It’s Jolliday Time

Spent the weekend being a social butterfly, which is unusual for me, and banned under the Irish Unemployment Rules, which states that if you are unemployed it’s your own fault, and you must be miserable, and thankful for the spit that befalls you when someone in the social welfare office bothers to look down on you and judge you for your general unworthiness.


Friday Lilsister and Scarydancer went on their jollidays to the sun, a holiday which was thankfully booked pre-redundancy.  Speaking of which, scrap my earlier rant about the place where Lilsister did TWO interviews and then never heard from them again – at my prompting, with a large stick, she rang them up and asked for feedback on her interviewSSSSS as there did not seem to be any earthly reason why she didn’t get the job (not having farted in the interview or anything, which I was deeply concerned about as Lilsister is VERY gassy).  They didn’t take her call so I told her to email them and they did reply, saying that the process was on hold and that they would get back to her next week.  So not a complete fuck off, and a ray of hope begins to glimmer.

As Lilsister was on her jollidays, this meant that MINE could start too, and I have moved into her apartment for the week to abuse her chocolate press (a WHOLE press yes, devoted to junk food oh the humanity!) and her car, which makes me feel like a normal person again, what with having somewhere to live and a method with which to get around in.  Hurray! I spent the first half hour running room to room, giggling at the space and lack of parents killing each other.  The silence was like a velvetly blanket hugging me.  I embraced it back and began giggling again.

My new founded ability to have my own space prompted invitations to Sisinlaw, who lives in the apartment block opposite, and Preggers, who lives two floors down with Firstbrother, to pop up for a visit, and a chat.  I found a quarter bottle of champagne in the fridge and had a glass of that, while Preggers had the dregs of what was left, and Sisinlaw brought her half bottle of red, and we all settled in for a night of discussing my brothers and their shortcomings, politics, and solving the world’s problems, in that order, until Sisinlaw decided she needed more wine, and ran downstairs to the shops to get some, and I discovered a bottle of prosecco in the fridge, which I did NOT share with Preggers, as she’s pregnant, then we ate some cheese I had just bought, and Preggers and Sisinlaw decided that the red went really well with the cheese, so they had some red and cheese, and I kept drinking, and then it was 2.30am and Preggers and Sisinlaw stumbled out and I decided to wash the dishes, which meant I was quite drunk.

This would all have been fine, except it was Smasher’s 30th birthday the next day, and I had agreed to drive to her apartment, drink more prosecco, then do dinner, a pub and a club.  Unfortunately when I awoke my headache was coming out of the side of my neck, and no amount of my fabulous scrambled eggs with extra salt would appease it.  I felt old, and horrific.  I looked worse.

After seriously considering not going at all, I dragged my sorry bones and Smasher’s pressie to the car and took several breaths, and drove slowly and safely to her apartment, where I had a lie down for an hour and then a glass of prosecco before heading to the Thai place with her and P Diddy, and Smash’s other friends, with whom I had to make conversation.  I did though, and felt triumphant, until the newly wed couple beside me began to banter about their honeymoon, prompting thoughts of bitterness and hatred towards Exhimself, which I did not mention.  I had been given pork belly with a spicy dip, and I just kept eating and looking at our handsome waiter, who was very handsome, but sadly, knew it, rendering him unattractive in my eyes.  Not in Smashers’ though, as she loudly proclaimed in her outside voice that his bum looked like two peaches in a hankie, when he was about ten centimeters away from her.  Then we all told her to use her inside voice and she told us all to fuck off, he couldn’t possibly have heard her.  Then we kept getting served by a nice girl.

Afterwards we went to a trendy pub where trendy people were drinking and I wondered how I had gotten in.  Probably because of P Diddy’s fabulous organisational skills, which are as good as any professional event planner.  Drinking several pints of Tiger beer, I began to get mellow and sheepish, and my headache moved away from my neck and disappeared into the abyss for a while, while I bopped away from the trendy people, lest my unemployment miserableness rubbed off on them and caused them to spiral into despair.

We then hit the streets to Ri Ra, a nice club I hadn’t been into for many moons, and whilst looking for a bathroom I found a dancefloor that was playing Salt n Pepa’s ”Push It” – naturally I had to dance there, and myself and P Diddy enjoyed the 80’s and 90’s medly until some smelly boys and their groping got in the way of us busting our moves.  Good stuff though until that point.

Towards the end of the night, Smashers became seriously drunk, as evidenced by the general ranting and waving of hands to.emphasise.every.single.word. so we were very alarmed when she suggested going to Leeson Street for further boogeying.  My neck had begun bulging again and P Diddy really wanted some junk food.  Outside the club, as Smashers discussed further clubbing, we waited quietly and fretfully while she made up her mind, fearful to tell her what to do on such an important b day.  Luckily, P Diddy spotted Smashers taking a breath mid-rant, and quietly suggested that we go eat, which was immediately accepted, being as Smashers is as much of a savage as the rest of us, and then we ran into the middle of the road, to get to the food, and avoided being murdered by the many taxis, luckily, very luckily.

The night ended quietly after that, apart from my feeling very odd watching Smashers lean against the railings of the Bank of Ireland, pulling her tights and knickers up, which she protested were down around her knees, something I can’t confirm.  She gave them a good yank upwards though, and after food, we were home and for some reason I was showering in her apartment and climbing into bed at 4.30am, and apart from a cock crowing about half an hour later from somewhere within her apartment block, a decent night’s sleep was had by all.

I’ve also promised Sisinlaw and Preggers a meal tomorrow night, which will hopefully not involve more wine and my neck as ceased it’s constant banging and I can walk upright now, as opposed to stooping, or crawling on the floor.  And no more 30th birthdays for a while, it is highlighting the fact that I am nearly forty, and therefore, consigned to the dusty shelf for being crap.  Sniff.

And now to the post office to post an actual job application!!!!  The glimmer gets slightly bigger…


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