Through the ice.

“Maybe I’m too young to keep good love from going wrong…”

This is a lyric from a Jeff Buckley song called “Lover You Should Have Come Over.” It doesn’t seem like that long ago that this line in this song drove through my heart like a stake. Early in my relationship with Gina, I found myself looking at other couples and wondering what their secret was, why it seemed so easy for them. Gina and I have come through a lot to get where we are, and there was a time where I think we both wondered if we could make “us” work. For me, there always seemed to be something bigger at work in our journey, something that was both the destination and the guide, something that made it okay that it wasn’t always easy. I have likened the feeling to being trapped under a very thin sheet of ice without the proper tools to break through the ice. We tried and tried to break through, with no luck, but I knew if we kept trying long enough, we’d get through the ice and be able to gulp the sweet, crisp, fresh air that was waiting on the other side. And we were both willing to keep trying.

It’s safe to say there was a time where it was pockets of brilliance amongst a lot of mediocrity. Never horrible, but rarely blissful. We both understood one thing: we could not understand each other. We talked a lot (hazard of lesbian relationships – women LOVE to talk), but we would both wind up frustrated and confused. About two years ago, we both admitted it wasn’t exactly what we had in mind when we pictured “happily ever after,” and that we both deserved better. Now, I feel like this is the part where a lot of couples would break up. But we didn’t want to break up. We were already in love, and we weren’t angry at each other. So we made a mutual decision to work towards something better.

For me, I stopped questioning everything and started listening. I listened to what she said and what she didn’t say. I listened to myself, to what I said and what I didn’t say. I tried to talk less and listen more. I tried to leave all of the crappy stuff in the past and look at her as she stood in the moment, unattached to anything before. I didn’t pay attention to who she had been or who I had been, but rather who we presently were and where we wanted to be. And none of this represented a change to my foundation – instead, it was a needed maturation. And all of it, all of the work, was a hell of a lot easier than wading through the misunderstandings of before.

It didn’t take long for us to smash through the ice. And now? Now it’s better than I ever imagined it would be. I get a ridiculous amount of joy from her and her place in my life, and my place in hers. I feel lucky every day. She has become my best friend, and every day seems to be better than the one before.

We recently registered as domestic partners, and of course in this hetero-centric culture we live in, a lot of people have asked about me taking her name. Why did you take her name? Is she Gina Papa Hall now? Why didn’t she take your name? The truth is, I took her name initially for two reasons: 1. I like it, and 2. our children will have that last name and I think it’s important to have the same last name as them. But now that it’s official, I feel like a football player wearing the same jersey as my teammate. Of course I wouldn’t wear a different jersey – how will the world know we’re part of the same team? It’s also a hard-won proclamation – she is mine and I am hers. It took a while, but we finally figured it out, we finally have become one of those couples other couples can look up to, and we think everyone should know it.

Easing back in

I have so many updates for this space, but to ease everybody back in, mostly myself, here's a quickie for you:



Please don't call it a marriage. That would imply that gina and I are treated the same way married couples are treated, and this is simply not true. Is it a big step? Certainly. Are there certain rights and responsibilities that come with this piece of paper? Definitely. It is still a far cry from marriage, and we are PISSED about that. However, we are proud to announce that we are as married as we can get, and certainly more in love than many married couples out there.

We rock.

-katie j. papa

Thinking about charging them rent...

I am of the information age. I love to learn and I love to be right. My favorite thing about my iPhone is I can answer almost any question at any time, simply by visiting google. So it’s shocking to me that when little seed-looking things started appearing on our bathroom counter, I didn’t immediately google it to figure out what it was. The problem is, I usually think the simplest explanation is the correct one, so I figured the weird little specks were perhaps flower seeds coming from outside, since they were only landing right under the window.

Gina and I lived happily with this explanation for about two months. The more I started thinking about it, the more I started questioning this answer. We’ve lived in the condo for two years. Why is that all of a sudden, some plant life is depositing seeds into our bathroom? I like to think I’m pretty smart, but it took me TWO MONTHS to decide to close the bathroom window and see if the little specks still appeared on the counter. I closed the bathroom window this past Tuesday before we went to bed. I woke up Wednesday morning and sure enough, there were dozens of little specks on the counter.

Over coffee, sitting in front of the Today Show, I asked google, “What are these weird mysterious specks showing up on my bathroom counter?” Google smugly answered, “termite poop.”

Suddenly, it was code red. It was as if we had been infested with killer bees. Something needed to be done, and fast. I called three exterminator companies and was horrified that no one could come out THAT DAY, RIGHT AWAY, to save me and my family from the horrifying termites. I’ve seen cartoons – I know how termites operate. They come in and 30 seconds later, your house is gone, and your jaw hits the floor, and they wave to you on their way to the next house.

Larry from Accuracy Plus Pest Control came out yesterday morning and said, “Yep, you have dry-wood termites.” He pointed to two small holes in the bathroom wall near the ceiling, holes that looked like tiny specks of dirt. Apparently, the little shitheads poop out of the wall. So the good news is, they haven’t been crawling all over our bathroom counter. The bad news is, there is termite crap all over the place.

“That’s gross,” I said to Larry.

He shrugged. “It’s just wood. That’s all they eat is wood. It’s not toxic or dirty or anything.”

“It’s poop!” I reminded him. I could tell he saw my point.

Now the real fun starts – dealing with the HOA in getting the bastards exterminated. Good news: they will pay for it. Bad news: if I were paying for it, it’d be today. You win some, you lose some, I suppose.

On loving dogs.

I know you're not supposed to admit who your favorite kid is, but anyone who knows me will tell you I am obsessed with our dog Noodle, and I enjoy our dog Aldo. We waited a long time for Noodle to arrive once we decided we'd keep her. We had talked about getting a dog long before Noodle came, and we paid a pretty penny to fly her and her former mom (my cousin) out here for the drop off. There was a lot of build-up, and we instantly fell in love with her.

Aldo, on the other hand, was rescued from the street, literally, and we didn't think we'd keep him. He was stinky, filthy, and covered in dry, itchy skin. He lived with us for a good two months before we started allowing ourselves to get attached to him. And while he has healthy skin now, he is still stinky, and he is still not 100 percent housebroken. And while I admit freely that I might not feel the same way about him as I do about Noodle, I really do love him. He has turned into such a great dog, a dog that doesn't even need a leash outside!, and I feel like I forget that a lot.

Today, we got him a haircut. For some reason, Noodle always manages to smell delicious, but Aldo is funky. So we've decided to get him groomed a little more often, because he smells so handsome when he's fresh from the groomer. He loves riding in the car, which is a huge relief, because Noodle gets car sick.

Here's Aldo on the way to the groomer, before the haircut.



He was so confused, being at the groomer's without Noodle, but he managed okay - the groomer even finished early, and Aldo got a jaunty bandana!



It costs $47 to get his hair cut, but when he's done, he looks so sparkly white and smells like Christmas morning. As we were waking out of the groomer's today, I was looking at how sweet he is, and I was thinking how he really is such a good boy, and we're so lucky to have him. As my heart was filling up with love for him, he promptly threw himself on his back on the dirty asphalt, and rubbed fervently, scratching the itch I'm sure he'd been waiting to scratch the whole time the groomer had him. He flipped back over and his freshly washed white hair was dark gray and gritty.

I can't help but think this is the universe preparing me for the chance that our first child will be a boy.

Naturally, on 4/20.

It seems overdone to post about the legalization of marijuana on 4/20. So I’m going to take this one step further and post about the legalization of all drugs.

I haven’t really cared one way or the other about the legalization of marijuana. It has always seemed to me that it should be legal, but I wasn’t one to argue for it because I just didn’t care. It was easy enough for me to get it whenever I wanted (which was never very often), and I was never in danger of “getting caught.”

Lately, however, I have been learning more about the business of marijuana. I heard somewhere that marijuana is a twelve billion dollar industry in California alone. Twelve billion dollars. BILLION. Twelve billion dollars that never gets taxed, that never sees the light of day. That just seems counter-intuitive at its best, stupid at its worst.

While a lot of people, especially in California, would argue for the legalization of marijuana, I wonder how many people would argue for the legalization of all drugs. That’s right – all of them. Heroin, crack, cocaine, meth, whatever. I never thought I would be on board with this, but I’m starting to feel like the anti-drug campaigns of the 1980s and 1990s were less than truthful with me and the rest of my generation about what the dangers of these drugs were. I tried to do some research on the internet about the true dangers of each of these drugs, but it’s all scary propaganda.

Look, I know drugs are bad. I know that. I know meth destroys the part of your brain that allows you to feel. I hate drugs. They are ruining my sister’s life, and thereby doing a number on my life and the life of my family. But I also know that I’m terrified to go to Mexico right now. I also know that all of these drugs are cut with stuff that are in some cases more dangerous than the drug itself. And to be blunt, drug dealers are making a hell of a lot more money than teachers, and that’s not okay by me.

It is all of these things and many more that have made me start to think, why not legalize everything? At least then, government will force regulations on the drugs. Users will know exactly what they are putting into their bloodstream when they snort, shoot, etc. Furthermore, it would seem reasonable that regulated, legal drugs would be safer in general, because they would be REGULATED. And maybe then drug use would be treated more like alcohol abuse or tobacco abuse – as an addiction, and one that you can’t always kick on your own. We would clear out prisons, redirect portions of the police force, and tax an industry that thrives while the rest of the country is suffering. I’m not saying gangs would be eradicated, but the whole landscape of organized crime would change. The Mafia was at its strongest during prohibition. Whoever controlled the liquor controlled the city. Most importantly, we would be able to be honest with future generations about the dangers of these drugs, instead of just scaring them into not using, because the scare tactics? NOT WORKING.

There are many very intelligent people – doctors and scientists – who say that a lot of these drugs are not as dangerous as we are made to believe. Let’s take my sister’s drug of choice: heroin. A normal dosage of heroin will most likely not kill you. Is it bad for you? Of course. Does it put holes in your brain? Boy, does it ever. Will one dose get you addicted? Hells yeah. But it probably won’t kill you. What is MORE dangerous than the actual heroin is the life you lead as a heroin addict. First up – malnutrition. You’re not that hungry when you’re high, so you lose A LOT of weight in an unsafe way, and your body gets little to no nutrients. Because you’re not eating, you will probably get constipated. We all know how fun that is. Secondly, the no-brainer – dirty needles. This is by far the dumbest things heroin addicts do: share needles. This is a surefire way to contract something horrific and die. Third – injecting ANYTHING repeatedly, even if it’s saline, will lead to collapsed veins. Fourth – even the most experienced drug users will overdose, because they are always chasing that first high, which they will OF COURSE never get. Too much of anything will kill you. And lastly, heroin addiction is so powerful, addicts will stop at nothing to score their next high (I’ll leave it to your imagination), and we all know when your inhibition is lowered, you are in much greater danger in general.

I have no idea if legalizing heroin and other drugs would change any of this, or change the manner in which users get high. But I feel confident that it’s a topic worth a lot of discussion, because at this point, in my family and in this country, we suck at this war on drugs thing. I also know that what we are doing now is not working.

Dodgeball

Gina and I joined a dodgeball league via The Eagle Rock Yacht Club. The E.R.Y.C., as it is known to us insiders, is a social group formed by some cool kids with the intent of finding stuff to do that is cheap and fun, and also to figure out ways to give back to the community. As if this weren't perfect for us already, the dodgeball games and most events take place within a mile of our house.

Dodgeball! It can't be that hard, right? After all, we all played when we were in middle school and it was on of the more fun games they had us play in gym class. You throw a ball, the other person dodges it or catches it, that's it.

Last night was the first game. It wasn't so much of a game as it was a meet-your-new-team and see who sucks and who doesn't. Gina and I? We suck. I don't remember the balls being that difficult to throw accurately. But we had a lot of fun, and drank beer afterward, so no one is complaining.

Well, that's not entirely true. There is the whole issue of our team name. A lot of these people have played before, so the other three teams came with good solid names and one even came in uniform. We seem to be the leftover team, strung together with all of the newer people. And that's okay by me, but the team name that had been chosen for us was Pearl Necklaces. I could probably think of a more offensive team name, a name that would be more alienating for gina and I, but it would be difficult. Gina and I are on the same team, and we were both sort of annoyed that it was going to be Pearl Necklaces, but hey, we were the new guys, who were we to say anything?

I started to realize how male-centric all recreational sports names are. Some friends of mine were on a kickball team named Wonderballz, that had a team handshake mimicking a testicle tickle. I think I heard of another kickball team named Family Jewels. And now Pearl Necklaces. It got me thinking... what is it with guys and their junk? Why is it so funny? And even for straight women, do they really want to be on a team called Pearl Necklaces? I can only imagine what the uniform would be. *shudder*

We didn't complain, but apparently some people did, because an email went around today asking for new team name suggestions. I wanted to be really sarcastic and try to think of stuff that would be alienating or gross to guys. I came up with Cervical Mucous. Sadly, girls just are not as gross as guys when it comes to their junk. I didn't share my suggestion, but instead shared suggestions that everyone could enjoy:

awesomesauce
scarlet letter
sex on fire
widowmakers
scaregasm
deuces
hilarity ensues
grammar police

An email just came through with the suggestion "Incrediballs," which I actually kind of like, as long as there is no testicle tickling handshake.

I'll keep you posted.

Testing limits.

After what has felt like four months of non-stop rain and chilly weather, we finally had a break here in Los Angeles over the weekend. The sun shone and the temperature hovered around 80 degrees. The air smelled great and was crystal clear after all of the rain we've had, and it was one of those weekends that reminds you why you live here. I'm sure people did tons of outdoor activities - walking, hiking, biking, roller blading... I slept.

Bad timing has always been a forte for my body. I couldn't have caught this ass-kicking cold when it was raining inches every day for two weeks. My body had to wait until the sun was shining and spring was springing.

It started with a sore throat and turned into a "breathing optional" sort of event. I've blown my nose more in the last six days than I have probably my entire life. And still, I can't really taste anything. Soup and I have become very close over the last week.

The weekend was not a wash. I refused to let it be. We saw Rent at the Pantages on Friday, with Anthony Rapp and Adam Pascal reprising their roles as Mark and Roger respectively. Anthony Rapp is still as spry as ever - Adam Pascal has aged. Overall the show was good, not great, but very enjoyable and we had a lot of fun.

Saturday morning, I went to get a massage courtesy of my unbeatable girlfriend. I did not want to cancel the massage because of my cold because I was SO looking forward to it. But really, I should have canceled it. I do not recommend any situation where you have to lay face down when you have a runny nose. You can paint the picture yourself. After the massage, I napped, hoping to make a miraculous recovery in time for our scheduled happy hour at Fiesta Cantina in West Hollywood. No such luck. Still, I was a trooper and went to happy hour and had a great time, until the very end when I was suddenly and overwhelmingly miserable. Turns out tequila, yelling, and second-hand smoke do not make a good cold remedy. I was in bed by 10pm.

Sunday was another beautiful day that saw me inside for the entirety of it, starting in the morning with what I imagine were delicious chocolate chip pancakes courtesy of gina. I could just taste the chocolate. This was followed by more napping, and then dinner with mom and Jesse and Paul, where I not only was unable to taste my soup and salad, I wasn't even charged for it!

Today, day six, I woke up feeling marginally better, better enough that I can see the light at the end of the Common Cold tunnel. I know now that I won't feel like this for the rest of my life and I will indeed eventually get better. I haven't even needed one tissue yet today. Things are looking up!

Oh, and the rain is back. Seven days worth of rain, to be exact, perfectly coinciding with my recovery. Rad.