Saturday evening, I was invited to a dinner party at a friend’s house. The friend is someone I met on Twitter. I don’t even remember how, but that’s no surprise, because I can’t remember becoming friends with most of the people I’ve been friends with. We were just strangers one minute and the next, as best I can remember, we were friends. I tend not to remember or retain how it comes to be. John is much the same. I know I met him on Twitter, but who followed whom first, or how we became aware of each other, or how we went from being strangers who stalk follow each other on Twitter to two people who actually cared about what the other had to say, I do not recall.
Several months ago, John mentioned having me over to his house sometime, but it just never really came together. Meanwhile, his company moved their offices from San Francisco to Downtown Oakland, just a few blocks from my office, and when we realized we were going to be in close proximity to each other we determined to meet for coffee. Now I no longer consider John to be “this guy I follow on Twitter” but he is my friend.
A few weeks ago, John told me that he and his husband were having a dinner party on July 10th and that they would love to have me come over. I was thrilled because I don’t spend a lot of time socializing and I really wanted to meet John’s dogs (and his husband – but mostly his dogs.) 🙂
When I first arrived at John’s house, a very boisterous black cat, sitting on top of a fence started talking to me and making his way to the ground and toward me. “Hi!” I said to the kitty, “Are you the early warning system?” I knew that John had two cats but I only knew what one of them looked like (’cause he looked like Mischa) so I thought maybe this was the other cat; it was not. The cat walked right up to me, I reached down and let it sniff at the back of my hand. He took one whiff of my hand and ran away. I guess he didn’t like smelling other kitties on me.
Walking into the house I was introduced to the rest of the guests and told “These are all of our dearest friends.” I was very honored to be included in that gathering. One of the couples hosted the hosts’ wedding, one of the other guests officiated over the ceremony and the other two were long time friends. The company was great and I did my best to hold my own in conversation.
The food was fantastic! John’s husband whose name also happens to be John is a wonderful cook and grill meister! We had kabobs and veggies, artichokes and for desert there was a delicious cake with berries. They had the biggest bottle of Champagne I had ever seen and I resisted temptation for a while opting to drink only water instead, but eventually I caved in and had a glass of bubbly shortly before we sat down at the beautifully laid out table. I saw Second John pull a bottle of Zinfandel from their wine cabinet and put it on the table. Zinfandel, happens to be one of my favorite wines and I couldn’t resist having a small glass. It was delightful.
The conversation over dinner was wonderful and I learned a lot about the history of this group I had been invited to be a part of, for the evening, and I was having a wonderful time.
Unfortunately, I do not know how many times my wine glass was refilled, I only know it was too many. The next day, I knew I had overdone it and learned a valuable lesson. But all in all, I had wonderful time.
Sunday, in addition to nursing my spinning head, I spent entirely too much time second guessing the previous evening. There was somewhat of an age difference between me and the rest of the group which is relevant only in that they were all established and seemed to be secure in their lives. All but one of the attendees were partnered up, and I don’t know if the one remaining person was single or if her significant other just wasn’t in attendance. By the hazy light of the day Sunday, I worried that I had not fit in as well as I first thought. I felt a little as though I’d been wearing my father’s clothes and sitting at the grown-ups table when really I belonged in overalls and sitting with the rest of the kids. This is my own insecurity and in no way the result of how I was treated. I even know that it’s probably inaccurate, but I couldn’t shake the sense.
Michelle once told me that women will sometimes leave something of theirs behind at a guy’s house so that they will have to be invited back. Well, I swear I didn’t do it intentionally, but Sunday evening I got a direct message on Twitter from John letting me know that he had found my sunglasses. Apparently, I left something behind, and now I have to be invited back…