Oooooh St. Paddy's Day.  How I remember the drunken debauchery, vomit laden toilets, skanky green tee shirts, lime jello shots, and the hangover that lasted two days.  In a nutshell, I miss St. Joe.  That is where I learned the importance of St. Patrick's Day and how such a holiday is best celebrated in the company of good friends, bad beer, and several opportunities to make really bad decisions.  Clearly, times have changed. 

Dave, Gertie and I traveled downtown to see the river (green in appearance), and possibly hear the remnants of a herd of bagpipers.  We were a bit late for the festivities, but we still saw two big firetrucks, several dressed up dogs, and lots of good people sporting their best green attire.  I also learned that Greta DOES HAVE some Irish blood in her, thanks to Grandma Norton and Grandma Koch.  Sadly, there is not one bit of Irish/Scotch/Welsh in me.

The rest of our weekend was spent lounging around the house, clipping coupons, picking up the basement, and doing a million loads of laundry.  By the looks of it today, it is as if nothing was accomplished.  So the plight of this domestic goddess continues.....