Sorry. It's not what you think. I know, I know. I'm such a tease.
"Grown-up" is probably the better word for it. Tomorrow night, The Boy I Currently Like and I are going to KayGee and The Prison Librarian's place for dinner. I keep wanting to say it's the first time we've done something like this; and it is. It's the first time we've gone to someone's house for dinner. He's been here for a party and was here on two different occasions to have dinner and meet my friends. For whatever reason, those dinners don't feel like they count.
I just can't get over how grown-up this feels. It's just hanging out, eating and drinking, though. KayGee and The Prison Librarian do it all the time with our other friends and with friends of theirs. I'm just never involved because I either wasn't in a couple. Apparently, I am in one now. That feels weird to say.
There was much explaining I had to do of the intricacies of my visits to their house. I am awfully allergic to The Prison Librarian's cat, so I mostly sit outside on the deck when I'm there. It works, for the most part. I'm sick, though, and having a tough time breathing without any cats around. Luckily for us, it's absolutely freakin' BEAUTIFUL here. It's 71 right now, at 7:40 p.m. and tomorrow it's supposed to be 84. Yaaaaaaay! We'd be sitting outside even if I wasn't allergic.
I'm worried about being lame, what with being sick and wiped out and all that. There is something about a Friday, though, that really perks me up. Throw in some booze, brats (from the farm, natch), and three of my favorite people in the entire world and I figure I'll get over the weirdness of the whole "doing grown-up activities" thing; as well as any end-of-the-week tiredness.
P.S.: You can go straight to fucking Hell, Hunter Wendelstedt. I hope you get a drug-resistant strain of syphilis. Motherfucking douchecanoe.