It didn't start out that way. Not really.

Hostess called about 3:15. Apparently, Elvis had told her categorically not to call before three. Due to the fact that we were never actually rained on, I had managed to leave my jacket at their house. They were coming in to Cascais to meet another friend of ours for a late lunch at the Posh Pub, and she had it with her. I told her I'd meet them there to retrieve it. She said they would be there for quite a while, which, in retrospect, should have been a bit of a warning.

Well, I couldn't let the poor woman haul my jacket around all day, could I? Especially since the morning rain had given way to a beautiful, sunny afternoon.

And who knows how many of those we have left.

Elvis had gotten up with the phone, and was in the shower by the time I got off it. We decided something to eat would be a good idea, which was fine by me because I had no inclination to cook.

(Insert random Elvis crabbiness here. Or not so random, as he does it so often it's become almost habitual and downright predicable. Not that that helps me much, as mostly he suceeds in making me just as miserable as he is. It is frequently, although not always, related to his being hungover.)

Eventually, we arrived at Posh Pub, to find four of our friends sitting out in the square and well stuck in to a bottle of wine. We joined them.

It was all downhill from there. Including the conversation, which started out on movies (The Italian Job, Get Carter), and decended to a rather crude discussion of "alternative meats" (headcheese was particularly memorable, rocky mountain oysters being not enough of a challenge for creative types such as ourselves), and-- sadly-- all sense of taste and propriety deserted us from there. I'm pretty sure those German tourists spoke English, too, which was pretty unfortunate for them.

Our conversation, in the memorable words of one of the participants, got "lower than a dachshund's balls." And that was before it got truly perverse.

This was the same man, by the way, that send the funniest sms message I've ever heard of to one of our friends at 5:30 Sunday morning. To wit: My head is bleeding and I'm listening to Johnny Cash. Not naked, though apparently he's done that before. Listening to Johnny Cash, that is, not the head bleeding.

His head had stopped bleeding by the time we saw him, but it didn't look good. Not surprisingly, he had no idea how he did it, aside from some sort of fall being fairly obviously involved.

So, five bottles of wine and however much beer Elvis had later, it was around 7 and we headed to our regular Pub to play darts. Not much darting ensued, although no one slacked off on the drinking. We persuaded the barmaid to put on American football for us, and we watched half a game with Canadian Joe before everyone else got sick of it and they put MTV hits on.

Note to today's pop stars: Why don't you write your own songs for a change, instead of endlessly remaking everything? Or, at the very least, learn how to play an instrument. Thank you.

That's another thing we talked about, while briefly trying to drag ourselves out of the gutter. We know, for example, a boatload of people named... Let's say "Jimmy". This leads to refering to people as Jimmy Jimmy, as opposed to InsertNameOfPub Jimmy, or Other Jimmy. Which is odd, because I've never met another "jimmy" before despite its being a rather common name. Or Mary. There's our friend Teacher Mary, as opposed to Irish Mary, who is actually from London but manages the Irish Pub.

And then there is Canadian Joe. There is not, in fact, another Joe. People just refer to him as Canadian Joe, regardless.

There aren't, to my knowledge, duplicate Dilettantes and Elvii, but I have no doubt they refer to us as "Those Americans" or somesuch.

We did, I think, make it home before midnight, but that wasn't enough to save me.

Monday, I felt a bit rough-- not only vaguely ill and generally exhausted, but my hamstrings for some reason hurt more than they had been. Plus, and here's a shock, we managed to oversleep. I considered skipping Portuguese, but I ended up scribbling down something in a hurry and getting down to the park for a taxi as fast as my poor thighs would let me.

I felt carsick on the way to Estoril.

I never get carsick.

I started to feel better as the day went on, except for my legs-- one of which hurts even more today. I think I managed to injure it worse when it was in a weakened state or something.

I went to the grocery store, where I managed to prove the adage that you should never go grocery shopping when you are hungry. Or hungover. I was a poster child for bad nutrition: salt and vinegar chips, three kinds of cookies, nutella, cream cheese, peanut butter. Plus fritos, which I swore never to buy again, because Elvis will eat an entire large-sized bag in one sitting. Aside from this being very bad for him, if I sit down with a sandwich for lunch and think "Gosh, a small handfull of fritos would be nice with this", there are never any there because he's eaten them all. So I bought two bags and hid one. Those puppies are mine, bwah-ha-ha.

I'm supposed to be on a diet, folks.

The rest of the day was a total waste. The entire house needed dusting, vacuuming, swiffing, mopping and polishing, plus the laundry was piled twice as high as the basket and was literally teetering.

I managed to clean our bathroom (but not the tub, because of the whole bending and the hamstrings thing, and no mopping), and put in one load of laundry. The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering about and staring idly into space.

It was like my brain went into standby mode.

More than usual, I mean.

We did not go out last night. I made spaghetti, and then we watched some Buffy. Who was also pretty lethargic, come to think of it, until she snapped out of it and started to kick some serious ass.

I can learn something from Buffy. Today, therefore, will be different. I will snap out of it. I will get shit done.

But my left hamstring is killing me. The right has pretty much recovered, so I must have done something imprudent.

Well, something imprudent that I don't quite remember.

But it's housework time now.

Even the bathtub, which gets pretty nasty because I forgot to buy liquid plumber yet again yesterday.