(Oh yea, I guess I should Introduce myself). I'm Lyla, or Lyla Lou and I'm usually over here.
I brainstormed a few minutes and thought of the perfect humiliating story. And it's about an Irishman, so it's relevant!
A few years ago I was a regular, I mean I lived at, an Irish themed bar near my hometown. I loved it for it's cheap beer, old musty wooden smell, and super hot Irish employees. Pretty much everyone that worked there was legitimately from Ireland and I have a feeling some of them were not here completely legally. The main bartender was a hilarious older guy with an accent so thick you could only understand him when you were drunk. The back-up bartender was a middle aged Irish hottie with a crazy jealous girlfriend. She constantly entertained us by showing up nightly to scream and throw things at her boyfriend. But my favorite was one of the waiters. He was absolutely gorgeous with dirty blond hair, bright blue eyes and an accent that was so hot I would literally almost fall off my bar stool straining to hear him talk.
Back then I liked to think I seemed super cool in front of my hottie Irish waiter. I pictured myself as the 'fun, laid back' girl that could hold her liquor with the best of them. I'm sure he saw me as the annoying drunk girl who constantly hit on him. But he put up with me and was always sweet as sugar when I was there.
One night, after a lot of drinks(I was really thirsty this night), I overheard hottie Irish waiter talking to one of the bartenders about his status in the US. He was worried that he would have to go back to Ireland, as his VISA was almost up. Drunk me was overjoyed. I finally had my chance to make a real move.
I drunkenly leaned over, probably slurring and drooling and loudly informed him that I had the answer. All he'd have to do is marry me, and he'd be able to stay in the US as long as he wanted.
Well, this was years ago, and since I've never been married, you can probably guess what his answer was. He's still around and I still see him from time to time at that Irish bar. Over the years he's stayed just as hot as always, and my embarrassment has gone down...only slightly.
It makes me cringe to remember what a drunken mess I used to be. Actually, I still can be a drunken mess. But I think my hair has definitely improved. Maybe it's time to ask him again?