Considering that I’ve complained about the boyfriend and told you about his phobia of having swimsuit pictures of him posted on facebook, I probably ought to formally introduce you to him.

We met a little over 5 years ago in DC when we were both working part-time for a test prep company. I was finishing up my junior year of college and had just gotten back from studying abroad in Italy during fall semester. The boyfriend, having just quit his job in Big Banking in New York was temping at a law firm and teaching at night in preparation for starting law school at UVA in the fall. I first met him at a teaching training. He was friends with the owner so he waltzed in late and then he and the owner traded sarcastic and witty one liners (I heart sarcasm) throughout the whole training. He was hard to miss. He also looked older which automatically made him more interesting. He likes to point out that he was actually six months younger then than I am now which must make me old now since there was so much discussion of how old he was back then (and, to be honest, there still is. With love, of course. Example: When I turned 25, he was all “you’re old now,” to which I responded, “yes, but you’re going to be thirty in six months.” I win). Old as I may be now, I still get carded everywhere and often mistaken for being in the 18-20 range which I guarantee has not happened to him in quite awhile 🙂

I digress. Anyway, so we had a work party shortly thereafter and he and I got to talking at the bar. And talked for awhile. And I liked him. However, when he invited me back to his place for a “party,” I declined, thinking he was moving a little too fast for my taste (note that at these parties the alcohol flowed like water, so I may have been a wee bit tipsy), but did give him my number. Turned out afterwards that the “party” was actually a PARTY that all of my coworkers attended and that is now legendary for the amount of alcohol, craziness, and fun that was had. Oops. 

Moving on, I go home and a week or two passes. Another wrinkle here is that I am definitely not in a relationship place. Shortly before this, I have been dumped for weed by my boyfriend of six months (our second breakup, actually, and both were equally lovely. This is a story that deserves its own post because it is only the.best.breakup.story.ever so we’ll come back to that at some point) and have kind of rebounded with someone I dated freshman year and am realizing that it was a mistake and am trying to extricate myself. I will find out later that the boyfriend was in a very similar situation, so it is likely good I didn’t go to the PARTY. Who knows what would have happened then? 

So anyway, a week or so gets by and I wake up one Saturday morning to find three missed calls from a random 917 number, but no messages. I call the number back and it is the boyfriend. He explains who he is and tells me he accidentally must have hit my number in his phone. Three times. Right. (Hello drunk dial). We chat and he asks me out.

Note: This is the part where I am a huge bitch and obvs. must have been very cute/charming for the boyfriend to keep pursuing me

We keep setting dates and I keep breaking them. I have finals, I have to pack to move out for the summer, I have to deal with the semi-ex/semi-not boyfriend, etc. Finally, the second to last night before I leave to move home to the summer, he offers to meet me at the Tombs (quintessential Georgetown bar) for a drink. I have finally finished dealing with the previously listed things and agree, but just for 1 drink because I have other things which must get done in the morning. Of course, 1 drink turns into several and we end up sitting in a booth in the Tombs until close, trading stories and laughing and just really clicking.

Of course, then we both went our separate ways – him to a one-last-hurrah road trip around the United States (although I won’t always admit this, frankly, sometimes the boyfriend is more interesting than me), me to a summer of bartending and interning in Senator V.oinovich’s office. We emailed occasionally over the summer and apparently he texted me many times, but (because this was back in the Stone Ages of cell phone technology), my phone was not text-capable and did not become so until then end of the summer, when we started texting back and forth several times a day. 

Interestingly enough, I randomly dreamt that summer that we were getting married. I have not had a dream since about marriage, nor had I had one before. We shall see all see together if this means anything, since you all are now invited along for our journey. 

Of course, we’d only spent time in person together twice prior to this and hadn’t really talked, just texted, but once I got back to school in August, I invited him to come to DC for a weekend for a big Senior Week party at a local bar. He agreed to come under the pretense of also seeing some friends in DC (actually the first time I met the infamous Q as well). In typical college fashion, drinks were had, tequila shots drunk, dancing on the bar ensued (fine, that was just me), and we kissed that night. And it was good. 

The next weekend I drove to UVA to help him celebrate his birthday (the big 26! How long ago that seems!). We were supposed to go out to dinner, but the Yankees were playing, so we ended up ordering a pizza, drinking beer, and watching the game. Which is very fitting because that’s pretty much how we roll now as well. Shortly thereafter he asked me if I was his girlfriend (clearly yes) and shortly thereafter that, he told me he loved me.

And the rest is history. For better/worse, we’ve been plugging along ever since.

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