The Prowl: Horsing Around at Gold Cup
This week I am going to take a break from sharing intimate details of my dating life - mostly because it’s frankly not very interesting. If I’m bored by the parade of local bozos that I have somehow fallen into association with, (and maybe also just not inclined to share details about) I cannot imagine why FrumForum’s readers could be any more interested.
So, I thought I would share my escapades at Gold Cup, a steeplechase race held yearly in Virgina. This was fascinating. Truly. A genuine sociological experiment that involved waking up entirely too early to sip champagne while wearing a very large hat. The day began very civilized with everyone taking pictures in their finery and politely eating barbecue while downing mint juleps. When I say finery, I of course am referring to a broad spectacle of what I can only call "fashion." Being from the North, I did not know men could wear pastel colored pants and had never seen so much non-ironic seersucker and madras in my life. As the day progressed however, I saw two girls (still wearing their pearls, of course) get into a fight which involved a substantial amount of hair pulling. One guy, again, non-ironically wearing a pink shirt and suspenders, puked everywhere. Several people passed out. All of this while horses jumped over fences in the background.
I would be remiss to end any explanation of Gold Cup without also talking about the other attendees. I was along a rail mostly made up of Hill staffers and lobbyists, all mostly young professionals. We were not alone though. There were corporate tents set up along the far rail, where there was a sighting of the ultimate Senator's son and all that implies, who I will not name to avoid legal penalties for FF. The corporate tents are exponentially nicer than University Row and the tents various schools, Georgetown bars and state societies put together, In the middle of all of this are the locals basking in the glory of the Redneck Riviera. One tailgater brought along some taxidermy. Am I being a judgmental bitch in talking about this? Probably - but it really was a sight to behold (although if I ever go again, I will not go in platform espadrilles).
Last Sunday night, I was admittedly struggling a little to cope with the world in my post Gold Cup/after-party daze. Yes, I actually managed to nap after Gold Cup and make it out to another party. In the future I will try to remember the lesson that Day Drinking should never continue into Night Drinking; I should pick one or the other. I met my Hill staffer friend, who was in similar shape and I must say looked rather fetching when pretending to be Tom Wolfe the day before, and we went for cheap Mexican food. Nothing cures a hangover like a giant plate of rice and beans – and, of course, margaritas. As we sat and enjoyed our meal outside through a freak rainstorm, a Senator and his lady-friend (and by lady-friend, I mean wife) wandered up to the same local Mexican restaurant to have a pleasant Sunday-night dinner. I can report with authority that they drank Dos Equis, prompting much snickering about what he would look like trying to bowl overhand a la the Most Interesting Man in the World. We held hands, and were the picture of domestic bliss.
Why do I tell you this? Because seeing the Senator and his wife eat at one of DC's less-than-finer restaurants was oddly humanizing. Yes! He is a real person, with a kind-of-cute wife, and not a TV caricature as I sometimes think. As it happens, when this particular Senator is in D.C., he really does do what I do - which is lead an entirely un-eventful existence when he isn't blocking judicial nominations or attempting to privatize Medicare. This Senator's dull Sunday nights with his wife indicate that first, there is a bipartisan consensus that tacos and beer are good. More than this though, even though yes, they were out at the same restaurant and mingling with the little people without their security detail, the two of them out posed just such a sharp contrast to the drunken antics and faux-gentility of the day before. They weren't pretending to slum with the locals in the same way that we had pretended to do while wearing bright costumes. As much as I sometimes think life in Washington is phenomenally dull, in the future, I think I will take soggy Mexican food on a quiet Sunday night over masquerading as a Southern Belle.
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