I just got home from drinks and dinner with the Hawthorne Girls. The Hawthorne Girls are a group of neighbors and friends who live on, well…Hawthorne. We live in this awesome slice of urban/suburban heaven in Dallas. Our neighborhood is sandwiched in between Highland Park (think OLD Dallas Money), Cedar Springs (think gay man heaven) and Uptown (think Yuppie Lifestyles of the Now and Happening). Our neighborhood consists of several streets of houses, duplexes and apartment buildings mostly built in the 1930s. Every place has character. Every place has trees that have been here longer than the oldest person we know. It’s beautiful and vibrant and full of gay man and divorced women and young families and somewhere-in-betweens. I can’t see myself living anywhere else. Ever.
More important than the drinks and dinner (we do that a lot, especially the drinks), I had lunch today with a group of former coworkers, including the married man that I slept with in Vegas. Including, hands down, without a doubt, the man who gave me the most incredible sex I have ever had the pleasure of receiving. Or giving. Or fantasizing about. I didn’t think sex that good existed. Part of me wants to qualify this with the disclaimer that I have only slept with 5 men, including him, and that 3 of them have been post-divorce. But it was fucking awesome, and I think if I had slept with 500 men, this would be the one standout.
So I got home from Vegas with awesome sex on the brain and I really did hold out for several days. I did. And I tried to forget it and I tried to pretend it was nothing, but then my birthday came, and Craig poured the vodka really strong at Belinis, and I didn’t download the “don’t text drunk” app so I made the STUPID mistake of texting him, which freaked him out and caused him to ask me to meet him for lunch the following Sunday. When he told me he and his wife talked and decided to work things out, I said “good, you should work it out.” And when he said he didn’t want to make everything worse, I didn’t ask him if he meant worse by telling me it was nothing or worse by telling me it was something. I was just happy he didn’t yell at me. I apologized profusely the gave him the speech about my life being simple, with a moo-moo plan, he said “that’s great, because by then my kids will be in their 30’s.”
The Moo Moo Plan. So I am not blessed with a natural metabolism. Or a shortage of stretch marks. Or belly fat. Now that I’m almost 50, the amount of effort it takes for me to pass as someone who is not obese is ridiculous. I starve, work out, starve and work out, and the best you can say about me is I am average. Fine, I will fight to be average. But I’ve decided that when I am 75 years old, I will wear moo moos and glasses with sunflowers circling the rims, and I will eat and drink whatever I want. Anyone who knows me knows my moo moo plan. And the fact that he is OK with my moo plan, and may want to be a part of it, is oh so comforting.
Anyhow, we left that lunch with him working it out with his wife and me determined to move on and leave that memory exactly where it needs to be. In my memory. But today I loved the looks he gave me, and the references to inside jokes. And him mentioning the fact that he’s keeping up with me on Facebook. But what I loved the most was the stare-down, the hold-so-tight, linger-a-little-too-long with his face-in-my-hair hug he gave me when I left. Because I know I’m 28 years from having that every day.
All of that makes the $35.00 parking ticket I got while at lunch absolutely and completely worth it. Oh and I deleted his cell number from my contacts so I have no way of contacting him.
rayofsnarkiness 
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