because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Tuesday, 22 May 2012

When Anna Came to Visit.

I've visited Anna where she lives in Paris more times than I can count. This weekend I played hostess in Rome for a change. I'm shit at it. It was still all the fun, though, to periodically exclaim to one another, TEN YEARS AGO WE WERE IN A DRAMA CLASS IN YORKSHIRE TOGETHER. NOW LOOK AT US!

Look at us indeed. Drunk and snap-happy.

"Right. You've been here ten minutes. Prosecco?" I said. "FINALLY!" she replied. "That was the longest ten minutes of my life. Let's go."
Because it was my birthday weekend I did smoking. SORRY I'M NOT SORRY.
"This is where you live?" she asked me. "I'll call myself a smug bitch so you don't have to," I said.
That's the Marilyn moment over with, then.
I made her eat the best gelato outside of the bestest building...

... made all the better because THE HORSE STUCK IT'S TONGUE OUT AT US. That's almost better than a banana in hat.
The bestest building gave the bestest light. That's a hole in the ceiling, in case you were wondering.
Pause for lunch. Right next to us were Spain's most beautiful twentysomethings. It was disgusting.
I got drunk to deal with my feelings.
So, I got a tattoo, and Anna let me hold her hand really, really hard while the nice man did it.
Right after he drew this as the outline I wanted to do throwing up. I just kept saying. I'M TATTOOING A BANANA IN A HAT ON MYSELF. Then the needle went in. 
Anna's solution for post-tattoo euphoria was to drink vodka-based cocktails to deal with my emotions. HEY! SPOT THE PATTERN! I DRINK TO DEAL WITH THE INSIDES OF MY HEAD. That's healthy. p.s. hi, ex-roomie!
On the way home we stood on the bridge on the way to my house and Anna said, 'You're a very fortunate lady.' Internet? SHE WAS RIGHT.

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