Back in the day I could stay up all night. There was a summer, years
ago, when my summer love (the pickle heir, if you must know) and I
would stay up all night. Drink way too much and talk way too much and the other stuff you do with
your summer loves (pickles not included-well not often). I would sleep an hour or two, often in the incredibly disgusting frat roon he was renting,
head to summer school and then to the maggot lab* where I did scientific
things all day. Short nap and back to the pickle heir. For an entire
summer.
And last night we went to dinner with a fellow Rent-head and dear friend's husband. He was in town for work and we wanted to impress him. Drinks at the Trendy New Hotel (but alas it was too crowded so we moved to the wine bar
in the Ferry Building), dinner at that Famous Vietnamese Restaurant with the killer view.
The mister is soooo spoiled. He's only been to the FVR when it was a private party for a
friend of ours who is the related to the sous chef. Trust me, you get
awesome food and service when you are in the private room dining with
the sous chef herself.
The food was great. Turns out you also
get amazing service when they find out the last time you ate dinner was
for that particular party. And your waiter loves the Sous Chef's relative. Shaking Beef.
Grapefruit jicama salad. Amazing corn. To-die-for creme brulee. There
was more but those were the very, very best. I think people have killed
for their Shaking Beef. I know I would.
Well, you know how it is
when you just talk and talk and have a great time. Let's just say Mr DFH is no "civilian". And we can talk forever with people that
aren't "civilians". I can do that with a very few normal folks these days, but only if they want to talk about Mini Coopers or kitchen remodels. The only thing that could have been better was if Ms DF
herself was in attendance. We wouldn't have even bother trying to
sleep. And the guys wouldn't have gotten in a word edgewise. Right now
I just wished they lived so much closer.
The Dear Friends have recently returned from Cape Town. And they had an incredible trip. They loved going on safari. They loved my favorite hotel. They loved Dr. Champagne. See how much we have in common? Unfortunately they also had a failed donor cycle. I didn't need to have that much in common with them. And they're both hurting pretty bad right now. I was glad to see at least one of them because the mister and I know that hurt. And I think it helps to have friends that have been down that path. We were lucky (or unlucky depending on how you look at it) to have a fabo couple that live very close to us and we found solace with each other.
It's amazing how even when you're hurting so much there's a comfort just in being with people who 'get it' on a deep level. You can speak in shorthand. You can finish each other sentences even if you've never met in real life before. And you can not feel alone and just be. You might even find it healing.
I hope our dinner helped the Dear Friends at least a tiny bit. I even sacrificed one of my remaining tisers to surprise Ms Dear Friend. And now her husband has already chastised her for not trying for an audience with the great Tertia while they were in SA. Apparently my calling him an asshole doesn't mean as much as a famous writer doing the same.
And so I didn't home
until after 1. And when the clock went off at 5:05 it hurt. In a bad bad way. And I didn't even drink much last night. Thankfully
I planned on showering at work and no one else was on the shuttle so I
had the whole back row to myself. And being somewhat worthless at work
doesn't actually impact much. Sad but true.
While I wouldn't trade the mister for the
pickle heir for all the bread an butter pickles on Olive Mountain**, I sure do miss my
younger self who could stay up all night and crash for a bit in a
skanky frat house and not have these bags under her eyes. And greet the day with optimism and good cheer.
* Yes, I truly was a mistress of maggots. That seemed to really pique people's interest. Trust me, my maggots (Drosophila melanogaster aka common fruitfly) were very clean and not very smelly and very small. So much better than the flesh flies down the hall and the imported cockroaches one flight down. Hard to believe I didn't pursue a career in science after that, isn't it? Anyway my little guys were about the size of grains of rice. I also had to dissect them using a microscope. It probably doesn't surprise anyone reading that a fly brain looks like testicles and a penis.
**Although
that pickle heir had the sexiest slow drawl you have ever heard in your
life. Ever. Still gives me shivers now just imagining it. And the saddest, most soulful eyes. And he still hasn't grown up all these years later.
