when Irish eyes are smiling

OK, something happened this weekend and I haven't even written about it yet. Tragic. Typical.

On Saturday night I went to a St. Patrick's day party. Not as a guest, mind you, but as entertainment. Yep.
This does not mean I was a magician, comedian, dancer, clown, mime or one of those people at Disney that dress up like the cartoons and talk in a high-pitched voice to sound more like the character.

I got paid (PAID!) to play Irish fiddle. For a crowded house party full of AARP members.  ...that's just speculation. They're probably not all members. People under 50 at this party:

• Me
• friends I brought: Shane, Jenna, Katelyn
• that 25 year old from down the street who lives with his parents
• two Irish dancers, high-schoolers, one of which looked like she might be hiding a shiv in their hairpiece.

To get to this house we had to drive 30 minutes out of downtown and into the 'burbs, through the marshland, past the gatekeeper (who incorrectly told us we were late, jerk), past the boat parking lot (that's right. a parking lot. for boats. in a gated community. these people were sitting on some money) to the house with the green lights in the bushes.

I played for a while, then paired with a 65-year old on the accordion. A man I found out (through the mysterious connecting the dots I somehow learned from my mother) that he has danced at some feis (fesh) recently in New Jersey with my Aunt Dia who lives in New Orleans. It's a small world after all.

Katelyn left with the 25 year old's number, I gave mine to the accordion player and left with a nice chunk of change in my pocket. Not because I gave my number to an old guy. Because of the fiddling.

I played some singing songs for drunken red-faced Irishmen and at one point during the night an older gentleman came over to me and leaned in close to my face. I hate it when people do that. I smile widely, uncomfortably. Throughout the party, all I have been doing is grinning like an idiot. Partly because I am happy this gig isn't turning into the disaster I'd feared, and also because I don't know what else to do with my face. I'm expecting him to say something deeply heartfelt and appreciative about my playing, and then he opens his mouth. "You," he says, angling his eyes at me, "have nice teeth."
Why thank you, please feel free to contact my dentist Dr. Leach and Dr. Awbrey, my orthodontist, for comments and/or questions.
Mind you, this is a different fellow than the man who said, "they've got great legs!"  after the Irish dancer's mother explained the intensity and dedication required by the sport.

It turned out to be a nice night, and way less embarrassing or difficult than I had anticipated. Shane took a video of me playing one of my tunes, the High Reel. Feel free to watch. At one point I stumbled a bit because I looked up and saw a man staring at me from the kitchen.

misc

Ok, I have a few things to say, but none of them are substantial enough for a full post. Here are some things I've been thinking about lately:

THE AIR CONDITIONING IS ON. It's a miracle. Not only can we bake things in the oven again without overheating the house and killing the dog, we also closed all the windows! And that means those stupid birds have shut up. Well, they're still annoying, I just can't hear them as well through a pane of glass. :) It was getting kinda ridiculous. They were talking to me. Their chirping and horny mating calls were starting to sound like real words: one of them always says Germannnyyyy, and one says "shiverme shiverme shiverme timbers" and another says "babysitter babysitter" and then there's one that just copies ALL OF THEM. Doing one call after another, in succession, like the most annoying type of car alarm.


I'm a little bit in love with Simon Pegg. OK, a lot. Watch the show Spaced. I finally did. (hint: it's all on Hulu)


My job is tiring and suckish and I know I complain about it too much. Friday is my first pay day!!! yay. I will make a real effort to not bitch about it anymore because I don't want to be that girl. It's like in high school when I was in orchestra and my friends and I all hated our conductor. We would find ourselves complaining about him on the weekends at sleepovers until we realized "oh no. he won. he's in our heads all the time!" So I will stop. Now.


I'm almost through a book called Name of the Wind, which I was reluctant to read simply because someone told me I'd like it. Which instantly turns me off to it. Except then that someone decided to harass me over facebook and bug me and bug me until I read it. Damn him.


I still have no idea what day of the week it is. When I was in church yesterday, I flipped through the missalette and found out that there are only 9ish more weeks of summer. Which is still a long time.