Skip the wedding altogether. This is what you do: tell your fiance that you will meet her there. Say you have to run to the store (keep it generic). After she pulls out of the driveway, tear off your tear-away suit and let your BLUE breathe a bit. Get in your car and speed to East Hartford, only slowing down for speed traps and hot college girl gazing. Park your car fast (there isn't a moment to lose) and fire open your pre-packed cooler, separated by alcohol volume. Start in the heavy section and get blitz drunk so that when your fiancé calls your cell asking if you are close, you answer in some belligerent jibberish only decipherable by Keith Richards or Robert Downey, Jr cirqa 1992. Your fiance quickly (and correctly) determines that you clearly cannot drive anywhere and, upon learning that you "accidentally" wound up at Rentschler Field, also figures that fighting stadium traffic to pick you up for the wedding is not an option. She's angry but you don't care because a bus full of college girls just parked next to you and wants to party. And you're stupid drunk. You tell your fiance that you "owe'r one" and instruct her to "take w'n fff the team" and hang up. You have to go anyway because your shoelaces are on fire. After a few hours of drinking games with the college girls, you are ready for guilt-free football. You stumble your way towards whichever stadium that you think is the actual stadium and then it hits you: you left your ticket in your tear-away suit pocket. . But no worries, you think quick on your feet (or on your ass, depending on how many stadiums you think you are seeing). You throw up enough beer, jaeger, and scotch to write a quick sign with your finger that reads "want a single". Confident in your vomit sign's message, you sit patiently for that golden angel of a UCONN fan that just-so-happens to have an extra ticket burning a hole in his/her pocket. You pass out. A few days later, you are woken up by your ex-fiance who has taken the time away from you to pack up your things into garbage bags. You try to explain yourself and plea with her that you even (thoughtfully) posted this Dilemma post on the Boneyard to help with your inner turmoil. "But it is Randy Edsall. I HATE Randy Edsall." Her reply takes you completely off-guard: "it's not that dipsh1t, I saw your message that you wrote in your puke saying that you 'want to be single' Well congratulations, you got it."
Now to tie this altogether, posting this "Dilemma" thread is the equivalent to writing that you "want to be single". Go to the damn wedding, dude.
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