spulled

i went out to dinner on saturday night with tom, john, frank, and michael. it was an evening of malbec (the red wine i'm currently addicted to. ok, maybe i shouldn't joke about being addicted to alcohol. maybe i should just come out and admit that i like red wine just a bit too much lately.), friends, and a lot of the dirty talk that only a table of five faggots could eat dinner during.

after frank dropped michael and i off at my apartment, i said to him, "i know what this sounds like, but this is kind of how i'd always imagined my adult life would be." do you know what i mean? i think that when we're younger we have this fantasy--at least i know i did--of meeting friends for dinner at some nice restaurant and just having lots of intimate and funny conversations, eating good food, shocking the waitress. ok so that sounds like the gayest thing ever. but you need to understand, growing up in ponca, where my friends' hangout was the perkins (which is now burned to the GROUND, go here to see it), it feels extremely urbane to be unable to decide just which awesome restaurant we should go to. "no, i hate the service at XS and it's totally not worth the money"/"we go to copra all the time and there's that obnoxious waitress there"/"ixia's been getting on my nerves." we're so spoiled.

seriously, though, this weekend was everything that i thought growing up and being gay in a city would be: going out to dinner, waking up the next morning and going to the farmers' market, having a cookout with friends. the weekend felt long and full, and now it's monday. ew.