I'm having an illicit affair with my chiropractor.
That probably isn't true, actually, considering that we're both married and he's got two cute kids. Although I guess that is what would make it an illicit affair.
No, what's really going on is that I've been having problems with my left knee; I'm not entirely sure I can pinpoint when or where or how I injured it, but it's keeping me from doing things that I want to do (like kickbox), while stupid things (like walking into a store) make it light up with pain, so much so that I can't walk on it for a minute or two. And even though I've been going to the chiropractor 2-3 times a week since August, it doesn't seem to be getting any better.
On Monday, driving home from the gym where I'd had to do all my squats and lunges old lady style (using the weight bar as a tripod for balance instead of for, you know, weight), I felt so disheartened with the whole thing that I was ready to give up and resign myself to a life of crippled misery. On Tuesday night, the chiropractor held a presentation on the six steps to better health: posture, stretching and exercise, diet, sleep, spinal health, and a positive attitude. I spent the hour talking back and joking with him, as I do, but thought I'd email him the next day to give him actual feedback on his class, and in said email, also mentioned my despair over my knee.
His response was, likewise, two-fold: he wants to discuss ideas for further classes in which he breaks down the textbook guidelines on the aforementioned six steps and makes them more realistic (because let's be honest - rawism is kind of overwhelming); and he wants to talk about further care options for my knee. The common thread? "Let's do lunch." Which is just awesome, my doctor taking time to go in-depth with me about something that really concerns me, not to mention valuing my opinion on how he should run an aspect of his practice. The whole exchange was very encouraging as well, full of things like "DON'T GIVE UP," and "don't go there [surgery] in your mind," and, my personal favorite, "I know you heckle me, but it is not malicious, and not taken that way. I also know that you understand what I bring up for discussion and are capable of a deeper conversation than many."
That's right, people. I'm not just another pretty face and brilliant wit. I gots brains too!
Friday, January 19, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
The real/fake/actual/practice wedding
I've been having some issues with multiple blogger accounts (specifically with keeping them separate). So much for keeping anonymity with regards to the outside world. So I disposed of the outside world instead.
Down to business, because this post is already a week late: technically, I'm married. I don't feel married, but I'm pretty sure that's inconsequential in the eyes of the law. I don't really know where to start with regards to telling you about it all; I really wish I was one of those people who could say to her husband on her wedding night, "Not now honey, I have to post in my blog before life gets ahead of me and I forget all the details." I used to be one of those people, often described as anti-social (although really it should be asocial) because I would forego actually participating in events/conversations to write about them in my diary. Monica hated it, but I miss it. And I never had any shortage of things to write about, so I must have been doing something right. In any case, this time I didn't stave off my life with the tip of a pen, and so I find myself a little lost on how to describe the whole ordeal, especially now that it's already been put so eloquently by my witness and senior-year drinking buddy, known in these parts as C-List.
Lui and I drove up to Santa Barbara on Saturday, with a brief argument along the way due to his choosing to switch drivers by pulling off at - of all places - Mulholland Drive. After we finally found our way back to the freeway, we made good time on the 101 and headed straight for the florist who had asked us to get there before 4 to check out the shade of blue our roses would be painted, because once they sprayed them, the damage would be done. We got there just as they were spraying them anyway, but fortunately there was no problem. We stopped at Coffee Cat (my favorite coffee shop ever, but, now that Lui mentioned it, very geared toward and packed with college students), then headed over to Anabella, Elena, & Raul's house. The five of us then spent the afternoon wandering the city, making Elena try on a few flower girl dresses for the real/fake/actual/church wedding before meeting C-List, as well as Flower and her now fiance, for dinner at Pacific Crepes. (Our waitress therein looked very French, but did not sound very French, so, whether out of embarrassment or convenience, we chose not to speak any French.) After dinner, Lui and I went back to Anabella's where we watched Sideways with Anabella and Raul, then slept on the L-shaped couch.
I got to sleep in a little on my "wedding day," which I guess makes me atypical, but was nice, and I still had plenty of time to get ready for the 12:30 meeting time. We sent Lui out to get the flowers while I changed into my dress, then put my raincoat on over it, for what would be christened "the war bride look". The hairpiece from the florist came on a big chunky barrette, which C-List promptly dismantled and, in true Macgyver style, arranged the flowers in my hair using pipe cleaners and broken rubberbands. Our first stop was Scavenge, to take pictures in the black-and-white photo booth, because, well, I love those things, then it was off to the courthouse to meet Leslie.
I won't wax poetic on how fitting it was the Leslie perform the ceremony, because C-List has done it for me, but let it be known that I agree. And the ceremony was quick, it was meaningful, it was in the sun, and it included me pausing after the "Will you, Elle..." question to give Lui a last look up and down before shrugging and saying, "I will." I think that helped relieve some of the tension, which was present, but in no way obvious.
And then it was over, and our merry little band of seven (because Elena had begged and pleaded and pouted to come to the practice wedding too) went to Pascucci for lunch and an excellent bottle of Pinot Noir, all paid for by Daddy's Credit Card, and then Lui took me to the hotel he'd reserved for that night.
The suite was beautiful, with a patio, a fireplace, a giant bathtub, and a giant bed, all of which we utilised at some point in the 19 straight hours we spent in the room. (It's becoming a beautiful tradition that, when Lui and I stay in posh hotels, we get Chinese takeout brought to the room.) Perhaps the highlight of my night was when I was sitting in my bubble bath, sipping champagne and reading, and Monica called. I love Lui, but I'll let you all in on a not-so-well-kept secret: my friends are my true life partners.
It was great to spend a night doing nothing, between the chow mein, and the book (which I finished), and the self-pampering (I'd thought to bring a little tube of face mask), and the Grey's Anatomy reruns we watched on my computer via the hotel's free internet access. These are all things I've been vowing to incorporate more into my daily life - you know, me-time - and I'm hoping that now that I've had a taste of it, I'll hold myself to it a little better. I do, however, wish I'd thought to say, "Can't consommate now, honey; I need to tell my six adoring fans all about how great this is!"
There's always next time, though.
Down to business, because this post is already a week late: technically, I'm married. I don't feel married, but I'm pretty sure that's inconsequential in the eyes of the law. I don't really know where to start with regards to telling you about it all; I really wish I was one of those people who could say to her husband on her wedding night, "Not now honey, I have to post in my blog before life gets ahead of me and I forget all the details." I used to be one of those people, often described as anti-social (although really it should be asocial) because I would forego actually participating in events/conversations to write about them in my diary. Monica hated it, but I miss it. And I never had any shortage of things to write about, so I must have been doing something right. In any case, this time I didn't stave off my life with the tip of a pen, and so I find myself a little lost on how to describe the whole ordeal, especially now that it's already been put so eloquently by my witness and senior-year drinking buddy, known in these parts as C-List.
Lui and I drove up to Santa Barbara on Saturday, with a brief argument along the way due to his choosing to switch drivers by pulling off at - of all places - Mulholland Drive. After we finally found our way back to the freeway, we made good time on the 101 and headed straight for the florist who had asked us to get there before 4 to check out the shade of blue our roses would be painted, because once they sprayed them, the damage would be done. We got there just as they were spraying them anyway, but fortunately there was no problem. We stopped at Coffee Cat (my favorite coffee shop ever, but, now that Lui mentioned it, very geared toward and packed with college students), then headed over to Anabella, Elena, & Raul's house. The five of us then spent the afternoon wandering the city, making Elena try on a few flower girl dresses for the real/fake/actual/church wedding before meeting C-List, as well as Flower and her now fiance, for dinner at Pacific Crepes. (Our waitress therein looked very French, but did not sound very French, so, whether out of embarrassment or convenience, we chose not to speak any French.) After dinner, Lui and I went back to Anabella's where we watched Sideways with Anabella and Raul, then slept on the L-shaped couch.
I got to sleep in a little on my "wedding day," which I guess makes me atypical, but was nice, and I still had plenty of time to get ready for the 12:30 meeting time. We sent Lui out to get the flowers while I changed into my dress, then put my raincoat on over it, for what would be christened "the war bride look". The hairpiece from the florist came on a big chunky barrette, which C-List promptly dismantled and, in true Macgyver style, arranged the flowers in my hair using pipe cleaners and broken rubberbands. Our first stop was Scavenge, to take pictures in the black-and-white photo booth, because, well, I love those things, then it was off to the courthouse to meet Leslie.
I won't wax poetic on how fitting it was the Leslie perform the ceremony, because C-List has done it for me, but let it be known that I agree. And the ceremony was quick, it was meaningful, it was in the sun, and it included me pausing after the "Will you, Elle..." question to give Lui a last look up and down before shrugging and saying, "I will." I think that helped relieve some of the tension, which was present, but in no way obvious.
And then it was over, and our merry little band of seven (because Elena had begged and pleaded and pouted to come to the practice wedding too) went to Pascucci for lunch and an excellent bottle of Pinot Noir, all paid for by Daddy's Credit Card, and then Lui took me to the hotel he'd reserved for that night.
The suite was beautiful, with a patio, a fireplace, a giant bathtub, and a giant bed, all of which we utilised at some point in the 19 straight hours we spent in the room. (It's becoming a beautiful tradition that, when Lui and I stay in posh hotels, we get Chinese takeout brought to the room.) Perhaps the highlight of my night was when I was sitting in my bubble bath, sipping champagne and reading, and Monica called. I love Lui, but I'll let you all in on a not-so-well-kept secret: my friends are my true life partners.
It was great to spend a night doing nothing, between the chow mein, and the book (which I finished), and the self-pampering (I'd thought to bring a little tube of face mask), and the Grey's Anatomy reruns we watched on my computer via the hotel's free internet access. These are all things I've been vowing to incorporate more into my daily life - you know, me-time - and I'm hoping that now that I've had a taste of it, I'll hold myself to it a little better. I do, however, wish I'd thought to say, "Can't consommate now, honey; I need to tell my six adoring fans all about how great this is!"
There's always next time, though.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
On how it didn't "go there," after all.
"You'd make the perfect heroine of a chick flick," W said to me over our table at Lestat's on Monday night. "You're sweet, and attractive, and slightly conflicted..."
We'd been talking about the past week, how I'd juggled my time and priorities between his visit and Sunshine, whose mom passed away on the 28th, how Lui kept swinging back and forth between being okay with W's existence and glaring at me for flirting with him, and made the whole week sort of awkward by it, how scared I am of having to become anybody's "little wife," and of losing myself in the process.
"I know I can be happy with Lui, in the long run," I said. "And I do want all this: the husband and the babies and the friend to grow old with. I just don't want it all right now. Because right now, I'm only 24, and I'm in the best shape of my life - I mean, I looked good last night..."
"You did. Look. Really. Good last night." He spoke slowly and poignantly, so I could savor every word, reëstablishing for myself that compliments from outside a relationship just have so much more je ne sais quoi. "You looked beautiful."
That set me off glowing. "And I don't wanna have to dumb myself down, and lose the right to get compliments like that one."
"You shouldn't have to. It really just sounds like you need to talk to him about all this." And before I insisted yet again that Lui and I have talked about all this, ad nauseum, he added, "I really wish I still lived here, so he'd get used to seeing me, and maybe realize that I'm not a threat to him."
"I wish you still lived here too... It'll be okay, right?"
"I don't know. I hope so. I really want you to be happy." He took my hand, as he'd done a few times over the past few days, for comfort or strength. His hands are warm, and rough; Lui's are unnaturally smooth; I guess it takes being overly familiar with one thing to take such notice of another. It wasn't the first time that night that we'd felt like we were in a movie, and commented on it.
When I dropped W back at the house he was staying at, effectively saying goodbye after five days of intense emotion and awkwardness (not all down to him by any means), I got out of the car to hug him, and he held me for a while, allowing me to take notice again, this time of how strange it is to hug someone my own height (Lui is 10 inches taller than I am; W is not quite three). He kissed my cheek through my hair, said, "It's been really good to see you, Elle," right into my ear, and finally pulled away.
As he was getting his bag out of my backseat, I couldn't resist trying once again to have the conversation he once refused to have. "So... seriously?" I asked, biting my lip.
"Seriously what?"
"You never even wonder about it?"
W smiled. "Sure, I wonder about it... More like dream about it, maybe... Always good dreams." He put his bag down in the street to hug me and kiss my cheek again. "Goodbye, Elle."
I drove off, immensely satisfied and dissatisfied by the whole thing. Why should I feel so bad for being made to feel so good? Being built up and validated, recognizing feelings without acting on them - these things aren't betrayal. Suddenly, I was pissed. I can't live my life walking on eggshells, wondering what lingering glance or witty reference to someone's pants is going to turn Lui against me. I called Libertine on the way home and tried to blow off steam, only to have Lui get upset with me for having talked to her ("So either you're mad at me, or something happened with W," he said). So I blew up at him instead, told him how awkward he'd made the few days I had to spend with W, who - regardless of feelings past or present - is more of a really good friend to me than he is anything else, told him I was not going to be his little wife, I will not tone myself down for him, I will not give up all my male friends for him, I cannot spend the rest of my life like this, and if it happens again, he'll have to let me go.
I finally got through to him. He's spent the last week trying to make it up to me, got W's number from me to apologize to him, and now the two of them may or may not be planning something (that's as much as I can get out of him, and I haven't asked W about it), he told me about all his own doubts so that I wouldn't feel so guilty for having my own; in short, he seems to finally understand what I've been trying to tell him for months now. And so, even though he thinks it's the opposite, I now feel more comfortable with and ready for the whole marriage thing than I have in a long time.
Which is a good thing, because, well, we have to go take care of this greencard thing on Sunday.
We'd been talking about the past week, how I'd juggled my time and priorities between his visit and Sunshine, whose mom passed away on the 28th, how Lui kept swinging back and forth between being okay with W's existence and glaring at me for flirting with him, and made the whole week sort of awkward by it, how scared I am of having to become anybody's "little wife," and of losing myself in the process.
"I know I can be happy with Lui, in the long run," I said. "And I do want all this: the husband and the babies and the friend to grow old with. I just don't want it all right now. Because right now, I'm only 24, and I'm in the best shape of my life - I mean, I looked good last night..."
"You did. Look. Really. Good last night." He spoke slowly and poignantly, so I could savor every word, reëstablishing for myself that compliments from outside a relationship just have so much more je ne sais quoi. "You looked beautiful."
That set me off glowing. "And I don't wanna have to dumb myself down, and lose the right to get compliments like that one."
"You shouldn't have to. It really just sounds like you need to talk to him about all this." And before I insisted yet again that Lui and I have talked about all this, ad nauseum, he added, "I really wish I still lived here, so he'd get used to seeing me, and maybe realize that I'm not a threat to him."
"I wish you still lived here too... It'll be okay, right?"
"I don't know. I hope so. I really want you to be happy." He took my hand, as he'd done a few times over the past few days, for comfort or strength. His hands are warm, and rough; Lui's are unnaturally smooth; I guess it takes being overly familiar with one thing to take such notice of another. It wasn't the first time that night that we'd felt like we were in a movie, and commented on it.
When I dropped W back at the house he was staying at, effectively saying goodbye after five days of intense emotion and awkwardness (not all down to him by any means), I got out of the car to hug him, and he held me for a while, allowing me to take notice again, this time of how strange it is to hug someone my own height (Lui is 10 inches taller than I am; W is not quite three). He kissed my cheek through my hair, said, "It's been really good to see you, Elle," right into my ear, and finally pulled away.
As he was getting his bag out of my backseat, I couldn't resist trying once again to have the conversation he once refused to have. "So... seriously?" I asked, biting my lip.
"Seriously what?"
"You never even wonder about it?"
W smiled. "Sure, I wonder about it... More like dream about it, maybe... Always good dreams." He put his bag down in the street to hug me and kiss my cheek again. "Goodbye, Elle."
I drove off, immensely satisfied and dissatisfied by the whole thing. Why should I feel so bad for being made to feel so good? Being built up and validated, recognizing feelings without acting on them - these things aren't betrayal. Suddenly, I was pissed. I can't live my life walking on eggshells, wondering what lingering glance or witty reference to someone's pants is going to turn Lui against me. I called Libertine on the way home and tried to blow off steam, only to have Lui get upset with me for having talked to her ("So either you're mad at me, or something happened with W," he said). So I blew up at him instead, told him how awkward he'd made the few days I had to spend with W, who - regardless of feelings past or present - is more of a really good friend to me than he is anything else, told him I was not going to be his little wife, I will not tone myself down for him, I will not give up all my male friends for him, I cannot spend the rest of my life like this, and if it happens again, he'll have to let me go.
I finally got through to him. He's spent the last week trying to make it up to me, got W's number from me to apologize to him, and now the two of them may or may not be planning something (that's as much as I can get out of him, and I haven't asked W about it), he told me about all his own doubts so that I wouldn't feel so guilty for having my own; in short, he seems to finally understand what I've been trying to tell him for months now. And so, even though he thinks it's the opposite, I now feel more comfortable with and ready for the whole marriage thing than I have in a long time.
Which is a good thing, because, well, we have to go take care of this greencard thing on Sunday.
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