Valentine's Day

It's not when we met, but when we fell in love. Well, check that, I can't speak for her. I guess its safe to say that's when I fell in love with her.

What day is better than Valentine's Day? The day after.

What great love story doesn't involve some romantic mention of Valentine's Day? Yeah... I don't know about that either. Anywho, mine does but its in a roundabout kind of way.

When I lived in the suburbs of Detroit, the other side of 8 Mile, I used to photograph concerts for my buddy Schwegs. After being in CT for while with nothing to do I asked Schwegs if I could shoot an upcoming gig and get a plus one (an extra ticket) to boot. Schwegs being the great guy that he is hooked me up with a photo pass and the tickets to a Robert Randolph show at The Webster Theater in Hartford.

The plus one plays a key role in my love story, definitely moreso than Valentine's Day. Back to the story though. This was my chance to throw out the idea of attending a free show to Marisa. You know? Just toss out the idea that "I'm cool, I shoot concerts and it just so happens that I got an extra ticket, perhaps you would like to attend this show with me." I may or may not have taken advantage of the fact that she was drinking when I asked but put it this way, I made a real nice cast and she definitely took a bite at the bait, that's all I'm trying to say. Hook, line and sinker.

Getting to the point of asking her out wasn't as straight forward as you might think. There's more to this story than even she knows. Living in the shit hole I called my apartment, they didn't leave packages at the door because some shady character might have taken my free Robert Randolph tickets, instead they leave a note to pick them up half way across the state. I had to go to the FedEx distribution center damn-near Springfield, MA to pick up the tickets. Not only did I have to trek half-way across the state but it was snowing like mad that night. So a trip that might take 35 minutes took me roughly an hour and a half.

Once in hand, I dashed like mad to Nikita's to bring up the fact that I had an extra ticket to the concert. Like I said, she bit and she bit hard. We were set for a concert the next day.

She invited me to her place to watch a late movie with a few other folks but the best part was she wanted to ride over with me. This is where the Valentine's Day fun begins... my car was snowed in. What better way to get a car out of the snow then to have two drunks do it. Marisa doesn't know how to drive a manual transmission automobile, let alone my week-old one. I put her behind the wheel and explained that she would be mashing the gas and popping the clutch while I stood next to her pushing the open door. So we did just that.

She pinned the throttle and all I could do was cringe as I heard rev-limiter taming the engine. I told her to let off the far-left pedal, and the tires began to spin. Along with them came all the snow, in my face. We finally got the car moving but not without laughing our asses off so hard that we couldn't see straight, or could it have been that we were drinking? Whatever. We got the car to within 50 or so feet of the exit where the attendant booth was located. The car, magically, after 20 or so minutes of struggle got some amazing traction and Marisa was off to the races, with the door open, headed straight for the attendant booth and me face-first in the snow. As I screamed to shut the door, I saw it close and she squeezed the car through the curb and the booth as if she knew what she was doing. She pulled the car to a stop, I took the wheel, and we laughed uncontrollably the whole way to her place.

Back at her place, we tried to share the great moment we had with everyone and no one cared. I got a date, I had a laugh, and whether she knew it or not, I had a valentine.

The Move

I know, lame name for a blog post but what else am I going to call it? Honestly though, that's really how this whole story got started.

A long time ago, in September of 2006 I found a job posting on a website that's mainly for photo dorks, cool photo dorks, the sports ones, www.sportsshooter.com. Anyway, the job was with ESPN (read the original job posting that I saved for some reason. Oh sure, this blog). How much better could life be than working for ESPN, The Worldwide Leader in Sports? I have to move to Connecticut? What the hell is in Connecticut? Ef-it. Its between NYC and Boston. How bad could it be?

By Thanksgiving my car was on a flatbed truck, my crap was packed in boxes by guys I didn't know, and I had a small bag of clothes that were to last me a couple months. Off to CT for my dream job!

The first couple weeks were great, but boring. I knew no one and was living at the Extended Stay Deluxe, Hartford - Farmington , definitely more Farmington than Hartford. Not that Hartford is a Mecca of after-work activities or anything. It also didn't help that I moved at the beginning of Winter.


After a couple months, I moved to Middletown, CT because it was "happening". Uh, not really. Being exhausted of living in a hotel, I snagged the first apartment that was affordable, resembled a Manhattan loft and included heat and hot water. What a shit hole.

It didn't take long to find out all the awful things about the place, like single pane windows, no parking, being at a main intersection, no control over the heat and lastly, the stove not working. There were a few pluses though, like... uh... um, well, one was living above a bar. What happens when you live above a bar and your stove doesn't work? You spend a lot of time eating dinner (and drinking) at the bar downstairs.

I met some pretty cool folks at Nikita's. I found one of them a little more "cool" than the rest.

I'm pretty sure it was the second time I went down to Nikita's for dinner after eating frozen dinners for 3 or 4 days in a row and a rather large folding sign stood out in front of the place which read, "Welcome Shannon back from Florida! Deal on beer. Come in, your stove doesn't work. Dumbass!"

I went in for dinner and met Shannon, the bartender who just returned from Florida. Go figure. It wasn't too long after that when Shannon introduced me to her friend, and you guessed it, her name was Marisa. Actually her name is still Marisa, but you get the point. She may have been a bit tipsy but she was definitely taller than most and a bit on the loud side; did I mention b-e-a-utiful? There was nothing I could do to take my eyes off her. Okay, maybe it was just her butt I stared at for a while. Anyway... After Shannon's very brief introduction, I knew Marisa wanted nothing to do with me.

This is how we met. Shannon pawned me off to her friend. "This is Joe. He just moved and lives upstairs. He works for ESPN." BAM! My in, ESPN, she's totally gonna dig that. Except for the fact that there are like 4,000 employees that work for ESPN in CT, so I was just another dude that frequented the bar. Dammit.

I didn't give up though. I knew we would hang out eventually. It was only a matter of time till she saw I was special, or had money or really good looks or got free tickets to concerts. Something was bound to let me through her Violet Parr-like force field, which just so happened to block out emotion and men, at least I hoped.

Violet Parr

Vena Amoris

I did it today. I bought a ring.

It's now only a matter of time before I "pop" the question. I wasn't nervous either. I assumed I would be. Heart pounding, sweaty palms, sweaty pits, but nothing. I think that's a good sign. Especially for the guy I bought it from, so he wouldn't have to ask if I needed paper towel or if I was alright.

I have been in the market but not too seriously. Just sort of browsing and asking the questions. It probably could have gotten more serious sooner than it did but every time I walked into a jewelery store I felt like there was pressure and the salespeople just creeped me out. I finally settled on a place near where I live called Lux Bond & Green. I really liked who I dealt with, his name is Art. I just felt comfortable. He explained things and made it seem like I wasn't a pain in the ass.

There is a bit of a story behind the jeweler I picked. It might be lame but a story nonetheless. See, Marisa and I lived in a place called Middletown and every time we took Route 9 anywhere, as we passed through a place called New Britain, there was this big billboard that was always changing with new jewelery from Lux Bond & Green. The stuff was always extremely outrageous and we would laugh and giggle as we passed by. Well, okay we didn't giggle but we always talked about it and how obscene it was. Yup, I picked that place, the obscene, outrageous, make-you-giggle one, and I liked it.

I am keeping this from Marisa for obvious reasons as I would like this to be a surprise. So, if you know two folks in Connecticut named Joe and Marisa, keep your dang mouth shut. I have an idea when I'm going to do it. It will be special for the two of us but I won't give too much info now.

Anyway, stay tuned for more. I have a lot planned for this little piece of blog heaven.