It’s my first Valentine’s Day with a boyfriend and I have to admit, after years of being a hater, I am officially in love with Valentine’s Day.
Due to the 70 miles currently between us Monday through Friday, I have to wait until weekends to be with my guy. Instead of presents, we decided to just do cards and a nice dinner this past weekend at The Continental in Atlantic City. I love it there. It’s funky, classy and they never card me which was 1) awesome when I was underage and 2) great now because I always hate showing my license picture. The woman decided having an extreme close up of my face was suitable for identification. The only thing you can identify with that picture is the fact that my Bobbi Brown cover-up did not completely cover up a pimple on my nose.
Anyway, now that I am 21 I can legally enjoy the finer things in life. I’m usually a beer girl (I probably have higher amounts of Corona than water in my bloodstream) and wine is okay for holidays and movie nights and particularly stressful Thursdays. But there is one drink that The Continental makes that I just cannot resist: The Dirty Martini.
It looks sexy, it sounds sexy and it makes me feel totally bad ass/Mad Men-esque/wealthy. Maybe it’s the glass, maybe it’s the fact that it’s not a shot of Vladimir vodka (the college freshman in me just threw up a little) or maybe it’s just the way it sounds ordering it (‘Dirty Martini, extra olives please’) but I am particularly obsessed with this drink. And Matt is nice enough to fund my obsession.
It seemed that the card, chocolates, teddy bear and dinner weren’t enough though: today I received two dozen red roses from Matt himself with an adorable note attached.
Does this make up for the twenty other February 14ths I spent alone, bitter and stuffing my face with pity chocolate from my parents?
Absolutely.
xo
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