Skrinkering Hearts

Thank you to everyone who chimed in on some suggestions on my last post.  Much appreciated!  I will try and keep you posted on the goings on in Fireman land. 

 New head of hair pick.  Check him out, yo!

Blondie was kicked off ANTM last night.  I don’t even know her name.  From Mass, likes to party a lot, not a favorite of mine so I’m okay with the boot. 

That’s pretty much all I’ve got.  TGTIF (Thank God Tomorrow Is Friday).

Here’s the thing.

I’m usually the chatty one.  Not overly or annoyingly so, but I’m good with small talk as I’m good with a deep heart to heart conversation over coffee in a cafe until it’s closing time pint size beers in the corner booth of a pub until last call.

What I’m saying is, I’m good with chatting someone up.  Or being chatted (?) up.  Hell, look at the big Cell Phone Debacle 2007.  I’m a girl who can talk.

Until I’m face to face good head of hair, with the fireman I’ve been eying, on a street corner on the first Sunday night of fall.

The quick background info is that Mr. F has a beat at a fire station right by my house.  On my route to and from work.  He works there twice a week, two 24 hour shifts like most firemen, so I see him maybe once a week.  Twice if I’m lucky, but that doesn’t often happen.

So I’ve been seeing him.  And he’s been seeing me.  And holy hell, he’s been seeing me see him.  He’s full on, caught me checking him out.  Which I’m fine with.  I am checking him out, he’s so very check-outable that I cannot, not check him out.

And we have been playing this see-each-other and wave game for oh… about 8 months or so now.  I shit you not.  But this waving game gets more active in the warmer weather.  Because he’s outside more, and then I have my windows down more, so more of a chance to see each other, see each other, during the summer.

Follow so far?

So.  I see Mr. F, I’ve seen Mr. F for months now.  And as of late, it’s been more consistent.  More of a given that I will be seeing him on x day, outside the station and therefore I will get ready for waving.  But this waving thing?  This seeing each other seeing each other thing?  I figured, it can only go on for so long.  And since I’m the one that drives by, and he just stands there and basically, he can’t leave his spot to chase me down, it was my move.

My move, which I made Sunday.  (Oh, one other small note.  I’ve walked by the station before and we’ve talked.  But it was quick, no names were exchanged, just information about what coffee I like from Dunkin Donuts and him querying ”why did I not get him one?”)  But other than that, our relationship has been solely a waving thing (wicked promiscuous, I know!)

Time to step it up.  I saw him Sunday.  I knew he’d be there based on the firemen’s schedule that I was taught about a year ago.  I saw him.  He saw me.  I took a deep breath, said “screw it, I’m doing this,” and proceeded to pull over.  I got out of my red wheels, and made my way to the station.  I walked up to Mr. F, and finally, the introductions happened.

And I was tongue tied.  Nervous and flipping out inside.  I think I did a pretty good job of pulling off a pulled together look, but inside?  I was flipping.  The conversation, even though it mostly was one sided, with him asking me questions that I’m kicking my ass now that I didn’t ask back, was pretty good.  He now knows where I live, where I work, who I live with, what music I like (he doesnt’ know “what” Ben Harper is), what I did last weekend, where I go out, and what I was doing the night I met him.

And what I know about him: 

….. (crickets) …..

Well I guess that’s an exaggeration.  I know a bit about him.  That he seems like a nice, genuine, good looking man in uniform.  That he’s around my age and lives in the same city as me.  When he might be working.  His name.

I don’t know if he’s single.  Or interested even.

And that’s about all.  So, the chatty-ness in me?  Hmm.  Where was that chatty-ness on this particular day?

Suggestions anyone, for any next moves here?  Because it seems as though (unfortunately), it has to be my move.  Which I’m okay with.  It’s just hard to get a hold of this guy!  Pulling over on the side of the road was probably a one time thing for me.  The good thing is that the station is within walking distance of my house, so that could be an option in the future.

Phew, for beginning a post talking about how I was held almost speechless, I sure as hell wrote the hell out of this one.  Holy hell.

So I’m going to try real hard today to not have a case of the Mondays. 

That’s not an easy feat for me, but I can try.

Ben Harper is ah-maze-ing.  And really quite easy on the eyes.

Sangria is really yummy.

Grey’s Anatomy starts this week.

Cosmo is saying see ya later to his manhood tomorrow morning.  Poor little guy.

I have taken the next step, introduced myself to a certain fireman, know his name and that he lives in the same city as me.  Now I just need to figure out about next moves to be made here.

It’s supposed to be in the low 80’s today, and FALL started yesterday.

Enjoy Monday.

towards becoming America’s Next Top Model.

A phrase Tyra annoyingly overuses on the show that I will be tuning into for it’s 9th cycle (”cycle” their word, not mine).

The more I watch Tyra the more irked I become with her.  For some reason she wants to come off as some therapist type, thriving on getting the models to cry during their little sessions with the judges.  Which is kind of pathetic, I think.  Not that they’re crying, but her prying with the questions of “how did it feel to grow up with a crack addict for a mother?”  Seriously Tyra?  You’re really going there?

Oh, the judges.  I dig Nigel (even with his short do’), but where was he tonight?  And Miss J. Alexander, cracks me up.  And Jay Manuel, well I’d like to have him come and talk makeup with me over martinis.  I think we’d also have fun shopping together.

Three of my top faves after week one include Sarah, from MA (represent, yo!), Saleisha from LA, and Janet, from GA.  Wicked sucks that Sarah is considered “plus size.”  Although after conference amongst the judges, they deemed her more “real size” than plus.  How nice!

Until next weeks shit show…

 *

I am in the midst of unpacking from nights away and weekends away, from my trip to Reno and even that trip to Maine that was, as wild as it is to admit, almost a month ago.  It’s not wild that it was a month ago, but it’s more than a spec normal that it has been almost a month, and I have still not unpacked. 

Yeah, that’s right.  I have two suitcases going, one blue Adidas bag (hello high school?!), one pink! backpack, one Victoria’s Secret bag, and one random other bag with triathlon gear from my race now a week and a half ago, all completely filled to the flipping brim with stuff.  Just stuff.  Heaps of it.  My rationale?  Is that it’s all neat, and it’s all clean.  You see, I figure, if it’s packed away, back in my suitcase at the end of my trip, my race, my overnight, that it’s then okay to leave it in there, still packed, neat in it’s little place, in it’s spot for weeks on end.

But eventually?  Living out of a suitcase when you’re at home just doesn’t cut it anymore.  And that’s what I’ve been doing.  Because I go away, packing a hell of a lot more than I would ever actually need.   We’re talking 7 shirts for a three night excursion.  I’m not a light packer.  And this means, that when I get back, I have all of my stuff packed.  And when it’s not just one trip we’re talking about, but a month + worth, and having gone away a lot over this month +, the cold hard facts are, it’s beginning to verge on mayhem.

Cosmo is all up in the suitcases at night.  Flipping and chewing away at strings on bikinis, small travel sized toothpastes, bras.  I wake up finding lip gloss in the kitchen, a contact case under my bed, and again with the random condoms that he seems to be finding.  Good lord, is he trying to tell me something?  Perhaps he has a man for me?  In uniform, with good hair? 

So, I began this post saying I was in the midst of clothes and an unpacked freak show, and before this gets any more out of control, I am going to make myself not procrastinate any longer and just get on with it.  Because I just tripped over a tag on a suitcase and cut my shoulder.  If that’s not a sign, I don’t what is.

*Why can’t this fine looking, shirtless chap help me?

*it’s long.  im not usually one to write the hell out of a post but i needed to do this.  skip it if you’re looking for witty-ness or talk of cocktails and men in uniform.  (okay, there’s a little talk of cocktails, because when is there not?) just don’t say i didn’t warn you.*
 
so tonight we’re having a girls night.  myself and five of my very nearest and dearest girlfriends.  the ladies that i have the christmas traditional celebration with every year.  the girls who i see on a fairly regular basis, but rarely ever all six of us at the same time, our core group.  we generally live it up together at least for birthdays and new years and such.  but then there are plus ones and there are other friends.  rarely do we get just an us time.  so tonight, it’s special drinks and apps and desserts and it’s no men.  and it took plannnnning, lots of it.  emails back and forth, with dates tossed out there for this thing, dates denied for it, and finally confirmed on and good christ, tonight it’s finally here.
 
and it couldn’t come at a better time.
 
remember a while back, i eluded to the fact that my grandmother’s cancer had come back?  right, so there’s been that going on.  and things are actually going pretty well, as “well” as things can go when a family is dealing with something like this.  and now she’s still on that break from treatment, which allowed us that wonderful, if i think about it too much ill cry right here at my desk and that’s not cool, family trip together.  the one in maine, remember?  
 
so that’s all good.  but now? in the midst of my grandmother’s break from treatment from chemo for her breast cancer that has returned, to show up in her liver and her brain!, you know, why not add a little more to the families plate by having my grandfather’s cancer come back too?  in his lungs.  when he’s already had part of his lung removed from cancer a while back.  oh, and while we’re at it?  why not add a little more insult to injury and have a small spot on his heart show up, turn out to be some type of serious aneurysm, that which if it grows in size, would have to be removed, involving a verrrry serious surgery and really tough recovery. 
 
because there wasn’t already enough going on.
 
and now there are appointments being made with thoracic surgeons in boston to do a bronchoscopy to see how serious this all really is.  and there is that remote, spec of a chance that this could be a false alarm.  but it’s only a spec of a chance, and still, the process by which to find out if it’s a “false alarm” is still really gruelling.  for a man of 79.  whose wife has metastatic breast cancer.  and if it’s too difficult to remove, then we’re looking at chemo and radiation, and holy chirst, seriously? 
 
and i knowwww, i KNOW that life isn’t fair and all of that sweet jazz.  i know this and i try and tell myself to not get all mad and angry at life and at “keeping the faith” because frankly, without some type of faith that things will work out, as they should, then what do we have, right?  and i try to keep all of this in mind, with an open, optimistic outlook.  you know, but good lord, it’s really tough.  with my grandmother going through treatment, she needs my grandfather to be healthy to help her.  and with him having any type of health issue, that fucks all of that up.  it’s just so hard seeing them, my family, have to go through all of this.  i wish it could be me.  i wish, it could be me instead.
 
you know, i consider myself hugely lucky that I still have all four grandparents alive.  and i realize how special, how unique that is.  and you know, not only that, but i am close with all of them.  and i hate to pick it apart (but it’s what i do), i guess the one drawback (hating to even say there is a drawback in having all four of them), but truthfully, the hard, and tough side of it all, is that since i’ve been given the opportunity to have them in my life, for my whole life, i’ve gotten to know them, as an adult.  to depend on them being there and never having been used to any other way.  it’s ever something I take for granted, it’s just that it’s even more evident that as they age, as i age, that eventually, something is going to happen.  knowing that they won’t be around forever, and dealing with that and seeing them go through these things, in my adult life, well, it’s just a different type of thing.  i can’t even get my mind around it all to fully articulate it.  it is what it is, and not something i wish differently, our relationship, by any means.  just being this close with them, for this long, for my life, my entire life, well anything that starts to shake the idea of that closeness up, of that closeness changing, it makes me flip.
 
so that’s my last few days right there.  and ill end this in saying that i cannot be more looking forward to some quality time with my very best friends who know me better than anyone.  who make me smile and laugh and love life in ways that no one else can. 

 Update– Thank you so much to you all for all of your kind, supportive comments.  No real update, just wanted to thank you for your kind words.

New head of hair pick.

Don’t let the shortness of it stump you.  It’s more about how much I’d want to touch the hair, that draws me to it (yeah yeah, that’s what she said).  Usually it’s the longer look I go for, but here’s an exception.

And frankly that’s all I got for you.

When I’m in the midst of basking in a Friday night such as this one, with Damien Rice tunes in my head (reminiscing on his concert that I saw this week), laying around in comfy clothes, with no where to be but right here in my apartment, I am reminded of how I miss these type of nights. 

After coming home from work tonight, I peeled off my work clothes, laced up my sneakers, and headed to the gym for a light workout before my race on Sunday.  I have mentioned before how much I freaking loathe the gym at night, for all the meatheads and makeup-ed princesses that stut their stuff there (ring a bell Brandy?  Pink?).  I quickly learned that Friday night is a whole different scene than the nightly gym encounters that I so despise.  Frankly it was pretty empty, sprinkled about with a few couples who work out together (hmm?  not really my thing.  I don’t know about you, but workout time is my time.  But, eh, to each their own I guess), a few older women, and one or two actually not so bad looking guys.  Go figure?!  So I got a quick workout in, went back out into the 92 degree humidity that prevented me from running tonight as I had hoped to do in the first place, and I made my way to the packy.

(Do people not from Mass say packy?)

I picked myself up a 6 pack of beer, went to my favorite sub shop, “The Subway” (original?), got myself an Italian sub (with hots), and made my way home.

And I’ll tell ya, I had just about one of the best showers ever.  I cracked open a beer, brought one in the shower with me (because why not?), and proceeded to remember the goodness that is a long shower.  I bust my ass every morning, working on a set, precise schedule that allows me time to (on a good day) workout first thing, feed the kitty C-mo, have about 8 minutes to shower, do my getting ready bit in about 19 minutes, while watching SBTB/the Today Show.  This sometimes leaves time for a quick bowl of cereal, usually not, and if I’m lucky, time to whip up a quick lunch.  What I’m saying is, the shower?  It’s quick.  And to the point.  The system works well for me, but going at this pace and routine for so long, I’ve kind of forgotten how indulgent a longer shower can actually be.

To not rush through the shampoo/conditioning process!  To use a freaking body scrub!  To not knick myself shaving.  To drink a beer in the shower, with no reserve. 

This is what I’m saying.  What I’m missing.  Friday nights like this where my biggest plan is to spend the night with Clinton and Stacy.  When I finally get the chance to catch up on all of the blogs I’ve been reading solely through google reader and not commenting on.  To good lord, update my own digs here.  Time to just sit, read Glamour or Vogue.  Read an actual book!  To just relax, just chill, opting to not dance it out, and instead just regroup from the week.  This is what I’m digging tonight.

I guess it’s just the wrap up of summer.  Things going on all the time, and it’s not as though I don’t have things to write about.  Like my wonderful trip to Reno.  How I spent five hours on a boat in Tahoe and it was heavenly.  How I ate more ribs that I have ever eaten in my whole life combined at a rib cookoff last Saturday.  Meeting a cute guy on the plane and spending two flights and a four hour layover together.  Hottie Damien Rice’s amazing concert, and oh, head of hair.  The triathlon that I’m doing on Sunday.  The promise of some cold beers and a Pat’s party following the race, with my closest friends.

So I’m still around.  I’m still reading all of you and missing one particular blogger who is taking a hiatus.  I’m still planning to get caught up, and I’m hoping that one day?  maybe soon, (who knows, maybe not?), I’ll find that bloggy inspiration again, to write more posts of substance.  Not that I’ve ever claimed to be a “take-your-breath-away” type of blogger.  But, you know.  Perhaps a post may come out of the woodwork of my summer brain that will talk about more than just good heads of hair and cocktails.

And maybe not.

Happy weekend!