A Slice Of My Weekend

The weekend started out with total apathy on my part: no desire to leave my flat, no desire to drive two hours to my friend's house, no desire to see the future ex ex.

I'm glad I got out of here for a few days. It took a lot of energy for me to leave Anne's house, once I was there. The only reason I came back was for a doctor's appointment I had.

There are lots of things I could have blogged about over the weekend, and I had free use of the computer, but I just couldn't sit down and write, much in the way I couldn't sit down and talk. I was there without being there.

I've mentioned Ema before, and it was good to see her again. Her attitude and energy are contagious. Not that I'm going to go pierce my tongue and navel, or bare my midriff now. But I enjoyed being around her again, because not only will she pluck your eyebrows, she'll make you laugh.

New this time around was Ema's jean fetish.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating. It's not a fetish, nor is it about jeans. Ema just goes around calling everyone Jean.

"Hiya, Jean, d'you want a cup of tea?"

"Jean, it's quarter to five, which means that somewhere in the world it's six o'clock. D'you want a glass of wine?"

"Oh, go on then, Jean! Show us your arse!"

For a long time I thought French was a much more colorful language than English, until I heard Ema: "I don't give a monkey's eyeball!" "He's mad as a box of frogs." "I was pissed as a fart." (I'd heard that one before, but had forgotten it).

Ema also switches accents, depending on what she's saying. Words cannot do her performances justice; it's a shame I didn't have my mp3 player with me to record her. She can put on an Irish brogue or a council house accent, as well as an ale-swilling mate's accent.

Sunday afternoon we had a wine-soaked lunch, and it was decided that we'd go to an English pub that evening. Ema volunteered to drive, which was fine with me, because I'd driven the last time we went there. She stopped drinking wine, but the rest of us had another glass or two. It was decided that Ema would put makeup on me. I RARELY wear makeup. Last time I wore mascara to work was the day I had a teary nervous breakdown in the car, so, you know. But I like the way I look with makeup on. I just can't be assed to put it on everyday and take it off at night.

Well. I looked really good. We went out: me, Ema, Anne, and Anne's neighbors John and Janet, an English couple who have a holiday home here.

We went out and had pints of beer. I sat and explained my weblog to John and Janet. We passed my camera around and took photos. I bellied up to the bar and requested a song. I even talked to a manual laborer who'd been there for a couple of hours already. I wasn't hitting on him, I swear.

And then all of a sudden I was DRUNK. Yep, as in CAPS LOCK. On a normal day, I would have been happily buzzed and in control of my faculties. But I'm not normal right now, I'm taking medication.

Oops.

I had to be helped to the car, helped to bed, undressed. Ema and Anne took care of me, and later, when Ema was finally going to bed, I woke up a bit. She gave me some pain reliever and talked to me while I settled back into my stupor.

There is a point to my telling you this. Really.

Point is, Monday evening I stayed on instead of coming home. Ema went out and got pissed. Not pissed as a fart, but very tipsy, and although she came home at 10:30, I was already in bed reading.

She wanted to have a chat, Jean. So we did. We chatted. She made me have a cup of Lipton Yellow. She smoked a couple of fags. I was stone sober, but I can't remember all we talked about.

We shared a bed, Ema and I did, and after we got back into bed and I picked up my Maeve Binchy novel, she said in a tired voice. "Oh go on, Jean, read to us."

I started reading, and she said in her best mid-Atlantic: "No, not in Amurricun." Then with her normal voice, "Read with an English accent, darling."

So I did. And tried not to laugh. And then I read to her in a southern drawl. And then in plain old Alison-speak.

Ema nodded off fairly quickly, and I kept on reading.

Comments

[BHD]

This seals it. I'm coming to visit and must meet these people. It's pretty boring out here in the woods...

[beetilda]

Arrrrgggghhhh! it isn't a "brogue", a brogue is a shoe! It's a Irish accent. (And not Oi-rish" as the films would have you think.)

But I love your blog, and I am so glad that you post so often. Thanks a million! /Bee

[Alison]

Oops. Sorry, Bee. Thanks for the tip. And I'm glad you like my blog. :-)

[Denise]

Sounds like an awful lot of fun to me. You'll appreciate this--my brother got married (!!) October 16, and it took both Tony and me 2 days to recover from the MONSTER hangover. So don't feel bad--we're just all a little too old for this s**t, aren't we? ;)