Fall Madness

It has already started.  A fall unlike any other. One that will leave me so grateful for any free moment I find myself in front of a television on the weekends.

It started with celebrating Wedding #1
now its onto trying to keep the luck of the Irish
then the biggest, scariest, work thing I've ever done
followed by getting our wedding guest on back-to-back Maryland style
with a week-long M'town trip snuck in on the tail end
chased by a trip down to Charlotte to see the incomprable Chellis.
then its Birthday Trip 1 LasVegasHooverDamGrandCanyon
with Birthday Trip 2 SeattleTeenytimeTreeHouse right behind it.
a weekend in Madison with one of my favorite baby Badgers and her delightful parents
time to try on a taste of famous with our third trip to Cali this year, L.A. style
(shhhhh, I have one weekend with no plans, donotjinxthis)
a turkey-time adventure in Orlando
my second big, scary work thing (significantly less big and scary)

Then there are two weeks until Christmas Vacation.

On.your.mark.get.set.go

A rescuing.

Two nights ago, I tweeted this:

Then this conversation happened between Boyfriend and I:
 

For clarification: Wilson = Target, and Argyle = Home. 

Here are a couple of awesome things that happened in this conversation:

1- Boyfriend responded to a tweet with a text message. Which seems strange to me because I am a slave to technology.

2- He rescued me again! He really enjoys being a knight in shining armor- if shining armor is Notre Dame sweatpants and a Hanes white t-shirt. 

3- I said yes to being rescued. This could have been like one of the millions of other  times when someone said, "let me help you," and I, like the stubborn 3 year old I am say, "No! I do it myself!" But I said yes, because I am working on this.

4- Yes, I absolutely changed my clothes in the back of boyfriend's car as he drove me back down to Belmont. There are some skills that you develop as a young ballerina that turn out to be very useful in later life.

5- Turns out that with the rescuing the trip took 25 minutes instead of 15, but thankfully theaters run later than me a lot of the time and I still saw the whole show. 

Heart Dagger

Me: I really, really want to go to a Blackhawks game.

Boyfriend: Me too. I'll take you. We just have to wait...

Me: yeah

Boyfriend: ...until they lose.

Writing this blog post feels wrong. Posting on social media seems stupid. Turning on final score notifications on my phone was absurd.

Logically, in the verysmall logical part of my brain - I know that my actions have no effect on the Blackhawks season.

BUT. The rest of me. The Italian part, the Chicago-transplant part, the unlucky-in-most-things part, the part that is currently full of cake and chocolate chips and extra spoonfuls of ice cream - is so sure that when the Blackhawks lose, its going to be all my fault. I will have done something wrong. Gone to the game, worn the wrong underwear, been in a bar (instead of in my house) watching it, started watching too early, been too sober/too drunk/too hungry.

When the Blackhawks lose, I will feel really bad about it. And while I recognize that that makes me a total lunatic - I can't help it.

And I know I'm not alone. That sound you hear, during every game, around the 18-minute mark in the third period is the city of Chicago holding its collective breath. Although, to be honest, I don't know if anyone has entirely let it out yet.

I'm mostly glad that after an entire Notre Dame football season with the same emotions and tendency to channel my anxiety into spinach dip binges - Boyfriend finally understands how it goes.

And if you think I am Not wavering on pushing the publish button, you don't know me. Or my insanity.

Laces Up

How do you prepare for a football game you've been hoping and waiting to watch since you were three?

By making shamrock candy and oreo pops way past your bedtime the night before. Obviously.