My Exciting Weekend

So far so good.  I had fun at happy hour last night.  Stayed until 10:00, catching up with some friends I hadn't seen in forever.  I ate 168 chicken wings, which equals one thigh (a chicken's, not mine).  I refuse to eat them properly, which is to chew on them like corn on the cob and consume everything but the bone (including skin and tendons).  Consequently, my host took my discards from my plate and gleaned the remains from them.  We're good friends and it was a casual thing, so it wasn't weird. They were good, but I just don't get the whole hot wing hoopla.  Same with ribs.

They also had yummy crostini.  They credited me with inspiring it since I frequently take it to their house for happy hour.  Good cheese and spicy crab dip, and of course, lots of adult beverages and fun convo.  My kinda Friday night.  Especially since I love having party food for dinner.  I'd picked up Wendy's for The Daddler, so he was happily ensconced in his recliner with his favorite chili and frosty and the big-ass TV with a Cards game blaring.

Speaking of feeding The Daddler, I've outdone myself this week.  I've made the following:  baked tilapia, pan-fried rosemary potatoes, black bean soup, white chicken chili, and pork tenderloin.  Nothing too labor intensive, except for cleaning up the mounds of dirty dishes.  Which still remain on my kitchen counters.  Waiting for me.  Ugh.

After a couple weeks of sandwiches and other boring stuff, D was happy.  He even praised my cooking by saying it was "good", not just "pretty good" or "all right."   I think my spate of cooking was inspired by the phone call from my bitchy aunt earlier in the week.  The same homeopath I caught getting him to try to spell the name of his new prostate medicine.  The same one on whom I unleashed a torrent of pent up vitriol.

I was suprised she called again.  I wouldn't have answered if the caller id had displayed "Aunt Bitch from Hell" instead of "private number."  She was all business when she asked to speak to her brother.  I sat and listened to the whole convo.  Should've put it on speaker phone.  Wasn't hard to figure out, though.  Especially when I heard The Daddler say, "Yeah, she cooks pretty good."  He's not stupid.  I refrained from snatching the phone away and shouting that if she was so worried about his nourishment, why didn't she drag her ass up here from Red-Neck-Bigotopolis, Mississippi with a casserole.  And telling her that he'd gained 15 pounds since October, thank you very much.

Back to last night.  Everyone was gathered around the kitchen island and there were lots of people and the atmosphere was very convivial, and consequently loud.  All of a sudden, I had a sort of panic attack.  Where my ability to filter sound disappears and everything turns into a noisy cacophony.  So I retreated to the family room to try to find a baseball game.  Their sorry-ass AT&T U-Verse did NOT have a baseball game.  How could that be?  So we settled on the TCU-Baylor football game.  Which turned out to be good.  Soon I found myself in a room full of men.  I was about to head home when my host told me that some very good mutual friends were on the way.  So I hung in there.

Oh, an aside.  I'm sitting here at the window in my office and I just saw one of the usual neighbors strolling past.  He's a sixty-ish man with a cute dog and a huge gut, which he doesn't deign to cover with a shirt.  How have I not blogged about him before?  And what's up with men without shirts?  If women can't show their nipples in public, why do men get to?  Not that I want to see nipples of any sort.  Ok, back to the party.

Finally, the crowd dwindled and it was just the five of us (host and hostess, mutual couple friends and moi) watching the game.  It was cozy.  We knew each other from our boys growing up together.  I fielded the usual questions about ex-husband's dating status.  Unless he's had a major personality shift, I can't imagine he's "out there."  In fact, Kiddo observed that he still wears his wedding ring.  Ex's life is consumed with work and sports, and I suspect he's quite content.  I'd wager that he'll never marry again.  Unless some determined woman comes along and hog-ties him.  Which is what I did approximately 25 years ago.  Wow, it would've been our silver anniversary in just a few days.  Very tarnished silver.

Then the next logical questions.  What about me?  Was I dating anyone?  I gave my usual response.  A breezy little discourse about FF.  The unusual circumstances of our meeting.  That a long-distance relationship was perfect since right now, since The Daddler comes first.  Then the next question about the status of our relationship.  And my usual response.  Two great trips and one visit home for him. That have fun together.  He makes me laugh.  And that right now, I don't have the energy or inclination to date.  But if they know some eligible bachelor, I might be open to a look-see.

Not the truth about how I'm a one-man woman.  All or none.  And that I'm crazy about him. 

But wait, I'm in pull-back mode.  Forgot about that.  Woke-up feeling the love.  Anticipating his ring-tone.  This, just 12 short hours after trying to figure out how to block calls from specific contacts on my cell phone last night (I can't).  I did, however, leave my phone at home.  I never do that.  But there were no missed calls.  And it was too late to call him when I got in.

He'd called that afternoon when I was about to enter the I-240 pre-holiday rush hour fray to take JoJo to the airport so I couldn't talk.  Funny thing.  One of J's Spanish speaking friends called while we were in the car and I told her to give me the phone (since I've decided to abandon Polish and learn Spanish) so I could practice.  I started spouting out random phrases.  Some of which I knew from reading bilingual signs.  No fumar, por favor.  Plus the vestiges of my 10th grade Spanish semester.  Dangerous.  When I handed the phone back to her, he said I'd told him he was my daddy.  Go figure.  Kinda like when I told my Japanese client that lunch was ass (I meant delicious).

Ok, The D is up and I need to clean up the kitchen.  Do a couple loads of laundry.  Go for a run while the giant oven of our lovely southern climate outside is preheating.  Read the paper.  Drink more coffee.  And be thankful that I don't have a client meeting to get ready for.  Fart around and enjoy the holiday.  And wait for that distinctive ring-tone and the tiny, handsome face on my phone...