Thursday night I wasn’t in the mood to go straight home, so I roped Al into going for just one. We left the pub at nine. All very civilized. I remember having three glasses of red. Al however said that there were four. Given what transpired next, I am inclined to believe him.

Three or four- That’s a lot of vino, but I can usually handle that. Not saying it’s a good idea- just that I can handle it. I usually however pace myself – especially when drinking wine. I will drink water between the glasses. Spread it out over six-eight hours. I also usually have food in my stomach.

But not Thursday. I drank four (large) glasses of red- basically a bottle if not more on maybe 350-500 calories. In three hours.

I woke up at 6 in the morning in bed. Naked. Luckily it was my bed and Stuart was lying next to me. I flipped the events of the evening Rolodex in my head.

Left the pub. Okay. Laying here in bed. Okay.

Left the pub. Bed.

Pub. Bed.

I was missing everything in between. This has never happened to me before.

Stuart had put a large glass of water and ibuprophen on the dresser for me so I took a couple even though I felt okay and drank half the water.

Stuart stirred and peeked his head over the duvet.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“You were lashed.”

“Yeah. I don’t remember anything after leaving the pub.”

“You came home at 9:30 singing the French national anthem.”

“I was singing The Marseillaise?”

“See. I didn’t even know it was called that.”

“But I don’t know the words to The Marseillaise.”

“Well, they’re in your head somewhere.”

“I think I’ve watched Casablanca a few too many times.”

“I tried to make you go to bed but you refused. I tricked you by saying you would be more comfortable in your dressing gown.”

Something was coming back. “You undressed me?”

“Yes. And you weren’t very accommodating. You kept rolling around. Then you screamed, ‘Stop hitting me!’ Then you giggled.

“That’s funny.”

“I’m sure our neighbours thought so. Do you remember talking to your mum?”

“I talked to my mom?”

“Yeah, something happened with you sister. She had to have a second surgery. I can’t believe you don’t remember.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yes. She’d called and left a message and you called back.”

“I called back?”

“At 12:30. You were sitting up talking really loudly and woke me up and I had to send you out of the room. I can’t believe you don’t remember.”

I can’t believe I can’t remember either. It’s rather scary. I did some quick research on the topic this morning and I found a really great article by Aaron White, PhD. Basically alcohol messes with your brain hitting the record button.

Alcohol primarily disrupts the ability to form new long-term memories; it causes less disruption of recall of previously established long-term memories or of the ability to keep new information active in short-term memory for a few seconds or more. At low doses, the impairments produced by alcohol are often subtle, though they are detectable in controlled conditions. As the amount of alcohol consumed increases, so does the magnitude of the memory impairments. Large quantities of alcohol, particularly if consumed rapidly, can produce a blackout, an interval of time for which the intoxicated person cannot recall key details of events, or even entire events. En bloc blackouts are stretches of time for which the person has no memory whatsoever. Fragmentary blackouts are episodes for which the drinker’s memory is spotty, with “islands” of memory providing some insight into what transpired, and for which more recall is usually possible if the drinker is cued by others. Blackouts are much more common among social drinkers than previously assumed and should be viewed as a potential consequence of acute intoxication regardless of age or whether one is clinically dependent upon alcohol.

There is one benefit of me not eating enough and going to bed without dinner. I was a pound and half lighter Thursday morning than I was on Wednesday. Maybe there is something with the whole starvation thing. (of course I am kidding. And anyone that knows me knows that would not be possible for me to ever do)

I told Al that I had a black-out.

He was surprised. “You must have been drunk!”

That made me feel mildly better that while my record button had been taped over, at least I was functional. . . to someone who had had four pints.

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine. Great. I’m hungry because I haven’ had breakfast, but other than that fine. Isn’t that terrible?”

“Are you kidding? That’s great. They should take your blood and study it. Do tests on you to find the secret to no more hangovers.”

While I don’t generally get hangovers, I really don’t fancy another memory gap.

Although, it would be rather fabulous, if deep inside me, are the words to The Marseillaise.

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Me and Grey - Summer 1995Originally uploaded by treefrog girl.

Well not old. Just not young.

The little monkey I am holding in this picture turned 13 four days ago.

Just got the e-mail announcing my 20th High School reunion.

My cousin that is my age e-mailed me with her son’s High School graduation announcement.

Sigh. . .

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One of the things that I love about my sister is what a character she is. She is a universe of energy that can be a lot of fun when it is being used for good rather than evil. I suppose it’s the whole bi polar thing. It’s amazing that such a little person is so enormous.

Was chatting (listening) to her yesterday.

Some of what I can remember:

“You know how I have a cigarette every now and then? Grey HATES it. So for his birthday, can you believe he’s THIRTEEN? So for his birthday one of his gifts as a joke I bought him some of those candy cigarettes. I tossed them to him and said ‘SMOKE UP SON!’ HAHAHA! He is SUCH a little prude. Such a PRUDE. And he’s very serious. You know me, I was a happy go lucky kid. But Grey is so VERY serious. He’s more of a little arty serious kid. Like how you were!”

“I’m just so glad they finally diagnosed me with the hernia. The doctor asked me to set a date for the operation and I said September. And he said, ‘No, we need to do it now.’ So we were going to do it Monday and then I changed it. I had to! Mercury is in retrograde! But it is a BLESSING. I’m scared to go under the knife but this is affecting my navel chakra, which is all about emotions. Once I heal, I am going to be such a stronger massage therapist.”

“I just bought WONDERFUL car. I had bought this hunk of junk and put 1000 bucks into it then it turned out to have cracked engine. Then I had a dream. I saw myself in my friend’s car. So I called her. Told her that the UNIVERSE was telling me I was supposed to have her car so she sold it to me!’

She cracks me up. She’s like a rich chocolate torte laced with hallucinogenics. It’s fun to visit her world for a little while, but then I need to pull away and find gravity before I spin out of orbit into her normal of exploding stars.

You see- while she may be a toasted flake. . .she’s right. I always was rather serious.

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I’ve always been a big reader. I don’t recall even learning to read. When I was seven and I got busted for not doing my homework, my parents took my books away to punish me.

Nana, my father’s mother is also a big reader. She would send my mom big boxes of novels that she had read when she was done with them.

I wasn’t allowed to read these books. The covers of the novels that Mom kept in big dusty boxes in the garage were the sort that Fabio would pose for. Bodice rippers.

Of course my not being able to read these books meant that I would of course read them and so I had my first introduction to porn for women when I was 11 or 12. Gentleman, if you see a woman reading one of these novels and then giving you stick about your videos and FHM, know that she is a hypocrite because these books are nothing but erotica dressed up as romance.

One of my favourites from the smut pile was Sky O’Malley. I tell myself that I got some history in between the good parts.

Reading these books was certainly titillating, but it did mess with my head I think. It took me a while once I was in the game to realise that everything didn’t. . . errr. . . work. . . as easily as they do in the books.

It wasn’t until years later, when reflecting on secret stash of girl porn in the garage that I felt a certain amount of -ICK- at the knowledge that I was getting off on the same books as my Mother and Grandmother.

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When I was growing up, my father worked selling used auto parts. He may very well still do that. The shop he worked in was different from a lot of the places in that business in the 70’s. The showroom was clean and shiny with stacks of tires and hubcaps arranged artfully.The back where all the parts were, or in the shop, or the graveyard of cars in the pick-a-part lot was the typical greasy and dusty.

Whenever we came to see my dad, his boss would call out, “Helloooo boys!” which we loved because we weren’t boys. This was a world ruled by men.

The only women were draped on the hoods of the car calendars in the front office and in the stacks of porn in the shop. Now, looking back, it concerns me slightly that someone brought his porn in to work. Seems like an unusual place to find the time to appreciate it.

I could be making this up, but I have a memory of my sisters and I in 1977/78 spending the day at my dad’s work for some reason and finding one of the Playboys. We sat there like it was story time, us all of eight, six and five years old, flipping through the pictures and giggling.

Thank god it wasn’t Hustler.

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In an attempt to de-crazy myself, and because I’ve often thought it might be interesting although a bit solipsistic– I’ve started seeing a shrink in the office.

Today was the first appointment.

When I was talking to her about my background, I almost started laughing because it sounded like a Jerry Springer Christmas special. It actually popped in my head that she is going to think I’m making all of this shit up.

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“Stuart? What time do we get back Sunday?”

We are going to Rome this weekend. I’d planned on staying in London for the long four-day Easter weekend, but a few weeks ago I came home to find that Stuart had done a drunken Expedia purchase.

“Five.”

“So I won’t have time to make Easter dinner then. Okay. Maybe I’ll do it Monday.”

“Easter dinner?”

“Easter dinner.”

“What do you mean Easter dinner?”

“You know. A meal. On Easter. Where Christians and those that are no longer Christian but still carry on the trappings of Christian celebration get together and eat some form of roast beast.”

“What do you have?”

“I usually make lamb.”

“I’ve never heard of this.”

“You’re kidding. You must be.”

“No.”

“This is a fairly common thing Stuart. A lot of people go home to spend time being tortured by their families.”

“Yeah. No. Never heard of it. Is Al going home?”

“Trying to get out of it. He’s debating between telling them he stepped on a land mine and blew off his leg or food poisoning. I pointed out that the land mine route might not be the best as it would require cutting off his leg at least by Christmas, but he said it was worth it. . . How can you have never heard of Easter dinner? Did you never go home for it?”

“Well, yeah. But just to get my Easter candy.”

* Kinder Surprise is like Cracker Jack. Except different.

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Stuart’s mobile rang. “It’s for you.” He handed it to me.

It was Grey, my soon to be thirteen year old nephew. “What’s wrong?” My brain started imagining the million and one possibilities.

“Nothing. I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

We chatted about his baseball game. He plays catcher and he had gotten clipped by a ball to the head in his last game. He told me he is about to start track and was worried about the times that it will clash with baseball. Told me about his dad’s girlfriend and that he really likes her and will be happy when she moves in because he and his dad are slobs and she is a neat freak.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s your maid young man.”

“Oh, I know, I know!” He backtracked.

I kept waiting for him to spill some big bad that would make me want to get on a plane and kill someone but after 15 minutes of chatting he said, ‘Ok, I have to go get ready for my game.”

“Have a good day. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He groaned.

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I haven’t talked enough about the Christmas holiday. We had a wonderful time hanging out and we all ate and drank far too much. There were also a few silly moments. This one is brought to you by my mother.

The parentals have 4 cats and 1 loopy black lab named Charlotte. Gary, my step-father has to get up at 5 to get ready for work. One morning I heard Charlotte barking and Gary trying to keep her quiet at ridiculous o’clock. I rolled over to go back to sleep- hadn’t slept well the night before. I was about to drift back off when—

I hear my mother SHRIEKING. (I wish I was exaggerating.) “GUYS!!!! COME DOWNSTAIRS IF YOU WANT TO SEE A RACCOON!!!!! GUYS! THERE’S A RACCOON!!!! GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I roll over and look at Stuart. Stuart rolls over and looks at me. We shake our heads each of us thinking, “What the fuck??? I don’t care about no fucking raccoons.”

She starts wailing again. “NICOLE!!!! THERE’S A RACCOON!!”

I had a sudden flash to growing up when she would be really loud on a Saturday morning- crashing around opening closets and cupboards and singing to herself to wake us up because she wanted to have someone to talk to.

Find out later that morning when we get up at a reasonable hour that two raccoons had gotten in the screen porch and were hanging on the wind chimes. The dog and cats (and my mother) were going ape shit.

Jen, bless her got up when my mum yelled. I however, missed the little beasts. I’m okay with that.

I’ll save it for the next visit.

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. . . was a resounding success. My stuffing was nothing at all like my Mom’s, which was disappointing on one level, but it tasted absolutely amazing so I was pleased.

Ended up cutting the squash, cabbage, green beans and baked apples from the line up.

Libby brought a yummy nut loaf and Amanda covered the pumpkin need with a lowcarb pumpkin cheesecake that was absolutely delish.

(Aussie ex flat-mate) Jen made up a cheese platter and along with Al helped me out in the kitchen with peeling and slicing and carving.

Everyone brought wine and beer and I think we drank it all along with the vanilla extract.*

The turkey was too dry I am afraid. I didn’t take it out when I wanted to because the meat thermometer made it look like it needed a bit more. I think it lied to me. Still, I would rather serve over cooked turkey than kill my guests.

Even more important than the food was the company. Was a good laugh.

When Chris and Libby arrived, it was so cute. . . Chris said, “Happy Thanksgiving! . . . That is what you say right?”

Al wanted us to go around after dinner and say what we were thankful for but it got lost in the vino and a competitive game of Cranium.

One funny moment that I missed: The meeting of American Jen and Aussie Jen.

Aussie Jen to American Jen: It’s Jen is it?

American Jen: Yes.

Aussie Jen. I actually prefer Jennifer.

American Jen: That would be nice if it was your name.

Aussie Jen: Actually it is.

Last night the kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off in it and I was really not looking forward to the washing up. This morning I let myself have a lay-in, which I deserved after cooking and not going to bed until 1:30 and with all the red wine floating in my blood. Got up at 11:45, shuffled down the stairs and I saw a shocking, shocking sight.

Stuart doing the dishes.

I gave him an enormous hug and kiss. He has no idea how much I appreciate that he did that.

Jen took photo’s of the drunken Cranium madness and I can’t get over how fat I look. Going for a long walk right after I eat a platter of leftovers.

* Family Ties reference. Tom Hanks (before he was Tom Hanks) plays the visting alcoholic Uncle and he is so desperate for the sauce, he drinks an entire bottle of vanilla extract.

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