You Can't Always Get What You Want, or Why Football is Bad for My Mental Health

Another January, another post-season for the NFL.  After watching my home team fall in the first round and my second choice cry "uncle" last weekend, I realized that whichever of the four remaining teams make it to the Superbowl, this year's game is going to be a bleak event in my life.

But that wouldn't be absolutely terrible.  As far as First World Problems go, this really shouldn't be that bad.  It is just football, after all.  That is, it WAS just football, until I noticed that one of the possible match ups could be the Baltimore Ravens vs. the NY Giants.  Then my brain imploded.

As a Steelers fan, a deep, deep dislike for the Ravens has been instilled in me for as far back as I can remember.  It doesn't matter that I now live in Baltimore and am happy to call it home.  There is nothing on this earth that could persuade me to turn traitor, even if that means that my Sundays are spent in exile while the rest of the neighbors gather to watch the games.  

I'm okay with this, though.  I am fully aware that I'm living behind enemy lines here, and I'm willing to respect that (to some extent).  Also, as much as I love my fellow Baltimoreans, they're insanely delusional, so avoiding them on game days is always a good option.

My uncle has a similar affliction, according to my father.

Of course, the Steelers aren't without their token shady player, either.  But I can't say I've ever rushed to his defense so readily.  Nor is there any way to twist his alleged charges into anything remotely endearing.  Not that murder can be made endearing, but that's not the poi -- no! that is ENTIRELY the point!

My intense dislike of the Ravens extends so ridiculously far that I have actually felt guilty if I'm not as equally decked out in Pittsburgh gear when surrounded by my Baltimore counterparts.  

But this is nothing when compared to the hatred I have for the New York Giants.  The very fires of Hell cannot hold a candle to the pure loathing I feel towards the fucking New York Giants.   And the thing is, I haven't the slightest clue as to why I hate this particular team so much.  There is absolutely no logical or sensible reason behind why I feel so personally offended when someone steps into my house wearing a Giants jersey, but it's as if they're attacking my integrity.  I have no problem with any other aspect of New York City.  It's a fantastic place.  But this team...I can say without a doubt that I have less tolerance for this team than I have for stupid people or Christmas music.  Maybe a Giants fan dropped me on my head when I was an infant, or perhaps there's some other Giants-related traumatic event buried deep in my subconscious memory. 

At any rate, telling me that the Ravens could very possibly win the Superbowl is like telling a small child that Santa Claus doesn't exist -- it's a huge disappointment, but come Christmas morning, there will still be presents under the tree.  Saying the Giants could win, however, is like desperately waiting throughout the entire school day to go home and enjoy the last piece of vanilla-strawberry cake topped with rich, beyond delicious buttercream icing that my mother made for my 8th birthday.  

But when I finally dashed through the door and into the kitchen, I found my father quickly scraping up the last of the crumbs from the plate.  

The cake was gone.  I was devastated.  I tried to convince my mother to send my father out to buy a replacement slice from the grocery store, but she refused, and I didn't push the matter.  I knew a store-bought cake wouldn't taste anywhere near as delicious as one baked from scratch, and well, I wasn't going to get another homemade cake cause that shit takes EFFORT.  

Actually, the more I think about it, the more I'm starting to wonder if my mother purposely didn't want me to have that last slice...

Anyways, you see my dilemma.  Unless I outright boycott this year's Superbowl (not an option), I'm between a rock and a hard place.  So I made these pros/cons charts to help me come to an easy decision:

So basically, I'll be accepting bribes from both sides.  

(This post is dedicated to Eileen Huang -- best friend and fellow cake enthusiast.) 

Anatomy of a Heartbreak

A friend of mine just got engaged, which is all sorts of wonderful.  But even before the ring, all she could talk about was how busy she was.  Busy being in love, that is.  And now...

Of course, we all gushed and obligingly listened to her prattle on about how she told Ben that he had to time his proposal so she'd have at least six months to plan for a fall wedding, and then, somewhere about ten minutes into the possible locations discussion, she looked at her hand and gasped.

On a good day, this might've been cute.  Maybe even something remotely resembling endearing.  But it's never a good day when your heart has recently been broken, and so this caused some sort of minor implosion in my brain.  And in my chest cavity.

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I've had boyfriends before.  I even liked them at times.  But breaking up with them, leaving them behind, it was the best feeling in the world.  Suddenly, I could be me again.  I could go from 0 to 100 mph in under five seconds without having to check that someone was strapped in and holding on.

Then I met this new guy.  He was different.  He was pretty much the epitome of wonderful.  He was the sweetest, most intelligent, gorgeous, tallest man ever.  The technical term, I believe, is a keeper.  Not only could he hold on by himself, but he had his own bike.  We could hang.  For realzies.  

I started to think that maybe this could be it -- maybe I had finally met someone who could keep up with me and more importantly, someone whom i'd be willing to follow through this adventure of life, as well.  And he made me happy.  Like, legitimately giddy.  Like, unicorns puking rainbows happy.  Which was new.  I've never had a unicorn before.

But you can't have it all, as the saying goes.  I guess I just thought I could for a hot second.  The chemistry was there when we were there, but spending a month apart put too much of a strain on things before we had a chance to solidify our budding relationship.  He sadly decided that he couldn't see a long-term future for us, and I stupidly agreed for whatever reason.  In retrospect, it was probably because I'm just used to being with people with whom a long-term future is indeed a ridiculous notion, and I just reacted out of instinct.  Who knows.  The fact of the matter is, I hadn't really given it any serious thought, and now that I have, I'm realizing that I so wanted there to be a future with this one.  But it's too late.  We parted ways a little over a week ago, and by parted ways, I mean he ended it, point blank.

This has never been a problem for me before.  I've always been a huge proponent of the whole packing up and leaving thing cause in a way, it's really liberating.  But not this time.  This time, I'm a fucking mess.  It's strange, experiencing what was once a sure thing disintegrate, because even though we weren't together for all that long, when it's right, you just KNOW it.  And when it falls apart, it hurts.  Badly.

It feels kind of like heartburn, but not really.  Actually, it's more like the opposite of heartburn.  With heartburn, you're all aware of your heart's existence and shit, cause it fucking stings.  And then there's always the less-than-novel flatulence element.  Heartache, on the other hand, has no sharp pain.  In fact, it has no pain.  It has so much not pain that it feels like your heart has disapparated out of your body, and you're suddenly missing a vital organ.  Or maybe it was harvested by aliens while you were asleep.  Whatever the case may be, all you know is that you feel so hopelessly empty.   You've just poured so much of yourself into being part of this incredible two person act that it's going to take some time to figure out how to perform the stunts by yourself again.

People have been telling me that the transition between being a full-time student and a real person is often mentally difficult, and that perhaps some of that is to blame for how down I've been feeling over this whole thing.  But all things considered, I feel like I've made the transition relatively well.  For example, this is how I would've handled the situation a year ago:

Now, however, I'm able to put the recent events into a more realistic perspective, and perspective is a fantastic thing to have.  Even though this relationship fell through, i can still be a badass motherfucker at life if i want to, dammit!

This is made easier by the fact that I've not got a heart anymore.  

Though apparently, having a heart isn't a requirement for feeling sad, as I'm discovering, and despite my best efforts, the realization that Boy and I are really over tends to hit me at really inconvenient times.