whatcha gonna do with all that junk?

what happened last monday that led me to the bag were a series of events. it started with bootcamp in that wicked hot hot humid heat, which makes for lots of sweat, and when you’re wearing one of those tank-top-built-in-bra deals that’s white, what happens is the sweat just completely soaks the whole damn thing (classy) and you can basically see everything. it’s fine if you’re just driving home in your little red corolla, which i had planned to do, but not so fine if you need to step into cvs which is what i ended up having to do instead.

so i pulled into the parking lot and thought that maybe, possibly i might find some gem of a tee shirt in my trunk. you know, something to just throw over the unfortunate look that i had going so that i could run into cvs, get my pill and call it a wrap. all i found was a big hooded sweatshirt, not sure whose, which just wasn’t going to cut it when the temps were still in the high 90’s. i scrounged around some more, then, underneath an umbrella and a bunch of old cds and my yoga mat, i found the bag.

(dundundun…)

the bag of him. for the longest time ever, the bag was actually a box with stuff of him. i transferred said stuff into a bag when i decided that the box was a- taking up too much space in my already too cluttered heart room, and b- was just too much of a reminder of him and what once was.  it was time. i didn’t (and still don’t) have it in me to chuck all the stuff, so i put it in the trunk of my car and that was that. out of sight out of mind kind of deal, or so i thought.

the thing about ex boyfriends who you break up with under reluctant terms is that you (or maybe it’s just me?) don’t ever totally feel ready to say see ya later to the stuff of him. in the bag is a random bunch of crap… a snowman ornament he gave me the first christmas we spent together. a silly ipod sock that was kind of a joke between us. a little notebook that we would leave each other notes in when he’d stay at my place and he’d have to leave for work earlier than i got out of bed. two letters from him. one from when we were still together, the other that he sent as his last ditch effort to win me back. and also three tee shirts and a bunch of movie stubs, and several pictures, including three random ones that i found of penguins (?).

now i wasn’t intending to look into the bag, not at all. no real good ever comes of such a thing; it brings up old memories of happy and sometimes rocky couplehood together, times that frankly id rather have kept in a secure place tucked under junk, locked in my trunk.

but there was really no other choice, pickin’s were damn slim, and there was no way i was turning around to go home only to get a different tee shirt and come right back when there were three tee shirts right in front of me. his tee shirts, but tee shirts none the less.

oof. i had to. i untied the target bag that was in front of me, and i’m sorry to the nice gentleman who pulled in after me (i hope he reads my blog), for what he saw must have made him quite nervous: a flustered single girl in a sweaty workout shirt, a yoga mat on the ground, a bright pink umbrella next to it, an old copy of the immaculate collection cd, and bunch of those damn penguin pictures sitting on my roof all strewn about. poor nice gent looks up to find me holding on to said tee shirt trying to decide if i should really go for it or not.

naturally, my last resort was to don the tee shirt of the ex.  i first held it up to see which one it was (some random nondescript one, good) and started to put it on, but not before sniffing it first. (shut up; don’t tell me you wouldn’t do it too.)
(it didn’t smell like him, thank sweet baby jesus or else i might have had to go in for a consoling hug with the nice innocent bystander man next to me, nervously observing this whole debacle.)

sigh.

in the end, everything worked out just fine. it was just a hell of a lot of hot hassle in order to simply make a cvs trip, and i guess, a good lesson to always pack an extra shirt… of my own.

 

an all time low, I’ve reached it

I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I’m actually watching Denise Richards, It’s Complicated right now, or the fact that one of the scenes just seriously made me cry.

If you stop reading this blog after reading this post?  I’d totally understand.

 

I think I need to just stick with the Celtics game.  Holy hell.

 

hey baby, there aint no easy way out

Oooooh boy.

Or, I guess I should really say, not so much on the boys.

I don’t post while I’m at work, and though I’m not silly enough to think that I got a whole lineup of readers eagerly awaiting my Speed Dating tales, I did want to bust out a quick update for the one or two that might swing by for the recap of the evening.  So here I am, 7am on a Friday morning with a towel on, drinking some OJ and ready to tell you about the night…

Which was basically a bust.

Not so much the evening itself.  Dinner was pretty good, flatbread pizza and Riesling is a weird combo but it works, it’s not easy walking crowded streets, many blocks in heels, EVOO (Extra Virgin Olive Oil- did you know that?  Rachel Ray?) stains, and arriving fashionably late to an event like this is actually very okay. 

We arrived to the bar where we were welcomed by a slew of GREEN! CELTICS! SHIRTS! everywhere.  Lots of green, lots of dudes, Mardis Gras beads at the door?, big flat screen tv’s, a well made tanqueray & tonic, a nice atmosphere.  Truth be told, we were more content just staying put here, where all this was happening.  On the stairs, a little mini sign reads, “Speed Dating, downstairs, 8pm.”  Well by now it’s 8:45 and we’re not sure we really want to do this.

But, we paid our $22 dollars so we at least wanted to check it out.  We head to the dungeon downstairs, where there is absolutely no music, no game on, pretty dead silence, 4 guys sitting at the bar, about 7 girls sitting around, and one man who wants to check us in, with a whistle around his neck.

Yikes.

We scope the room, we look at each other, and we decide…. no.

We just couldn’t do it.  We did ask some questions, like “is this it?” and, “are you serious?” and questions about the guy to girl ratio (7 to 12- what?), and some questions about getting our loot back.  Which was a dead end; there is no getting money back within 24 hours so we chalked this one up to who knows what, and headed our bad selves back upstairs.

All in all the night was a good one.  Good game, good company, met a guy with a good head of hair who lives right next door to my favorite icecream place in town (sweet), and exchanged numbers (bonus).  Though I didn’t meet Mr. Wonderful, the night was still a good one, and now at least I know that I’m done my stint with the hyper relationing Speed Dating.

Happy Friday and happy weekend!

Oh, I’m going to see Tom Petty tomorrow and I’m damn excited. 

Ciao.

 

if I laugh, I might cry

Yikes. We got a wicked scorcher out there.

And I hate to complain about it (too much). Because, Hey New England in the (almost) summertime, you look familiar, like we’ve known each other for 26 years. The heat, the downright oppressive humidity, it happens every single year and complaining about it isn’t going to change it. It’s just not something that you ever “get used to,” no matter how much you deal with it.

Anyway, I made it through week # 2 of bootcamp tonight. And not to keep going on about the heat, but bootcamp on a GOOD day, in mild temps is tough, so bootcamp on a Monday (never been a fan of a Monday) night after a busy, tiring (in a good way) weekend, combined with steamy sticky temps is kind of nasty.

But this week was better than last week.  The stairs seemed easier, the squats weren’t as hard, and I didn’t whip anyone with the jump rope.  Except, I bruised my ovary.  Or uterus.  Something happened when I busted into the plank position to get ready for a set of push-ups and I can only imagine this is similar to the contractions experienced whilst carrying a child the size of a full grown German Sheperd.

Holy. Hell.  Worst part?  There’s heaps of pollen all up in these parts and I keep sneezing up a storm and each time it feels like I’m being stabbed in my left side.  For serious. 

Laughing kills too.

Anyway.

My co-worker told me that his son plays on a volleyball team in Southie and he does it solely because at said games there’s a keg of beer for refreshment. He asked if that’s the case for the bootcamp (as though all “outdoor” things in Southie would have kegs of beer (they should) for those in attendance?); sadly, it is not.

But there are about 17 bars right down the street from the bootcamp “area” (as well as Mr. Match’s apartment, just shoot me) that we could, if we so choose, hit up at some point after our workout. That is, if it’s all of a sudden considered a new trend to show up in a soaked with sweat tee shirt and frizzed out hair with 136 mosquito bites. All.Over.Our.Bodies. Which I think is actually the exact opposite of any cool trend and in fact, quite freaky looking, if you ask me.

So after our workout, me and my girlfriend dumped ourselves into my car, opened the windows and cranked the AC and radio (does anyone else do a window slash AC combo?), and headed home.  It wasn’t until we were a second away from the toll booth that I realized that, oops, my wallet was in my trunk.  So I promptly pulled up to the “cash only” lane, put on my hazards and my friend snuck out and got my wallet and then we were finally off.  Those girls, we were them.

When I got home my roommate and I, like every other freaking year, waited until the last possible minute (ie, when it’s 100+ degrees out and humid as hell) to put in our AC’s in our bedroom.
Two single girls.  One who feels as though they just fell onto a dull blade.  The other who cracks jokes while both are holding an awkward AC up a flight of steep steep stairs.  One lazy cat who doesn’t know where to turn in this heat.  = a pretty scary situation.

Well we’ve finally maneuvered them in the window, and are crossing our fingers that they’ll stay put for the next four(ish) months or so.  God help us.

I finally just managed to sit down to have some dinner after all these events (I made soup which is absolutely nutso), and the glass of milk I poured is sweating profusely.  Warm milk, hot soup on a hot night.  Disgusting.

And I still don’t have that masseuse here that I craved last week.  I really think he that would make me all better.

 

Big weekend gone by too fast

Today was one of those perfect New England days where it’s just the right mix of warm and breezy, hardly any humidity, with a few seemingly perfectly placed puffy clouds in the sky.

One best spent outdoors if at all possible. Time to bust out the sundresses and flip flops, time to stroll around the city and soak in the sun and the Sunday, time to forget all your worries.

I did all that today.

Went off with a girlfriend and stopped by a cafe for a yummy crepe to start things off. Walked around South Boston and stopped off at the Open Market, and enjoyed some quality people watching and a yummy Italian Ice. Discussed the pros and cons and whereabouts of the best locals for bikini vs. brazilian waxes, and what constitutes a Perfect Sangria recipe.

Got home to spend some quality time with my roommate, watched a go-to movie for a guaranteed laugh, and watched 15 minutes of a pretty lame Lifetime.

Why are there such things as Mondays? And if there was always a long weekend like the one before this, would people go around having a case of the Tuesdays?

I wonder about these things.

Oh, I of course loved SATC. Being the humungo, obsessed fan that I am, how could I not? Truth be told though, the night for me was more about spending some quality Girl Time with my friends, going out for dinner and drinks beforehand,*

and remembering just how good I’ve got it. Between whacked out schedules, friends moving, graduating, planning weddings, etc., it can be tough to get our group of six together. Yet somehow, we always seem to buck up and get it done. I’m one lucky lady and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t feel grateful for that.

Sniff sniff.

*SPOILER ALERT*

I thought the movie was good. Wonderful of course to see the whole cast on the big screen after all the hype these past four years. I thought it was all pretty predictable, as much as I loved and embraced the whole thing. I have to say I found Carrie’s breakup scene to be quite emotional, because what woman cannot relate to that whole scene? The girls going in to check on Carrie in the room, Samantha feeding Carrie especially, really got to me.

*Spoilers done.*

Sniff sniff again. This post was so not meant to be a Debbie Downer.

Anyway. I liked the movie; I’ll probably see it again this week, because that’s how I roll. The weekend was good. The weather (other than the rain showers yesterday) was damn good.

Oh, I also met a woman last night at a restaurant who wants to set me up with her son who is a hot man in uniform cop, who “works out” (at the same gym I attempt to get my ass too), and is “just looking for a ‘nice’ girl.”

Hmm, we’ll see about that. I gave her my info. But really, what dude would be all over calling a chick that his mom met out one night that she thinks would be a “great fit!?” I’m thinking not many.

Aaaaand, that’s all she wrote.

*I guess I unanonymousized myself a spec x 2 in this post. If you look closely you can see my right arm/red sweater in martini picture, and of course, those are my gams in the top picture in the grass. Wicked sneaky, I know! Shh. Keep it on the DL. I don’t want people recognizing my arm and HOH! Speaking of, new one in the house. Old school Chris Noth- who cares if he’s being put back in the rotation again; the timing is appropriate.

I revived it! But I couldn’t revive the comments made on here already… sorry about that!

 

I won’t do it.

What is it they* say?  You have to get under someone to get over someone?

Something like that?

On my drive to work this morning I drafted out an email in my mind of what I would say to Mr. Match if I just wanted to drop him a line to check in.  You know, see how he’s doing without me and wish him a fun summer or something.

Lame-o, I know.

It’s different than I’m used to.  With my most recent ex, that ex, I was the one who ended things.  So I guess, ball was sort of in my court then; if we got in touch, it was usually me that did the initiating of it all, because I told him I needed some time and space.  Some distance.

I don’t know, is it different if it’s the other way around?  I mean, he very well could have contacted me and I would have replied.  I just don’t know if the rules are different if you’re the one who does the dumping, or you’re the dumpee.

The thing is, I don’t even know what I would say to Mr. Match.  That whole car-ride-email-drafting thing I did this morning didn’t get me too far.  Things I thought up to say seemed quite trite and pretty stupid, honestly. 

“Hi Match.  This coming weekend is the wedding of your best friend that I was invited to with you.  What time you picking me up?

“Hi Match.  Sex and the City comes out on Friday.  Remember when you sent me the link for the preview online?”

“Hi Match.  It’s been just over a month, should I be over you by now?”

“Oh hey Match.  I miss your hair.”

Yeah, not so much.

I won’t email him.  Or call.  It’s a good thing I’ve decided (as of yesterday) that I’m laying off the booze a spec during the week (strapless bridesmaid dress to wear in August).  Otherwise it might be tricky for me to steer clear of the Drunk Text.

What?

 

*Who are “they” anyway?

 

damn you VS!

I never blog on a Friday night.

I don’t know why that is?  It’s like every night during the week lately I have had something going on, and when I finally do have a second of down time to just BREATHE finally, I end up catching up on missed episodes of LOST, Grey’s Anatomy, and The Office, (and the Celtics tonight!), having a cold brew(s) (or martini(s), or wine(s)) on my couch in my sweats, or shopping online.
 

I just went buck wild on Victoria Secret’s semi-annual sale.  I justified all of the purchases in my mind either as a Spring Treat, a belated birthday gift to myself, a gift from the IRS (whenever that $600 check shows it’s face?), or maybe even a gift for a friend’s upcoming birthday (knowing damn well I’d end up keeping it for myself).

I found heaps of special things for myself.  Flip flops, sunglasses, yoga pants, a bright blue wicked cute bikini (which I just tried getting on this blog but can’t get to work), and an all purpose little beach bag.

I clicked away, went through the whole stupid billing and shipping information process, got really pumped about some new stuff coming my way, and proceeded to checkout.

And then my shopping-spree-high was brought to a screeching halt.

The stuff?  Not going to be delivered here until freaking June 2!  What the hell is up with that?  What is it now, the second week of May?  Not that I’m going to be busting out the bikini for a little bit, but why does it make any sense that I have to wait WEEKS for all this loot?  I can’t be dealing with all that waiting.  I won’t have it. 

Those yoga pants!  I really wanted those!  What. The. Hell.

Way to ruin a girl’s retail therapy binge, VS.

And how about how this store randomly likes to sneak a sweatshirt in the catalog and online that should only be worn circa 1987?

Ugh.  VS is dead to me until I have another adult beverage right now.

DEAD TO MEEEE!

 

*I’m keeping Joel over there up for another week.  Just because.*

 

off of the ship that was in lukewarm water

*Lengthy post ahead… proceed with caution.*

Today I am wearing a cute new, black & white shirt from Express, black capris, and one of my favorite pairs of red shoes.

Granted I don’t usually go on about what outfits I might be strutting whilst composing posts, yet today, I thought it was pertinent.

A good friend once told me (and I can’t remember the exact wording, but the sentiment isn’t lost), if you’re not feeling your best, dressing in a cute outfit, makes you feel better.

So what I’m saying is, though I’m not feeling great (understatement) today, I at least am not a walking picture of sulk.  I at least have that going for me.

******************************************************

I’ve been thinking about how to appropriately write this post. 

I’ve been staring at a blinking cursor for ten minutes.

 

Mr. Match man and I are no longer.

I just had this feeling that something was off.  After last week’s really tough 24 hour span that we spent together after my grandmother’s funeral, where we were bickery and skutchy (made up word) with each other off and on all day, I had a gut sense that things were just not… right.  But, he was the one who assured me, over and over, “Brookem, let’s just chalk this up to a bad day and go forward.  It would be a shame to call it quits after what just seems to be a bad 24 hours.”

I was leary, but I agreed.  Reluctantly, I agreed.  I liked him.  I wanted it to work with him.  Yet I remember, when we were talking about it all earlier that day, talking about us, I remember talking about the idea that two people can sometimes really get on well, be into each other, yet that does not always equal compatibility.  I remember, clearly, discussing this, but what really sticks out, is the feeling that I had when we talked about it.  Relief.  I felt almost as though a weight had been lifted, once that all was thrown out on the table.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized, that kind of thing can happen.  You can be really into someone, but that doesn’t necessarily a great relationship make.

Anyway, interesting enough, he was the one trying to convince me.  He was the one saying how much he liked me and wanted things to work with us.  I liked him enough too to at least not just throw my hands up in the air after a bad day and say screw the whole thing, so I went with it.  We took a week off from seeing each other.  I sent him a heartfelt email at the end of last week, thanking him for being so very supportive during this difficult time I’ve been going through, and how much that has meant to me.  He thanked me for the email (through text), but didn’t reply.  That was all fine, afterall, I didn’t write the email to warrent his response.  I wrote it for me.

Since then, things have seemed different.  He had been a little slower to respond to me, slower to initiate contact and just overall, I got the sense that things were different.  Something had shifted.  Of course, being the overanalyzer that I am, and The Crazy in me unable to be silenced, I thought the worst.  He’s done, I told my close friends.  No way, they reassured me.  He’s so into you.

I just figured he was giving me the space that I said that I was looking for.  That I said I needed.  That I do need, to find some sense of balance back in my life after all that has gone down.  When I said space, I didn’t mean space from him, but I wondered whether he took it as that.

Well, he didn’t.  He took the space because he wanted it.  I just had this feeling.  This feeling that things were no longer on the same page with us. 

When we talked last night, he was saying words to me that I felt like I could have scripted out.  I knew what he was about to say before he even said it.  I had been feeling this coming, preparing for this for the past few days.  It was a suprise, but really, it wasn’t.                                                    

***********************************************

There were lots of little things with us.  Little things about each other, that just… got on each of our nerves.  And truth be told, it wasn’t just a snapshot in time, just a bad 24 hour stint.  It was little things that came up here and there, and though they were just that, minor, little things, the little things add up.

They added up.

I am upset that it’s over.  I mean, I liked him, I really did.  I put myself out there, kept on trucking, past date four and five and then onto eight and nine, until I lost count of what date we were on.  I continued on seeing him, got myself past my Jump Ship stage, and was feeling pretty okay about things.  He was the one that seemed more into it than me.  I kept going with it, trying not to be so damn attached to the outcome.

The thing is, it was all very lukewarm.  I liked him, he liked me, but there were things.  Stuff was grating on us about each other, as much as we both wanted it to work, as much as we both really do like each other, it just wasn’t meant to be.  And really, the thing is, I know it all takes work, but, should it take this much work, so soon?  I don’t think so.

And that’s still kind of sad.  I feel dissapointed that it ended.  Dissapointed and sad that it’s over.  Perhaps I kind of had an inkling, and it very well could have been that I would have been the one calling it quits two weeks from now, who knows.  And I’m sad that he ended it, and not me.  As if that really even matters, but still.  Who likes to be on the receiving end of this type of thing?  Even if you do kind of agree with it all, rejection never feels good.  It just doesn’t; no matter how much “sense” it all makes.  I’ve never been on this side of things, always the one to end things first.  I wouldn’t say that position is any easier or better or more ideal.  Both suck.  This is just different.

I guess it’s better that it happened sooner, rather than later.  I know in my heart that it’s good that I saw this one through, for what it’s worth, the whole experience certaintly was not for nothing.  I know that this will end up being one of those “learning” and “growing” experiences for me.  Eventually.

We both like each other, it’s just not meant to be.

Oh, and timing sucks.

***************************************************

So, today I’m wearing that cute outfit.  And I’m keeping my fingers crossed that my friend is right.

 

 

Now please excuse me while I ponder what after(?) work cocktails I will be seeing my way to today.

 

confession

Never been a big fan of Justin Bobby, but I have to (embarrassingly) admit, something? about him tonight, was a bit attractive.*  I finally, for one quick second, saw the appeal.  Maybe it was because his nasty HOH wasn’t so unruly?  Maybe because the whole Audrina/Justin Bobby interaction was sans any out-loud burps on his part?  And he appeared to really genuinely miss her?  And I’m a sucker for bad boys?  

Thoughts? 

 

 

 

*I know, I’m totally going to hell for even thinking such a thing. 

 

they are my sunshines

I’m at Panera right now, and I’ve finally figured out how to use this wireless internet business on my new snazzy laptop.  This has proven to be a feat my friends, a big big feat for someone as untechsavvy as myself.  But, alas, I’m connected, hooked up, whatever the lingo is for it, and in the 6 o’clock hour on a Monday, the people watching here is at it’s prime.

As it was at the 2pm hour.  Yes, this is in fact, my second time in this same Panera (different seat) today.

Last night I stayed with my mom at my grandmother’s house.  My grandparents’ house?  I can’t describe how weird it feels to be saying that given the fact that they are no longer there.  It took some adjustment just to get in the swing of saying “my grandmother’s house” as opposed to calling it as a plural.  Even at that, I didn’t  get much of a chance to get too used to anything about that whole idea either.

I haven’t had the chance to grieve the loss of my grandfather, and then just like that, in a matter of weeks, my grandmother is now gone.

My grandfather dying in January…that has been such incredible and profound loss for me.  It still hurts, ginormously hurts like hell.  And now on top of that grief… now my grandmother is gone too.  We’re talking in a matter of 11 weeks, my whole entire life as I once knew it, has been totally turned around. 

I used to feel so special to be able to say that at almost 26 years old, I had all four grandparents still alive and healthy.   How many people can say that, really?  How fortunate and lucky I felt.  And not a day went by that I didn’t thank God for how good I had it.

How fucking quickly things can take such a drastic turn for the worse.  Amazing how true that saying that I quoted in my high school yearbook, “the only thing that stays the same is change” really is.

Right now, I think I am just pretty numb from it all.  It has all hit me at random moments over this past weekend.  At 12:45am the night following my grandmother’s death, when I found myself wide awake and sobbing into the arms of my amazingly understanding match.man.  Earlier that evening as my roommate left to go out for the night, pulling me into a big hug as the tears just began to flow.  Last night as I looked in the top drawer in my grandmother’s room, and found cards sent from me to her and my grandfather from over the years.

Today, I have an emotional wall up.  Tonight, I will, like last night, sleep in my grandparents’ house with my mom.  Tomorrow, at 12pm, my family will proceed into the church that we were in 11 weeks ago for my grandfather’s funeral.  Tomorrow afternoon, my family will drive to the ocean.  We will play skee-ball like we used to do in the summers as a family.  We’ll get pizza right by the water and sit on a bench and look out as the tide makes its way in.  We’ll sit together, we’ll sit and just be, together, and we’ll watch as the sun sets, looking for the sign that both of my grandparents told us to look out for. 

A sunset.  A sign.  That they are okay.  Living on… together again.