I had a wonderful weekend, darlin'. Chris came up to Sacramento and we stayed at his parents' house, which is familiar and cozy. We went out for Second Saturday with a fun crew. I didn't find the dj I loved so much six months ago, but I'm fairly sure that there are two separate samba parades, which now seems like the minimum for a citywide walk. I could have strangled Chris; he sandbagged me with the handsome Iranian guy who was successfully hitting on me at one of the galleries. We had just picked our favorite paintings when Chris cruised up and I had to introduce him*. The whole vibe changed as Chris stood next to me and did Chris realize and mention his other imaginary girlfriend? No, he did not.
Still, we went on to meet up with Roxie and my hip youngster friends who are up for anything. They are, in fact up for doing readings of some sort, including Shakespeare. You know who was ALL FIRED UP to read Shakespeare? Our six-year-old friend Eliot. Eliot's mom was neutral and prefers other authors, but Eliot was enthralled by the whole prospect. She doesn't want rotating readers, no no. She wants us to take parts and others to watch and I think she'll be directing our staged production within a month. I don't even know how Eliot knows who Shakespeare is. But I don't think she's going to give her mom a choice about whether to come to the readings. We ended Second Saturday at a construction site, where we moved heavy pipes around for fun. That's what sophisticated aesthetes do on art walks, you know.
Yesterday was equally lovely, a sunny clear day. I got my winter garden in; had another run in with black widows at the compost pile. Why is the universe bringing me shiny black spiders these days? I cooked for a potluck, where I sequentially introduced Chris to three or four cute women and then disappeared into different conversations, which is what you do when you love your friends and want them to be laid and happy, instead of hovering like a boyfriend. I went to the cafe today, and will head over to my garden in a second, to encourage seeds to grow. They should know I'm waiting eagerly to meet them.
I usually try to avoid "state of the Megan" posts**. But all I have to tell you is a story about giggling with friends and a sunny weekend under tall blue skies and digging in the dirt and flirting. So that is what you get.
*Next time I'll remember: "This is my old, very casual friend Chris, who is no threat to you." To be fair to Chris, we spend most of Second Saturday running into old friends and it is very common for him to walk up to me and some dude, who is likely attached or twelve or something else disqualifying.
**I figured it out! That is what Twitter is for, state updates. This is a great function, and obviously a fills a need. People talk about Twitter threatening blogging, but whatever. Reporting on euphoria, or lunch, or frustration, or a thought is something people want to do and not the whole of blogging. If Twitter siphons those off, I'm fine with the separation of function. I always preferred the essays and synthesis portion of blogging, personally.