Last weekend marked one month since the break-up, and it also meant that my mind is finally getting through to my heart. I've finally accepted it's over, which has caused me to feel new versions of heartbreak, but it also tells me I'm healing, progressing and moving on.
Acceptance sure is a lonely place to be, though.
Which is why I'm so thankful for Anne. The day after the break-up, Anne let me cry to her for a little bit, and then when I'd gotten it all out she told me, "I'm very sorry for you but very happy for me. It's good to have you back!" And have me back she has! I really loved being in a relationship with The Ex, but man it feels good to be a gangsta. I mean single.
The same week that allathat happened, Klout gave me two tickets to a pre-season Redskins game and threw in two passes to welcome the players onto the field. Obviously I took Anne, as she had never been to a pro football game and most of my single friends have married off in the past year, and all the married ones had babies.
On Saturday I picked her up at 2:30 p.m., giving us plenty of time to get to the stadium, chill for a while and then go down to the field. WRONG. Trayvon Martin protest around the White House made the 30-minute trip two hours. (This is what Washingtonians have to deal with, people who don't live here. You're constantly battling with yourself over issues you like to preach about during the week and then are faced with demoralizing situations that make you realize you really just want to enjoy your weekend and keep your ethics to business hours.)
I waited an unreasonable amount of time for the Air National Guard to let us through, and then, to Anne's
"Excuse me, so sorry to bother you while you're doing your job, but would it be possible to let me turn right? You see, I'm late for a Redskins game and I..."
He put up his hand to stop me. Here comes the arrest... I thought and imagined the headline in DCist: "Woman arrested during Trayvon Martin protest for not protesting Trayvon Martin." (In hindsight that would never be a headline because no one was protesting Trayvon Martin.)
"I cannot allow you to make it on time to a Redskins game. I'm a Patriots fan," he said instead of arresting me.
"Well, it's just that I won these tickets and my girlfriend and I really really really want to go and ...pleeeeease?"
He looked over at the traffic. "Where is your car?"
"About three back. See? The little red one?"
He nodded. "Go on back to your car, I'm gonna get you to your game."
As I skipped back to Anne, I thought with amazement, I still got it!
Sadly, we arrived six minutes after we needed to in order to introduce the players onto the field. I called the organizer and told her what had happened, and she told me not to worry and enjoy the game. We walked up to will call where we were given Women of Washington Redskins t-shirts and our tickets, to which the lady behind the counter said, "Looks like you've been upgraded!"
"Great! We got better seats!" I told Anne. We walked up to the gate and learned all about the NFL's new policy regarding purses, so we had to walk back to the parking lot and put our purses in my car. We also changed into our shirts there. Anne posed for pictures.
We went to find our seats and kept being ushered closer and closer to the field until finally we found them. Two rows back...
...in the Dream Seats. (In case you are like us and didn't know the significance of this, Dream Seats are where the players' wives sit.)
To our surprise and delight, we found out that in dream seats you get free food and drinks whenever you want, however much you want.
...and making jokes about/loathing our long-ago-lost high metabolism over this:
During the 3rd quarter we used our fancy tickets to get us into the fancy Club Level with the fancy concessions. At the Audi Bar, we treated ourselves to a mid-afternoon cocktail.
And there, in my now very sweaty t-shirt, I was hit on for the first time since my new single status was enacted. He was nice but seemed kind of boring. Anne egged him on. She also noticed he was with friends and therefore could introduce us to more prospects. He asked for my number. I gave it to him. Anne told him about my blog. I gave him that too. At that point my heartwrenching break-up post was at the top of the page, so we both assumed he would read it and run.
(He did not. In fact, he did better research on me than anyone I'm aware of ever has and friended me on every social media platform he could think of. But, per his very long voicemail, he was perpetually busy with work, and I wasn't ready at that point anyway, so nothing happened with that.)
We went back to the game until four minutes were left, and then we decided to beat the rush and go get some dinner, since it was clear the Redskins would win anyway. Anne suggested her very quiet, low key neighborhood bar that also had good food -- The Gin Joint, part of New Heights in Woodley Park.
She should have known or maybe had just forgotten, I don't do very quiet and low key. Instead, I flirted with the bartender who I assumed was gay (he wasn't) then flirted with the guy in the flowery shirt drinking wine in a gin joint who I also assumed was gay (he definitely wasn't), and long story short we ran up a $700 tab and didn't pay for any of it. Several times Anne grabbed my leg as if to say, Simmer down, which just provoked me to take it further.
Highlights from the evening:
- Wine Guy let me try his wine, and I told him I liked it so he ordered me a bottle. As he opened the bottle, the bartender whispered to me, "This is a $280 bottle of wine!"
- Wine Guy kept talking about his Maserati so I called him out on it and told him to prove it to me. We walked outside and, sure enough, there was his Maserati. He gave me the keys and told me to take it for a spin. I did not. A sweet couple came over and asked if they could take a picture of it because their son was in the Marines and he would be "tickled pink" if he got this photo from them. I suggested they get in and I'd take the picture for them. They did not.
- Wine Guy asked us if we like bubbly and obviously I squealed. "Your best champagne!" he waved to the bartender, who by now had told me about his girlfriend. Trying to be sophisticated in a sweaty t-shirt, I leaned in and very loudly (so everyone would be impressed) asked, "Where is this champagne from?" The bartender looked confused. "Cham-paaaaaaaaagne." Oh. Right. Because real champagne comes from Champagne. (It was deeeeeeelicious.)
- Wine Guy, who by now I was calling "Maserati," had a friend who came a little later. He was a recently retired Army colonel which led me to call him "Sir" a lot. Before they left, The Colonel gave me cab fare and told me he wanted to set me up with his son.
- Also before they left, Maserati's girlfriend showed up and hung out with us drinking champagne from Champagne. She is the daughter of a very prominent politician. That's all I can say. It was weird and awesome.
- After they left, the owner came downstairs and we finished the wine and champagne with him and the bartender.
All I can say is, watch out DC, 'cause I'm back! And now I have a partner in
crime age appropriate and perfectly legal activities.
Oh...the lime with bitters thing? All that champagne (pronounced "sham-POG-nay") gave me the hiccups. The owner told the bartender to give me a lime with bitters on it, and he said, and I quote, "Lime with bitters, the one and only cure for hiccups." I don't know about all that -- hanging upside down off of your bed and drinking water works pah-ritty well. But it was much classier and it did the trick.