This Game is Called, "I Win"

It is 9:53 am and I smell Salisbury Steak, so naturally, I thought of you, the crickets, and how I've been neglecting you. I'm sure you've felt the sting. (Or would that be the absence of sting? Like if the Police reunited under a new front man?)

What can I say, the week got away from me. I took my little brother to see Howie Day and Gavin DeGraw at Wolf Trap on Wednesday. Which would be a nice venue if it were not in Vienna and populated with uber-yuppies. Wait, don't shoot. It's not that I have, in my 23-plus years, eluded that label, because clearly I have not. Really, I'm aware that I maintain a spiky-haired boyfriend who drives a Saab with Connecticut plates. Let me explain. Danny and I arrived five minutes before the gates opened, resulting in our getting a pretty good spot to spread our sleeping bag out on the lawn. There remained about a five foot gap in front and to the left of us and behind and the couple in front of us. Half an hour before show time, three girls in their mid-twenties and an enormous rolling cooler arrived and managed to spread themselves across the gap and onto our stuff. Their SIX friends who arrived just in time for the show couldn't believe how they had "lucked out." Neither could we. Honestly. It began POURING, but the princesses planned ahead and would not get wet. They spread a tarp over their spread and did not return until the worst of the rain was over, bone dry. (Danny and I fashioned a fort out of our sleeping bag and remained remarkably dry until one of his legs fell asleep and the other began shaking and we realized the rain wouldn't stop all night.) We stood the rest of the night in our green, $12 Wolf Trap ponchos (I tried to guilt trip the woman who sold them to me from under cover in the gift shop, but she was heartless. When I told The Boy, ever the salesman, all he could say was, "Supply and demand, baby."). When the princesses finally returned to their spot, they were wearing ponchos that did not cost them $12, and they proceeded to break out their food. FIVE different kinds of cheeses, still in its original packaging, a wooden cutting board, a Ron Popeil knife in a protective sleeve, homemade salsa, organic tortilla chips, two bottles of red wine, sesame breadsticks, hummus and pitas. Danny and I were in awe. Just as they began slicing up the cheese, it started pouring again. The one who obviously organized this outing (who was wearing pearls, by the way) screamed over the thunder, "WOULD ANYBODY LIKE SOME SALSA?" Her voice grew desperate and I honestly thought she would cry. Danny and I howled. It almost made it worth it that their ponchos blocked our view of the stage for the majority of the show.

Anyway, so the show was good, and I was terribly glad to have that adventure with Danny before he left for Texas. It turned out that it wasn't much of a decision. At the last minute, The Boy had invited us to sit with him in Sidney Ponson's skybox at the Orioles/Yankees game, which ended up getting rained out, resulting in The Boy and friends sitting in the air conditioning, watching Ponson drink beer in full Oriole regalia while famehounds snapped pictures on camera phones. So, yeah, I win.