catheroominations

I never was into sports growing up. Well, except for figure skating (I had Dorothy Hamil’s haircut) and a bit of women’s tennis (does anyone ELSE remember Tracy Austin and her pigtails?). In college, when I dated a guy from Kentucky, I got sucked in to NCAA men’s basketball. I knew every single player’s name on the Wildcats team. I watched religiously, or as religiously as I could, living in the Bay Area. But when I moved to Kentucky, I was up to my eyeballs in Kentucky Basketball. And I loved it. Not only did I know the names of the players, but I knew their girlfriends’ names. I went to the games, even some SEC championship games. I screamed for the team, and I went to the airport to greet them when they returned from out-of-town. I went to Rite-Aid (or was it Drug Emporium?) to meet two of the players (Rodney Dent (did you know he was born on Christmas day?) and Gimel Martinez) and stood in line with the umpteen moms with their 10-year old sons to wait for my turn to get a picture with them. I was a fan superfan. Also, I was a geek.

But never have I been a fan of football. Not that I don’t like it, I just never cared either way. I know who Joe Montana is, and Steve Young too (and OJ, of course), and I recall the SuperBowl Shuffle by the Chicago Bears.

That is ALL I know about football.

Don’t believe me?

Here’s a snippet of a conversation I had with Matte during yesterday’s Dallas LOSS (la la la):
Me: What’s a down?
Matte: Well, when the ball is snapped and…
Me: What does snapped mean?

Seriously! I didn’t know! (But before you think I’m a moron, I can tell you what section of the ISO standard for medical devices deals with document control. Can YOU?) And despite my embarrassing lack of knowledge regarding football, I do know that I want the Packers to win this coming weekend. And then I want them to kick Patriot ass on February 3. Because, for one reason, I am a little bit in love with Brett Favre right now (meee-yow!). Also, there’s that whole National Championship title thing that comes with it, but whatever.

P.S. Matte told me to add “Lombardi’s trophy deserves to be home.” I have no idea what that means.

Matte and I have been trying to get out and walk a few times around the block after work. We’re not walk-like-there’s-a-stick-up-your-butt-while-swinging-your-arms-wildly types. We just stroll briskly, drooling over the houses we wish we owned, catching up on the fascinating events of our day.

Last night as we were finishing our second time around the block, Matte mentioned how much he enjoys our new ritual: “I like our walks. It gives us a chance to talk…er…a chance for me to listen to you talk.”

First, to celebrate our first date two years ago today, Matte and I are going to see this:

Then, as a thank you from Shawn and Rachel for watching their house/dog/cats last weekend, they’re treating us to this:

How about you? What are you doing today?”

Last weekend Matte and I got out our set of 120 dominoes we got from his nephews as a wedding gift (the only item we registered for at Target).

I’m pretty new to the dominoes thing, although I did play it with Matte and his parents last Christmas (and lost miserably). When Matte and I started playing last Saturday, I won like five hands (do they call dominoes games “hands?” I dunno.) in a row. I was quite pleased with myself. When we started the next game, Matte put down his doubles tile and I looked in my tiles to find something to play on it. I had nothing, so I had to draw a tile. And another. And another. And still another. And one more. And then again. And again. and again. Until the thirty-second tile I drew was playable. I drew thirty-two tiles on one play, giving myself a total of 39 tiles in my hand before I had a play. Now, I’m not sure we’re playing right, because I think there should be a limit to the number of dominoes one can draw before the other opponent lets them cheat or something. But I eventually drew something useful, and having more than quintupled the number of tiles in my hand, I had plenty of dots to choose from throughout the game.

So, guess who won this hand?

No, not me.

Matte won. But he cleared his last tile, and only got 19 points from my hand. Nineteen measly points. That, my friends, is what they call strategy.

Friday, May 25 went much too fast, but I do remember having a fabulous time, being joyously happy, and getting a wonderful husband. I have to steal pictures from other people, since I sort of couldn’t take pictures at my own wedding. Below is one from my dear friend Jenni at Four Feet More (or maybe her husband Jeff took this one). You can read a post she wrote about the wedding here.

I managed to snag some photos from my in-laws’ (heh, I have in-laws!) various storage media, and save them to my laptop, and my avid photographer friend June (who I freaked with on the dance floor), took over 300 shots and sent me the link to her online photo album. Some of her shots are linked in this post, but so many of them are awesome, it was hard to choose which to steal. Matte and I will get many, many more photos from our photographers (who rocked, by the way). We’re getting all the original files on a DVD and I am sure there are a gajillion. Also? We had a photobooth at our wedding. Our friends and family got to leave with a print-out of their shots, but we get all the original digital files taken in the booth. I can’t wait to see what people did in that tiny little studio.

Oh, and remember my April Fool’s Day post? About our wedding plans? Well, what really happened is more like this:

keep reading Catheroo, aka Mrs. Silent-e

In October of 1983, I went to my very first concert.* It was Day on the Green #3, presented by Bill Graham at the Oakland Coliseum. The bands on the bill were The Fixx, The Thompson Twins, Madness, Oingo Boingo, and the headliner, The Police. I believe our tickets were something like $17 and I think it was general admission. The show started at 2 pm or so and went late into the night. It was totally rad and tubular, and like, so awesome.

Shortly after the Synchronicity tour ended, the band dissolved.

Twenty-four years later, the Police are coming back.

To the Oakland Coliseum.

This time, Oingo Boingo, The Fixx, The Thompson Twins, and Madness will not be there.

But I will.

Last time, tickets were $17.

This time, they’re $225.

Back then, Sting was 32 years old.

Now he’s 55 (and oh so much hotter).

In 1983, my friend’s mom (who was the coolest mom), drove and chaperoned us.

This June 13, I’ll be there with my new husband.

This time, just like the last time, I’m so excited I could pee.

*I bought a Police t-shirt and wore it proudly until the blue, yellow, and red bands of color faded away. I wore the shirt when I saw the 1984 Olympic torch come through my city. I wouldn’t remember wearing the shirt then except I have a picture, taken with my mom’s Kodak DISC camera. Me, holding the Olympic torch like I am so cool, wearing a Police Synchronicity muscle tee.