Saturday

Well, I had quite the adventure on Saturday night. I met a drunk American. And it wasn't me!!

Housemate Clare came home from sailing around Croatia in a yacht (family holiday for parent's 40th anniversary) a day earlier than I'd planned. Which was fine, except that I'd made zero plans for the night that didn't involved chocolate ice cream, my PJs, and Harry Potter DVDs. So I threw myself together and hit the road when HC's boyfriend came over. I figure since she's leaving next week for her two month stint abroad, they deserved some time alone. (I'm an awesome housemate!) So I walked down to Dowling's Wine bar and encountered a drunk American.

When I walked in, I clocked her immediately. I (wrongly)figured she was a vacationing tourist who stumbled upon the bar because she was staying nearby. Very quickly, I discerned that she'd been there before and knew the new owner. Dowling's was owned and staffed exclusively by French (it's just following me everywhere) but has now been sold and re-staffed by Gay, which incidentally, also seems to follow me everywhere. So I ordered my wine, very quietly, because I have no desire to discuss politics/living abroad/how things are different from home/take photos with another American at this point. Also, she was actually hollering her conversation at the staff. Now, wine bars, as a general rule, are pretty cozy, romantic, dimly lit, rather atmospheric places. This being Ireland, all those apply but I've find it to be a bit more boisterous than other wine bars I've frequented in my pursuit of passion. But hollering was just a little too much. And when she commented on the owners (incredibly hot) Latvian boyfriend who was bartending, well... things got awkward. Owner told her to pipe own or leave. She piped down. And then latched onto some businessman who was trying to pay his bill. And then she spotted me.

Before I knew what was happening, she had moved everything over to sit beside me, and introduced me to the businessman, whom she didn't know, as her best friend. We're both Americans, see, we must be best friends. I made a big deal about how she left her credit card across the bar and she must retrieve it and she snapped at the staff (no really!) and ordered them to bring it to her. While they were at it, pour her new friend a drink. We're sisters now. I refused as strongly as I could while still being polite and then focused the conversation on my new book and how interesting it was and how I'd been waiting to read it for quite awhile. (which is all true) No dice, she wanted to talk about living here for 25 years, how her kids (4 of them) were all Dubliners, she loves her country, etc... I did the only other thing I could: I excused myself and went to the ladies room. For what seemed like ages but was certainly less time than being in the changing rooms at Ted Baker in Paris.

When I returned, I sort of poked my head out and Owner Man said to my great joy: she's gone! Such relief. I'm not fond of drunks in general, unless I'm among them, but loud drunks that want to attach themselves to you are so much worse. And she kept insisting that we were friends! To the whole room! I like Dowlings, I have every intention of returning there. But I was worried, not what the patrons would think but that the Owner wouldn't let me back in, lest I bring her with me. Thankfully, he recognizes that she was 7 or 8 glasses in before I'd even arrived. It's amazing how quiet things get when Loud leaves.

I read for awhile, had another glass of Malbec and talked to the staff for a bit. Turns out, Owner Man is heading to Dallas next week for a holiday. First words out of my mouth: take a bottle of water with you everywere. You may think you're prepared for the heat, but you're not.

We chatted for a bit and he asked me to give him a list of recommendations to take with him. It's the first time I've ever done that for my home. I've created these lists for many people going to Italy for the first time but never for Dallas. I was delighted to do it for him. Neither he nor his friends know anything about Dallas and had planned on showing up and tackling the city like you would a European city: head to the centre, walk around. Does Dallas even have a centre? I don't think it does. So I made a list, broken down into areas of the city, and realized something frightening: I can't remember things. Names, places, streets escaped me. I lived in Dallas for 12 years! And I've only been gone 14 months. It's like I shifted all that information to the archives to make room for my new Dublin information. Except that I have no Dublin information. So basically, my brain is blank. That sounds about right.

I made my best stab at a list, he bought me another glass of wine (can any one in Ireland just have a couple instead of a lot?!) to which I refused as strongly as I could while still remaining polite. Next think I know, I had another malbec in front of me. Nice problem to have in truth but I was really done at that point. So I drank it, read some more and then caught a taxi home. Owner Man insists on me coming back before he leaves for Dallas. And bringing a list of things I'd like him to bring back for me. Ah, the great list dilemma again... I really need to get much better at this asking for stuff thing. All I really want at the moment is a case of Shiner Boc and some plain tortilla chips. Hardly likely I'll ask him to schlep that back for me. And given the weather today, I doubt he'll be able to bring some Texas Sunshine either. But it's alright. It was sweet of him to offer.

And that's really all I managed for the weekend. For not planning anything, not having anywhere to go or any one to do it with, it was a nice little evening. Perhaps I should spend more time alone.