Here's the thing. Have you seen my guestmap? It's down there in my NavBox. If you haven't, go sign it already you bastard.

Anyways, if you find my little person-dealie, you'll see I have an Irish flag in my little pop-up box. I'm half Irish. Have I told you that before? Yeah, I am. See, my paternal grandparents left Ireland (don't know why), came here, and birthed my dad. While technically he's American, both of his parents are Irish, making me half.

But my paternal grandparents died when I was about 5. My dad never talks about them, not even if you get him talking. He clams up. So I know nothing about my heritage. Not a damn thing. And everyone on my dad's side is dead, except for him and his uber-bitchy sister. She hates me though.

*sigh*

I wish I knew something. Anything really. But I don't

Here's to my Irish heritage, eh?

Anyways...it's a little depressing. The part of my family I feel I'd actually connect with basically acts as though I don't exist, and the part of my family that claims me, also alienates me. They don't know me. They don't accept me as I am now. It's quite sad.

No wonder I'm so intent on creating my family from the people around me who actually love me, eh?

So much for my Irish heritage. *sigh*

Still, it's a piece of me, and something that makes me happy to think about. Most Americans are mutts, not that there's anything wrong with that, but it feels kind of special to be half something.

In the end though, the concept is ridiculous. We're all people, right?

*grin*

But I'm still half Irish.

Enough rambling. I need vodka. Great quantities of vodka and sex!

At least I can count on the vodka.