I should have been homecoming queen (a.k.a. The longest blog post I will ever make)

My husband and I make a habit of doing absolutely nothing on the weekends. We look forward to these days of sleeping until noon, not making the bed, eating take-out and watching TV. On Monday when people ask about our weekend, we say “ABSOLUTELY NOTHING” with pride. People look at us with admiration and awe. If only they could be so goddamned lazy. If only.

This weekend, however, we hardly slept. This is just short of a tragedy for us. If we sleep less than 10 hours on a weekend night, we expect to wake up to bombs or an earthquake or my mother or something else life threatening because there is NO REASON AT ALL to be up before noon. It’s amazing that I found a person so suited for me and my sleeping habits really, because if we ended up with anyone else the divorce papers would have read:

Reason for dissolution of marriage – WILL NOT WAKE UP

This weekend, though, we found ourselves out helping friends and seeing other people outside of our home. Sometimes we even saw a little bit sunlight (followed by three hours of heavy downpour) which is just shy of a miracle because we haven’t had a rain-free day in one month and three weeks. ONE MONTH AND THREE WEEKS. (Just in case you didn’t read it the first time and when you did you couldn’t understand how that doesn’t warrant caps lock.)

On Saturday we helped our friends E and D move from their lovely Dublin house to their gorgeous, expansive and smog free country house that has grass all around it. GRASS. Grass is a rare find in a yard in Dublin. It does come in forty shades of green in general over here but not in Dublin. In Dublin it comes in shades of “asphalt” and “brick”. Sometimes you can get “dirt” but those are only on the special occasions. These people though, they have grass and if they weren’t my best friends before they are now.

After hours of backbreaking labor (I made tea all day. The pressure was so much I nearly cried twice.) by people who would give American plantation owners of the 1700’s a run for their money, we went home, collapsed on the couch before we got up again minutes later, changed and went into town were we met with up with International Best Friend (IBF). IBF and I met in 2003 when I backpacked around Ireland and the UK. Her and her boyfriend live in London but are from Australia and they finally made it over for a piss-up in Dublin. We got so happily drunk we sang Australian/American songs at the top of our lungs and walked the 1.5 miles home down sketchy streets. It’s like I’m asking for trouble these days.

On Sunday I woke up in a semi-hangover haze to realize that I was supposed to go look at a friend’s baby that day and I had to pull myself together. Apparently new parents don’t appreciate it when you show up to their house drunk and smelling like pee. I can’t understand why. The baby is gorgeous and the new mommy and daddy are so amazing with her that I almost stayed and had them take care of me. Sadly, I couldn’t fit in the bassinet.

This coming weekend I look forward to the nothing-ness that is our lives usually. I can only handle being so popular for so long.

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Liz in Dublin