Below is a collection of random thoughts I came up with while trying to shake cobwebs from my brain while recovering from a South Boston St. Patrick’s Day. The Megger had a party and I’m a little under the weather as a direct result, so forgive my lack of wit.

When the alarm went off this morning, I would have been willing to sell the naming rights to my children for another two hours of sleep. I often feel that way. This morning, there was an added bonus, because my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth with some form of cotton-based glue.

The Southie parade is the only one I’ve ever been to where the police officers and firefighters openly drink beer while marching in the parade. Add to this the fact that almost everyone watching the parade has a plastic cup in hand, and it makes for quite an interesting scene. One of the marching band drummers even allowed a woman to lift up his kilt and show the crowd his bare ass. There’s nothing that spruces up a parade like a little bare ass.

Another interesting thing that happened last night was that someone put their bag in the spare room in the Megger’s apartment. Strangely, there is no doorknob on this door, so at the end of the night the person couldn’t get access to their personal belongings. She asked me to help her get into the room, so HIIIIYYYYYAAAA!! I kicked the door in. Problem solved. It is just occurring to me as I write this that trying to use a credit card might have been a better idea, but with some paint and a little glue I’m sure the door will be fine.

At the St. Patrick’s Day party, the main course was, of course, spaghetti and meatballs. Last year we cooked a full-size turkey. Two years ago we had Portuguese food.

The toilet at the Megger’s apartment is ideal for party situations, as it refills its tank about once an hour. Anyone who needs to flush twice in the same “sitting” is pretty much out of luck. This led to a number of really nervous people sidling up to me to ask if the toilet was broken.

Near the end of the night, I found myself deep in an intelligent, serious conversation regarding the events of September 11th with a man wearing a leprechaun suit, complete with a huge bowtie and a green hat with fake orange hair under it.

In a non-related note, do you think that Jane Swift will give Mitt Romney a helicopter ride if he agrees not to run for governor of Massachusetts?

I have a friend who will email back and forth with me, all the while telling me how much he would like to get together and that we should come out to his apartment for dinner. When I email him and ask him to tell me when we should come over, he says he’ll check and I stop hearing from him for at least a month. When I do hear from him, the entire cycle repeats itself.

Every year I put forth a tremendous effort and fill out an NCAA basketball pool. I attempt, to the best of my ability, to predict which teams will win. Apparently, the best of my ability is apparently not very good. Each year one of my Final Four teams loses in the first round, this year Gonzaga filled that role. In overall points for the pool this year, I am losing badly to someone who picked the games by FLIPPING A COIN. I am also losing to the Megger, who picked the games based upon which team’s mascot could beat up the other team’s mascot. The only good my pool will do anyone is if it is burned for heat.

Ouch, my head is complaining about all the effort I am putting forth by typing and attempting to write coherently. My body is complaining about the fact that I drank too much homemade Irish cream last night (ingredients: sweetened condensed milk, heavy cream, whisky…health food, basically). I need a nap.