So, for those of you who know me, you know that I am a huge football fan. Not JUST a huge football fan, but more specifically, a huge PHILADELPHIA EAGLES FOOTBALL fan. This may sound a little strange to some because...well...I'm a girl. And not just a girl...but a super girlie girl. I am a super high maintenance, super high heeled, super "in need of a house that has 10,000 electrical outlets so I can plug in all my hair goodies" kind of a girlie girl. I love Marc Jacobs, Steve Madden, John Madden, DKNY, Al Michaels, Juicy Couture, Brent Celek, Coach, Coach Reid, Michael Kors, Michael Vick, and many, many others. And I will have you know that I'm not a total Philadelphia Eagles snob. I have a long list of men who I love, and who are on my "potential future husband list" which includes Philip Rivers of the San Diego Chargers, and Peyton Manning of the Indianapolis Colts (but it also includes Mike D. of the Beastie Boys, Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow, Sig Hansen of Deadliest Catch, many other male actors and singers, and of course, my Cute Alaskan Man who is the current front-running contender for my heart). I'm a good combo of feminine and masculine during football season, and I'll look super cute and sporty while I scream my head off and throw the most amazing football rants, tantrums, and celebrations of any chick, or dude, I know. I go CrAzY for football. Sometimes my kids will have their friends over during the game and they're like, "Stop it mom, you're scaring everybody!" but it gets THAT good during football season in my house. The entire reason I own a large flatscreen TV (ok...two of them) is so I can feel like I'm AT THE GAME. And thanks to DirecTV NFL Sunday Ticket, I get to spend every Sunday with my beloved Philadelphia Eagles--assuming they don't have a bye week.
"Oh Whitney, there you go again, acting like we really care what you have to say." But that's probably kind of true, because here you are reading my blog *GoTcHa*SuCkA*
Anyway, many of you know that I use my blog to spill all of the comedy, chaos, and randomness that goes on up in my blonde brain, and in my life, onto an internet site so that millions of people can view it if they so choose. I'm not afraid to make fun of myself on here, or to actually say what's on my mind--even though sometimes I can be quite blunt. Well ladies and gentleman--I'm bothered. And upset. And frustrated. Not to the point of heaving myself off a cliff--fear not (though some of you are probably like, “darnit—there’s a missed opportunity"). But I have been pouting for weeks. See, the guys at my church have a function each year where men's ministry gets together and puts together their Fantasy Football teams. This is super sweet, and would be even sweeter if, say, I were a dude. But I'm not a dude, and therefore, I'm not allowed to do Fantasy Football with the guys at my church. It's been very frustrating. There's not even like a "girls ministry" v. "guys ministry" fantasy football option. Nope, it's just for the men.
"Oh poor you, Whitney. Why don't you just hit the mall and drown your sorrows in a cinnamon spice chai latte with your other girlie girl friends and quit butting your stilettos into men's Fantasy Football." Hmmm. First of all, this is the part in my blog where I pretend it's really YOU arguing with me and that I'm responding--even though this is really just a one-sided argument with myself and nobody ever really said any of this. Confused yet? Me too. Let's move on.
Believe it or not, I think football is often times more fun than shopping. I love shopping, don't get me wrong. However, I don't get to yell, scream, shout, and wear my comfy attire and football jerseys at the mall (ok—I guess I could wear these, but why would I…ewww). That, and if I tried on a pair of heels at the mall, screamed out, "THESE ARE THE ONES!!!" and ran up and spiked them at the cash register I might get some pretty funny looks--right before the mall cops on the Segway came and arrested me with fuzzy handcuffs from Claire’s Boutique for disturbing the peace and being mentally deranged. I DON'T BELONG AT THE MALL DURING FOOTBALL SEASON, PEOPLE! This is not a good cure! I belong watching football--which would be exponentially cooler if I had a Fantasy Football team--but like Gwen Stefani said, “Oh, I'm just a girl". That and I don't have any other friends doing Fantasy Football that I know of *(insert audio/visual of violin music, cheese to go with my whine, and pouting blonde girl)*
So, yes, I'm a little miffed at the fact that the chicks got excluded by the dudes at my church. It's not the first time I've been upset by church or Godly things though--that whole concept that women were an afterthought to God, and actually came from Adam's rib thing really rubs me the wrong way, too. As a matter of fact, Tristan and I got into a debate one day and I told him I would rather be from a chimp than from some dude's rib. I told him he could go find his McRib wife somewhere else, and that I was convinced I was 100% a product of primate evolution. Heck, who knows, I could be the "missing link" incarnate. I look a little like a monkey when I'm jumping all over the room during NFL football season. I digress.
So I started pondering ways I could sneak into my Fantasy Football league at church. I though and thought, and thought some more, and then IT HIT ME!!!...I just so happen to have a birth certificate from the State of California that says I AM A MALE!!! This is my ticket in! All I should have to do is flash this at the door the day the "male bonding" is scheduled to commence and I'll surely make the cut! Woohooo!!!! Men's Fantasy Football??? Hells-to-the-yeah…SIGN ME UP!!!!!!
Some of you are probably like, "What the crap is she rambling on about now?" Well, I'll tell you. I moved back to the State of Colorado with my (then) husband in 2005 from the east coast (GO EAGLES!). When I got back to Colorado, I found out that one of the state requirements was that you show a birth certificate as one of your forms of identification to get your driver's license. The only problem was--I didn't have my birth certificate. And I don't have contact with my parents such that I could obtain a copy of my birth certificate. So what could I do? I contacted the State of California (yes, for those of you who don't know--I'm a Cali girl) and ordered a copy of my birth certificate. Only, when it arrived at my house, I took it out of the envelope to look at it and it said, "NAME: Whitney M. Madison, DOB: 00/00/00 (not really), SEX: MALE" And I am not at all kidding...AND MY MOTHER SIGNED IT!!!!
Remember the good old days of being taught that "proofreading" would someday be a good skill to have? I don't think some people involved right after my birth received that memo. Especially the people filling out my vital statistics records. I stood there absolutely floored when I read that. Then I called my (then) husband at work and said, "Congratulations, honey!...YOU'RE GAY!!!" To which he responded by rolling on the floor laughing after what I had told him had happened. Then I wondered if my marriage was even legal, because I was married in the State of Alaska and I don't know that they allow gay marriage in the State of Alaska, and technically, if you go by birth certificate, they let a male marry a male!!!
Now some of you might be saying, "Um...Whitney...are you a girl or a boy...cuz at this point I'm really freakin' confused!" Well I’ll tell you…I'M 100%, NO DOUBT ABOUT IT, **FEMALE**, but these thoughts were rapidly going through my head when I received my stupid birth certificate. It also made a lot of mysterious pieces regarding my life fall into place--like why the military kept calling me and asking me why I hadn't registered for the draft when I turned 18, and why I continue to get random mail addressed to MR. WHITNEY MADISON.
This story is true. I can't make this kind of crap up. It took me 10 months, and three eye witnesses to get my birth certificate amended with the State of California to say, "Name: Whitney M. Madison, DOB: 00/00/00 (not really); Sex: FEMALE". And YES...I really did have to have three eye witnesses, and their signatures to submit to the State of California. One of the witnesses was my (then) husband--which was fairly easy for him because not only had I carried and delivered his twin children, but he also had seen me naked a time or two and never ran out of the room screaming, or felt the need to call me Ted. The second witness was my sister, Ashley--at least I think she's my sister...I've never seen her birth certificate. The third was my best friend, Jess. However, she came over to my house, was laughing hysterically at the whole stupid situation, and looked me dead in the eye and said, "Sorry hon, if I'm going to sign this, you're going to have to drop your pants." Have I mentioned lately how much I love my friends?
SO YES!!! Long story short-- I've finally figured out that I have an "IN" for the men's ministry Fantasy Football league at my church! Why? Because even though I have a new copy of my birth certificate that says I'm a GIRL, I still have my copy that says I'm a GUY! Look out, Faith Mountain--there's a new boy in town…and he wears high heels.
Alright...in all honesty, I'm all talk and no action. I'm not really going to crash their party. I'm still super miffed and feel completely snubbed. However, it's nice to know I have the paperwork that says I can legally play Fantasy Football with them! *Woot!*Woot!*Holla!*Z-snap*
Maybe next year they will do the guy v. girl fantasy football so that I don’t have to go flash my paperwork at them…
