Sunday, Bloody Sunday

It's funny, to me, that I haven't written in several days. I think I have been pondering what I want to say in a non-stereotyped way... The dawning of football season is once again upon me. A time of year that I try to ignore as much as I can, but becaue I have an inate talent for being attracted to men who are in turn attracted to football -- I'm not terribly successful at ignoring the opening whistle.

S & I started dating (again) in the middle of football season. One of my girlfriends, knowing what a fan he is, commented that he lured me in right at the proper time. I was so dizzy with the falling in love that I completely overlooked his conspicuous absence from Sundays and Monday nights... And even some Thursday nights. We were in the throes of the beginning passion -- we made up for lost time on Saturdays and Tuesdays. We had Sunday nights with The Sopranos. But now that we have settled into more of a comfortable routine, the pending loss of my Sunday-time is causing me some increasing anxiety. More on this.

I expect many readers who know me would expect some big mouthing off on the evils of football. "They're running back and forth and they're jumping on each other and 15 minutes doesn't really MEAN 15 minutes and what does it all mean??" But my feelings on all of this are so oft-repeated that it bores ME to discuss it. It doesn't matter. Football is what it is, it's not going away. It's always going to be a part of the background of my life. I have learned to accept it. I don't like it, I suspect it doesn't like me -- we agree to disagree.

Here's where my problem comes in -- the people who try to convert me. Used to be "the people" were all men. Generally men that I have dated or been married to, who try to convince me to see the beauty that is football. In recent years, there has been an alarming number of women converted to this Church of Football. They try to talk me into getting into football too. They try to explain the ins and outs to me -- during commercials or the off-season, of course.

But let's do the math people: football is a game largely for and about men. Watching and playing, it's men. Who loves men and being around them more than me?? For all of my bitching about the opposite sex and the evils of the Y chromosome -- I'm a big fan. Men lay it out there straight and they don't care if you drink too much beer and start belching, in fact they're usually jealous if you can burp louder than they can. So, realistically -- if I can't get into an event that would involve watching a bunch of boys being boys amongst boys being boys -- then no amount of explaining the joys of the sport are going to convert me. I already KNOW about all the points that would be of interest to me and I still can't get into the game. It's NOT because I don't want to. Think of how much easier my life would be, not to mention how much more time I could spend up my boyfriend's ass. Oh BOY! Seriously. If there were a way for me to become interested in this, I would be on board. But, there isn't and it makes me frustrated.

I have ironically similar feelings about artsy things, so many of my friends are into the Arts and so forth that it would be a lot easier if I were into them. But that's another blog.

But on a final note on my anxiety... Let me just publicly praise S for his remarkable ability to know exactly the right time to butter the biscuit, as it were. With the pre-season already starting and the Fantasy league having its first meeting today, he knows that our relationship is about to go through some changes. My lazy Sunday afternoons that I have grown so fond of (where we just sit around and bs amongst ourselves or go run our errands or whatever) are about to go by the wayside for the next 5 months. It's a bummer of an adjustment, but he's totally risen to the challenge of "Heather's melodramatic overreaction to EVERYTHING" -- and has been very supportive and loving. I won't go into the specifics, because I know how other people's couple-y stuff makes me vomit in my own mouth but trust me, he's been the best. I keep asking if he's done anything wrong but then I realize -- the other woman is football and he's about to pay a LOT of attention to her over these next months. He's storing up good vibes in order to enjoy some estrogen-free times for almost half the year.

I hate to admit it -- but if the rest of the month between now and the REAL season keep up like this... Then, it'll work. Even though he gets a glimmer in his eye when he talks about football that he'll NEVER have when he talks about me, it still works. What a pushover I am! ;-)

Looking forward to lots of Sunday writing...
HP