Belle of the Ball

This past Friday was the SOME Young Professionals’ Winter Ball. SOME is the acronym for “So Others May Eat,” and their mission is simple:

SOME (So Others Might Eat) is an interfaith, community-based organization that exists to help the poor and homeless of our nation's capital. We meet the immediate daily needs of the people we serve with food, clothing, and healthcare. We help break the cycle of homelessness by offering services, such as affordable housing, job training, addiction treatment, and counseling, to the poor, the elderly, and individuals with mental illness. Each day, SOME is restoring hope and dignity one person at a time.

It is an organization that I believe in, and I can say with certainty that they throw one heck of Charity Ball!

A week before the Ball, a male friend who has been inviting me to concerts, dinner parties, and the like for a couple months now (but I’ve never been able to go due to timing) told me to buy my ticket. I had been honestly contemplating it for weeks, but didn’t know who I would go with until SF told me that I should go with him and his friends.

I met SF at a Date Auction in November, I struck up a conversation with him because one of my childhood friends is his colleague, and my former coworker interned at his company. It turns out he’s also really good friends with one of the girls I mentor in my ‘Women’s Professional Society.’ She kept us connected after the Auction and I started to see him out much more often. I think he just likes to bring people together, at the event it was clear that he had told three or four girls to come with him. I loved it, he introduced me to a great group of people, including his roommate – we’ll come back to him.

The night began with a pre-game at the Penthouse Clubroom of a friend of SF’s. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an intense array of snacks, including pigs in a blanket, multiple types of chocolate covered cookies, pretzels, and an open bottle of prosecco on every surface.

I brought my newest Mentee, A, to the pregame with me. She had been told that this event was a ‘seen and be seen’ event. Dan had told me that ‘anyone who’s anyone under 35 is at this event’. I’ve been to this event, I was seen, so now I supposed I’m someone who is someone. That’s a thought.

After a couple glasses of prosecco at the pre-game, we all piled into XL Ubers, getting very close to one another. As a smaller human, I often volunteer to go in the back seats, or in the middle, however in a floor length gown, this was not my best decision. The move out of the car was particular ungraceful as I tried to keep my heels from getting caught in the lace bottom of my gown.

The National Museum for Women in the Arts is an absolutely breath-taking venue, with a second story overlook to see and watch the entire ballroom from above. We walked into the entrance, took our coats off for a quick group photo before heading the coat check.

You would be surprised how difficult a large group of millennials can make coat check. “It’s over by the balloons.” “No, I saw it when we entered.” “I JUST spoke with the SOME staff.” “That doesn’t look like a coat check to me.” Eye roll. Walk on and follow your original instructions.

Once inside, the goal is to get a drink in hand. It’s an open bar, but there’s already a glass of cabernet sitting in front of me on the bar, pre-poured. I’ve been having wine for the past hour, usually I would go from white sparkling to white still, but it’s chardonnay, no go. So I grab the glass of Cabernet, and A and I decide to investigate the food upstairs.

Upstairs, we find tables covered in finger foods: spring rolls with sweet chili dipping sauce, mini chicken salad and crab cake sandwiches, there is a lovely selection of strong cheese with impressive blue veins running through them, along with some fruit and vegetables. A and I fill up small plate to line our stomachs.

There are photos, many photos, the beautiful building means that every time you see a familiar face, you grab them for at least one photo. There’s a bathroom break to adjust a sticky bra (they are difficult buggers – my biggest regret of the night is not going completely bra-less), and then before we know it, we’re on the dance floor, directly in front of the band.

I love a good dance floor with proper dancing, I get to show off my college minor in dance with my Charleston and small ballroom experience. I have SF’s roommate next to me on one side with a few more men, A in front of me and two new unfamiliar boys who have sidled to the far side.

The new boy sidles up to me with smooth charm, boldly taking my hand and spinning me around time, next to him is his friend in a royal blue suit, who has asked me to teach him to dance. Roommate is also nearby also keeping on eye on me. On the dance floor it felt like there were two or three boys to every girl. 

A and I were basking in the attention, enjoying our evening and the crowd parted…

It was as if it was out of a movie – the crowd parted and directly in front of me was AM, the 46 year old worst date of my life who had blown up at me over text just days earlier. Luckily, there was just enough distance in front of us, and just enough people beside me that it wasn’t completely ridiculous when I turn on a dime to the men behind me.

“The worst date of my life is literally right behind me. Can I just talk to you for a couple minutes?” Now, this can backfire, I’ve had men stare at me blankly when I’ve said similar things, but luckily men will usually take pity on you and strike up some little small talk.

Unluckily for all three of us, AM is too bold to not ‘say hi’  just because I’m in a conversation. He came right up to me – and it’s very loud mind you, so he kind of needed to, but he yelled in my ear “I know you’re much nicer than those texts.” WHAT? How fucking patronizing can you be. My texts were not rude, quite frankly they were kind all things considered. I was honest, to the point, a bit catty with the ‘I’m busy’ maybe, but not mean.

I tried to yell “Next time don’t spend your date hitting on 23 year olds.” It WAS very loud and he said he couldn’t hear me, so I just said “I’ll tell you later.” Knowing fully that I would definitely not be telling him later.

“You look lovely, by the way.” I smile tightly and he make moves towards the bar.

He walked away, and A who had not only heard the story, but read the blog, came to my side. “That was him? He does look 46. I thought he might at least be cute.”

“No,” I shook my head, “but after a lot of drinks… and he had asked and I had agreed, so while I had not really wanted to go out, I figured how bad could one date be. Little did I know…”

“He looks like a dad.”

“I know.”

AM is wearing a tux, like almost every other man there, yet his cumber bun and bow tie are pink with some sort of pattern. It may be the bright lights, or the dance floor filled with twenty-somethings, but he not only looked incredibly out of place, but also incredibly old. It is a very different atmosphere from the dark and cozy neighborhood bar where we met.

After a trip to the bar, where I notice Johnny Walker and can’t help myself “Can I get a Johnny Walker and Ginger ale?” I grab a one from my wallet and stuff it into the tip jar. The pour is better this way. And then we’re back on the dance floor.

The bright blue suit is back and keener than ever. We dance properly for a little while, the live band is literally feet from us, and I’m giving him pointers here and there as he spins me around as much as he can on a crowded dance floor. He steps away to grab me a refill, and I dance solo and notice A talking a new gentleman.

Blue suit comes back and asks if he could speak to me in a quieter area, I think I gave a surprised look, because he immediately back down. I did need a small break, though, so I agreed and we ascended the stairs to find a good leaning place in the less populated second floor, near the overlook but not too close.

We talked about his job as a lobbyist, my work in fundraising, and he told me about his little sister. As he spoke about his sister he talked about how the prank her friends by introducing him as gay – and he definitely was very… I can’t think of another word, flamboyant fits. But he kept saying “I’m straight as an arrow!” but he did not come off that way…

I have nothing against flamboyant gay men. Generally I find them very fund to be around, but I feel absolutely no attraction towards this personality type. I wanted to start making moves down stairs, but I spotted AM (how is he always around?) just a few feet away on his phone, so I leaned against the wall next to blue suit and continued the conversation.

We talked about musicals and plays; he wasn't familiar with Hamilton, but loves Wicked – enough evidence for me. Time to move on. We headed downstairs, and parted ways, either for the bar or the bathroom, I wasn’t really sure.

But on the dance floor, I managed to find SF, his roommate and some of the other boys and girls from the pre-game earlier. We all started dancing, and blue suit was making moves towards us. The boys all decided they’d had enough of this guy, and honestly I was just not feeling it by this point and then let them surround me to shut him out. These are types of men you need on your side on a night out, protective, but not hitting on you. The dream. Like having five big brothers.

At the end of the night, as we were nearing midnight, we all grabbed our coats. As we were leaving I pointed out AM talking to a woman in white to one of the guys. He doubled back and then returned to me, “Oh my God, that woman he’s talking to has got to be forty at least!”

‘Good’ I thought. ‘Age appropriate.’ And we were out, into the cold night and just a few blocks from the official after party.

We arrive. The group doesn’t like the vibe. We leave.

We arrive at another bar. It’s past 12:30 on a Friday, and yet the place is nearly deserted; we all drink water while we determine the next stop.

Call a couple ubers, arrive at another bar on U St, and there’s a line. In the line, we’ve lost A, but somehow bright blue suit is behind us. How did he find us???

We’re all in line, but I’m tired. I’ve called an uber, it’s one minute away and I leave the line.

“Where are you going?” SF yells.

“I’m tired, I’m going home.”

“But did you have fun?”

“I did!” and I really did.

But the weekend didn’t end there. I had another formal event on Saturday – look for it soon.