Wednesday, September 27, 2006

A new love

I have always loved football, but this season, I am, in a word, obsessed. College football has been like a drug to me the past few weeks, a drug I've admittedly not needed, but one that I've enjoyed immensely. Gina has been so patient with me about it, even trying to get into it, and sometimes pretending that she's as excited about it as I am. But the best thing is, she lets me love it. She lets me watch it on TV and she patiently waits until the game is over, and she'll watch the replays if I ask her to. If I were single, I'd be watching every single game on Saturday... it's probably better for me that that's not an option.

One thing Gina will rarely turn down when it comes to sports is actually playing them. She might not love watching them on TV, she might not understand them completely, but man, if you suggest that we try to actually play it, she loves it. As do I.

Monday, we went to Target to get a few necessary household items (water, dish soap, decorative jack-o-lantern), and we decided to buy a football. After much decision, we chose the Pee Wee Football, designed for little boys ages 6 to 9. There was one smaller size - the mini football - but I felt like that was too small. This one seems just right - and I can't believe a six year old would be expected to hold this football.

Pee Wee football

The past two nights, we've gone to a park near our apartment to play catch with the football. I had never thrown a football before Monday night, and I picked up the spiral pretty easily. It was FUN. The latent purpose of this is to of course exercise without realizing you're exercising - my favorite kind of workout. Let's play basketball or football or softball or go hiking... anything but the g.d. GYM. Seriously.

I'm here to tell you something - football hurts. The first night, it was all smiles and sunshine. Yesterday, I was a little sore - my arms and shoulders mainly. Last night when we played, it hurt a little but then felt good. But this morning...


Everything hurts. It hurts to grip a pen. It hurts to type. It hurts to sit and it hurts to stand.

And yet... there's still something in me that wants to go back out tonight and play more. This weekend, we're getting together with a few girls to "play football." Not really sure what that will entail, but you better believe you'll be getting some pictures of it.


Just wanted to let you guys know, I'm moving most of my old entries from my old blog onto this space and backdating them as to when I wrote them. So basically, there will be more archives on this site every day, if you're interested in checking them.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006


After years of thinking that my psychology classes in college have forever barred me from ever getting anything tangible out of going to a therapist, I finally decided about a month ago to seriously start looking for a head shrinker, if for no other reason than to just give me some more perspective.

Firstly, allow me to say that the process of finding a therapist is not something anyone under any psychological duress should ever have to endure. It's looking up people online, and then looking them up to see if they're covered on your insurance. OR, it's seeing that they ARE covered, and then being unable to find out anything about them from a google search.

Finally, I found someone perfect for me. Covered under my insurance, less than a mile from my house, a woman, specializing in what seemed to be a laundry list of my self-diagnosed problems. Three days before my last period (read: In a crazy hormonal state), I called this woman to make an appointment. She called me back to ask what I was interested in, and my head was swimming with an ideal notion that she was going to be perfect for me. She called me back! Right away! She sounds really nice! I explained to her that I had a hard time finding her and I was so grateful she was covered under my insurance.

"What insurance do you have?" she asked.


"HMO or PPO?"


"I just stopped accepting HMO insurance. Are you sure you're not PPO?"

Three days before my period, tears welled in my eyes and a lump forced its way to the back of my throat. "Yeah, I'm sure. How much are you per session?"


"That's fine, I don't think I'll need to see you once a week, so I can afford 2x a month."

"I don't mean to discourage you from working with me, because I'd love to meet you and I think I can help you, but I always suggest that new patients meet with me once a week so that we can identify any patterns in your life."

I'm not really much for patterns. "Fine. When's my appointment?"

September 5th, 9am, I arrive to her office. I take the stuffy ride up in the elevator to the fourth floor. The whole building is eerily quiet. I find her suite and walk in to an empty room with two chairs, and two buttons on the wall. "Seen by appointment only. Please buzz your therapist when you arrive." I pressed the button by her name and sat down.

Moments later, a woman looking not entirely unlike Sandra Oh, opened the door and smiled at me. I supposed that was my cue to get up and follow her, so I did. She said hello, how are you, the usual small talk, and led me to a back room and sat me down on the couch. She sat right in front of me and just looked at me, smiling carefully, as though I were a victim of some terrible... something.

In my head, I had pictured her introducing herself, and asking me questions. Instead, she just stared at me cautiously, as though I were a 9/11 widow or my sister had registered as a Republican.

I said, "Um, are you Michele?"

She smiled and nodded.

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. So I just started talking. She rarely had anything to say, and when she did, it was spoken in a Funeral Voice. She pretty much just listened to me, asked a few detail questions: "What's your girlfriend's name?" "When did your dad start drinking again?" and my favorite, "What about depression?"

When I ran out of things to say, she said, "We're just about out of time, is there anything else you want to say?"

I had just spent 45 minutes with a total stranger, spilling my guts, and now she's asking if I have anything else.

"No," I said, "do you have any questions for me?"

Of course she didn't, so she reminded me the payment is $90, and we set up another appointment. As I was leaving, the only thing I could think of, next to my disappointment, was, "Shit, I have friends who will listen to me bitch for 45 minutes for FREE... why did I come here again?" Beyond that, she's a LCSW... the least I could have done was pick someone with the ability to give me some drugs. This woman just has pricey listening skills.

I let my second appointment stand until 2 days before its scheduled time before canceling it. I'd rather spend my $90 on something that is actually guaranteed to make me feel good... like a full tank of gas and a fridge full of groceries.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Already September, and this was only my first wedding.

Gina and I flew to Colorado this past weekend for a wedding. On the shuttle on the way to the actual ceremony, someone asked, "So how many weddings has everyone been to this year?"

A young guy in front of us whose girlfriend was in the wedding confessed that this was his fourth.

A long haired theater kid said this was only his third, but that he was going to two more before the year would be over.

Behind us, a married friend of ours marveled that this was only their second of the year.

I looked and Gina and said, "Yeah, this is our first of the year."

A fashionable (gay) guy sitting next to us said, "My friends aren't really the marrying type."

Gina laughed and said, "Ours either." I added, "The two friends we have that ARE the marrying type have found each other, luckily."

The two friends are Lisa and Allyson. Our first gay wedding ever. I met Lisa about two years ago, and subsequently her girlfriend Allyson, and there never were two people more suited for each other. As a gay girl myself, I go back and forth about gay weddings. I feel like it would be hard for me to take it seriously if it were my own. I've said it before, and I'll say it again - gay marriage is weird. Not bad. Not destructive. Just different. Wonderful, amazing, beautiful, and a little weird. But this wedding was so perfect... And Colorado might be my new favorite place:

Allyson and mom:

Allyson and mom

Lisa and parents:

Lisa and parents 2


Life partners

Freezing out here...

How gina plays poker...

Unity bouquet:

Unity bouquet

First dance:

First dance

Fun around Colorado:

We love Colorado!

The Fox Theater in Boulder

The Hill - Univ of Colorado

Colorado sky 2

The Rockies:

First snowstorm hits Rockies.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006


Saturday was my 28th birthday. This is me after a dirty martini, a shot of tequila with Tonya from Real World: Chicago, and four Jack & Diet Cokes (with lots of cherries):