkly emerald hats waiving around shamrocks and puking green beer onto my Doc Martens that I can do without... and most of you bastards (and bastard-ettes) aren't even Irish! I wish you all very happy Saturday morning hangovers. The ones that feel like someone drove an axe into your skull... Yeah, remember that from last year? Good times.

No really... Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Like I said, Cranky Dave.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on March 17, 2006 12:48 PM.

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