I am New Yorker and Yankees fan, but I am married to a Dodgers fan. As if being fans of the competitive sports teams were not bad enough, my husband Joe and I are political opposites.
He is an unconditional magic supporter, and is lucky that I love him despite his policy. “You are voting against your own interests like Latin,” I said.
He was not persecuted and said: “Trump is going to do a lot for this country.”
I put my eyes and left the room before things intensified, which generally consisted of me hitting doors to transmit my nonverbal point. The first time Trump won was difficult enough for me. Our marriage counselor told us: “You two simply talk about politics. That is the only way your marriage will do it.”
Together for 15 years, I met Joe in Suburbia in Bogies, also known as the Westlake Village bar, when I was going through a divorce and channeling my studio 54 days. He looked at me with his mouth open while danced on a speaker with 4 -inch heels. My first thought was: I'm never going to get rid of this type.
Security told me that I had to go down. Joe hastened to help me while “Brick House” continued playing.
“Good movements! Can I buy you a drink?”
“No, I'll buy you a drink. Otherwise, you will want something about me,” I said.
“Ok, I'll have what you have.”
When his name told me, it was the same as my ex -husband's.
“I can't call you like this. I will only call you Joe.”
“What should I call you?”
“Trixie”.
After drinks, my reckless abandonment behavior was launched. My little son was in the east coast family visiting, so I really felt single and free. I asked Joe directly, in the style of New York, if he wanted to return home to me. None of us were in any way to drive. So I called a taxi, not because out of New York, but because Uber did not exist then.
At 7:30 am, he woke me up and asked me if I could take him to his car because he had to go to the church on the west side. Wtf?
We were opposite in many ways. Catholic raised, I made my time at the Catholic School and the Church. Our parents made us go to church every week and listen to the priest Drone. I was no longer about to spend beautiful and sunny days inside a sanctuary with a mold aroma. Zuma Beach was now my congregation on Sundays.
As a married couple, every morning before work, we sat by the pool under the palm trees drinking coffee. I can see him reading a Fox News article on his phone. I feel that anger bubbles.
Instead of saying my usual “Why are you reading that garbage”, I intend that I have a deadline and apologize? I go to my office and start writing, that's my antidote. I think about how his Christian family also supports Trump. I am always the strange man, leaving the rooms when the orange man is mentioned.
Then, last year, the worst happened to me. Trump somehow won again. My writer friends in Los Angeles began to send me text messages: “Please, tell me that your husband did not vote for him. How can you be in the same room with him?”
My answer to them was: “Ah, I love him, but I agree. I don't want to be close to him at this time. Do you remember when Hillary lost? I didn't look at him for two weeks!”
“Why does Trump like?” They asked.
“I don't know! I think it's the same with all Christians,” I said. “Everyone is in the same team, to think that the landfill is their Savior.”
Yes, my husband supports Trump and he is a fan of the Dodgers, but he is also one of the best men I have met. We were invited to the retirement party of the Unified School District of my friend's virgins in Van Nuys. These were committed and passionate people who proudly protested every Saturday morning.
“When we arrive at Laura's, let's not talk about politics. They will be attacking Trump, but please don't answer,” I told Joe.
“I know. I don't talk about politics in a mixed group of people,” he said.
Joe and I are different in many ways, but we make ourselves laugh. And like a bonus, it is prepared for anything. He loves my son. He taught him to ride a bicycle, took him throughout the San Fernando Valley for auditions as a child actor, showed him how to use a troutdale fishing post in Kanan Road in Malibu, and watched the Los Angeles Raiders on Sunday after they returned from the church while I made meatballs and danced to the disc in the kitchen.
He even renounced the idea of having his own biological children because at my age, if I was lucky, maybe I would have an egg, we could call Nemo.
In his family reunion in Long Beach, with the smell of tempting Mexican food in the air, I heard Joe tell his cousin that he was the funniest person he had met, that for me he is one of the highest compliments he can give.
Laughter is the universal equalizer. If we can make people forget their differences with a little humor, it is a homer in my book.
Before game 1 of the 2024 World Series at the Dodger Stadium, the Dodgers against the Yankees, my husband took out his Dodgers shirt and insisted that we have the 10 -inch Dogers Dodgers. I said that was not happening, and instead, I asked for a New York -style pizza. We surrendered to my husband and allow Pineapple and Jalapeños in half, although we were mortified.
Foging the Yankees in the territory of Dodger Hostile, I had a slight advantage over my husband: my mother and my sister were visiting from New York. We had to do everything possible to fight the great blue crew.
The day before, we entered one of the many nail salons in Los Angeles with my “NY” baseball hat, I showed one of the manicurists the yankees logo that he wanted. At first, he shook his head not because he was also a fan of the Dodger. She passed me to another manicurist, who was willing to paint our nails with navy and white blue stripes.
Back in our family room, things were not going well for Bronx bombers, blowing leadership leadership. Every time the Dodgers scored, we had a choir of F pumps thrown to my husband on the west coast.
“Yeah!” He shouted Joe when Dodger Freddie Freeman hit a Grand Slam, game 1 winner.
“Get another beer, woman,” Joe said joking.
“You stink. Get your own beer,” I replied.
In the end, we all know what happened in the 2024 World Series at Yankee Stadium. We will give you this, Los Angeles.
It is not easy to be married to someone with whom I do not agree. However, when I see him do his many acts of goodness, how to push my mother to her wheelchair under the burning sun of California while sweat drops for her face, I think so, there are mistakes and faults in this relationship, but he is my basis of operations.
The author is a writing professor at the Antioch University and a published essayist who lives in Los Angeles County. She is in Substitution, Bluesky and Facebook. Visit your website in Andreatate.net.
Los Angeles Affairs Chronices The search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the Los Angeles area, and we want to listen to their real history. We pay $ 400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find presentation guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
