I had so much fun at that BBQ last night. I know, right?

The hosts’ house was right on the river and it was gorgeous. (These are the kind of grown-up people who live in a finished house. You know, with furniture, and nice wallpaper and fixtures and things. I want to be just like them when I grow up.) The porch was a huge wrap-around, and featured lots of new chairs, an ash bucket for cigarette butts, and a big basin full of ice and carbonated adult beverages. It was also wholly populated by strong, tanned, construction-working men. Our host was standing in the yard BBQ-ing steaks.

I immediately let myself into the kitchen and found the women (and a huge amount of food), and we quickly introduced ourselves and I got directions to the bathroom. When I got back I discovered they – the women – were all beautiful, intelligent, funny, and friendly. And they’d totally overcooked. There was enough food there for 50 people, with a mere dozen to eat it! (No harm done, though – the family’s travelling today so they’ll take it with them for road snacks.) Every surface in the kitchen was covered in food – pies, green bean casserole, ham balls, veggie plates, fruit plates, baked beans, chicken & noodles in crock pots, scalloped peaches, pesto and crackers, salads, and cheeses.

There was a 6-month old baby girl on the dining table, belonging to the middle daughter and her husband. So cute, that baby fat! Ooh, those chubby little thighs! (I love me some baby skin, especially sleeping baby skin, but who doesn’t.) This one, when awake, had massive, melting brown eyes.

I have a new best friend. He’s the Voorhies’ youngest son, he’s twelve, and he’s precocious as hell. He interviewed me in great detail about sex, drugs, sexuality among tweens and pre-teens, the definition of “metrosexual,” the contents of my iPod, and my opinon of 50 Cent. The kid is totally awesome, but it is somewhat shocking that you can be twelve and know about the existence of meth, coke, heroin, acid, pot, hash, and PCP. He said, “You’ve tried a lot of drugs!” and I said, “I was in college for a long time.” He got his ear pierced when he was six. When he asked me how old I was, he said, “Wow! You act like you’re my age!” Naturally, we exchanged cell numbers. Nothing I like more than a fabulously precocious child.

I took a walk down to the river with one of the wives. She had stunning silver hair contrasted with fresh young skin; I always thought that look was so cool. She was an Iowan born and bred. I really liked her, but I suck at names.

When dark came on, I got monopolized by my new best friend and his sex-and-drug interview, so I don’t know much about what happened with everyone else. I think we pretty much all sat on the porch and drank and laughed, and then it was ten o’clock and we all split because all those construction dudes have to get up at five in the morning.

When we got home, I ravished my poor exhausted husband. He passed out so fast I actually laughed out loud. (In his defense, he was really tired.) Then I got up and, like a dork, stayed up until two in the morning surfing the Internet and chatting with Logan.

You’d think I’d have it out of my system by now, the Internet, but I don’t. It’s one siren that just won’t stop singing, the bitch.