Life 2.1

Every girls needs a hero. Someone in a metaphorical cape to rescue her from some precarious situation.

I found mine a few weeks ago when I was sitting perched on a forklift, stalled out and staring at a large macro bin of grapes that somehow needed to get from our cold room at work to our crush pad for our grape stomp event.

I sat on the forklift for a good five minutes staring at my phone, debating on whether or not to call him for help. I have never been good at the damsel in distress thing. I’m stubbornly independent that way. But I had a sneaky suspicion he would come to my rescue. On one hand, I didn’t want to bother him on what would inevitably be one of the last Saturdays he would have free before harvest.

On the other hand, he has a great smile and talking to him always made me feel wonderful.

I called. He came. He saved my event and my sanity in the process.

After the people had cleared off the crush pad, following rave reviews of how much fun they’d had, he and I cleaned up the gigantic mess of stomped Cabernet Franc that had been created.

He hooked up the cellar stereo, put his iPod on shuffle and we raked pumice from the half barrels that had been used for stomping to the sounds of Foster the People. He watched me on the forklift again, patiently instructing as I dumped macro bins of pumice into the large dumpster on the edge on the property (I got the forklift right this time) and 3 hours later it was clean.

I thanked him profusely for his help, telling him there was no way I would have been able to tackle this on my own. I made small talk for the sole purpose of not letting the conversation end, asking questions to which I already knew the answer, hoping he couldn’t pick up the apprehension in my voice as I tried to work up the nerve to ask him for a beer. Coming to my rescue again, he threw out the suggestion of heading to the Brewing Company, sending a rush of relief and excitement through me. My nervousness turned into a huge smile as I agreed immediately, grateful to continue spending time with him.

Walking the vineyard

Almost another 3 hours went by, as we laughed and talked, over food and blonde ale. He had dinner plans he couldn’t get out of that night but asked if I wanted to get a post-dinner drink. I said yes and grinned like an idiot all the way home, and I waited for him to call.

We went out again that night and have been together ever since.

It’s wonderful. I have seemingly floated through the last month.

Scoping out pumpkins for possible Halloween carving purposes

Last Saturday, we both got done with work, wanted to enjoy the little bit of the sunshine that the day had left so we walked the vineyards in south Napa. We stopped at the pumpkin patch to look around, take a few photos and enjoy each others’ company.

It was a perfect Saturday in October.

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I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a while– I wake up often so even though I’m physically in bed for about 6 hours, I’m only really asleep for much less than that.

So when I went to sleep tonight, and was awakened by a horn honking, that sounded like it originated from a big rig, I thought the garbage man had come a day early and I was pissed that he had awakened me from my precious little sleep. It was 1:21 in the morning. I peeked out my front window to see what the heckfire was going on and I saw this:

Sweet Jesus.

No smoke alarms from outside, no commotion, just a simple honk of the horn of a fire truck. Thank goodness it woke me up. I almost rolled over but I was too angry to do that, but suddenly in adrenaline mode when I saw across the parking lot from me. I took that pic from my front yard and it was approximately 50 yards from my house.

Now I can’t sleep because it’s almost 3am and the trucks are still cleaning up, but there is nothing to see anymore.

From all accounts (and by accounts, I mean, scuttlebutt from neighbors as we huddled together to figure out what the heck is going on) no one was hurt; the poor person who lived there literally just moved in (I had to ask them to move their truck so I could get out yesterday) and the neighbors who shared walls with the house that was on fire didn’t seem to lose anything. There was probably some serious smoke damage but when I woke up, they were already packing items into their cars. Not that any of us could have evacuated by car– we were all blocked in by the fire trucks.

Sidenote: the owner of Barky-McBarkerson (if you have ever been to my house, you know exactly which neighbor and rat dog I’m talking about) found out it is illegal to drive over a fire hose, as she was going to evacuate by driving her truck over one. Bad idea.)

It brought back memories of the time I had to evacuate my apartment in San Diego from the grass fires. They were worried those fires would hop within the area known as the Golden Triangle and thus head towards my house. I remember packing up my scrapbooks and Napa High Football helmet and driving to Orange County to stay with the Crissmans. I was lucky; nothing happened, as the winds shifted and the fire blew the other way so I was safe, but the mere act of having to decide what to grab to take with you is absolutely one of the most frightening things to have happen…especially when you’re by yourself.

On the plus side, I met two of my neighbors, both of whom are super cool. They were easily identifiable in the commotion because they were neither drinking Coors Light in this time of crisis nor chain smoking (at a fire…um, hello?!?)

Bah.

What a night.

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Did I mention Kate, Kraig and I went to the Clippers game (Cleveland’s AAA affiliate) on Sunday? It’s really the only way to spend a Sunday…

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Originally, when I met Kate in Colorado, I had mentioned the idea of checking out Philadelphia and Pittsburgh later in the summer and since she often flew to Jersey for work, she was more than welcome to come with me in my ballpark adventure. She told me the dates I was looking into were close to her 30th birthday and that it may or may not work out, depending on the birthday plans but to keep her posted.

I let the idea die for a while, getting caught up in work and being a bit off put by the cost of airfare to Philly and Pittsburgh. Fast-forward to the message I get from Kate’s boyfriend: Hey Colleen. Planning a surprise 30th birthday party for Kate on August 20th. Your presence is mandatory.

The timing was perfect, with the invite coming after a particular stressful day at work. So I started looking at flights and it was cheaper to fly to Columbus, then onto Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, than just to fly into Philly and Pittsburgh. Go figure. Naturally, I thought this was a sign, especially because we had no events during the time I was looking to leave. I booked it immediately.

The plans went back and forth as to how Kraig and I would surprise Kate and we finally decided I would show up on front steps on Thursday.

I did, and the look on her face alone was totally worth the trip. Thursday night, we stayed up late talking and poor Kraig didn’t stand a chance on getting an word in edge-wise. The best part was that she still had no idea there was a surprise party waiting for her on Saturday.

Friday, I met Kate for lunch, since she had to work and later we met up with her mom for a little shopping. They made their best attempt to keep my from buying things I liked in multiple colors and more “flying squirrel” shirts where the sleeves aren’t really sleeves but rather wings. It was a tough task. I can justify the need for any item I really love and apparently I have an affinity to shirts that make me look like forest creatures.

Friday night found us as a comedy club where we laughed an politically incorrect jokes before meeting up with Kate’s sister, who drove down after work. We had cake and chocolate martinis and opened presents.

Saturday morning was productive…for everyone else. They went for a run/bike ride. I watched SportsCenter and held down the fort. It was a balanced effort, capped off by pancakes, which we were enjoying when the doorbell rang. Kraig had lined up a masseuse to come over, which, incidentally, is who Kate thought I was going to be when I arrived.

The massage was amazing and afterwards we all went to lunch and us girls broke off to do some more shopping. The plan for the evening was to tell Kate we were going to see a movie, but had to wait until Kraig got off work so he could come with us. We would swing by his work (aka where the surprise party would take place) to grab a bite before the movie.

Our shopping trip concluded with naps prior to the party/movie and before we knew it, we were walking in, setting Kate up for her birthday surprise.

It was fantastic. Everyone was there and we had the whole bar area filled with party goers. Kate made the rounds and we enjoyed red velvet cupcakes (yum) and adult beverages galore (it’s the only way to celebrate turning 30, really).

A while into it, Kate and I faced off with Mallory and one of her friends in a free throw contest. To make it interesting, we competed in heels. Awesome.

There was a whole lot of celebrating going on and I was so relieved I made it all this time without blowing the surprise. It was an awesome way to celebrate 30!

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Why do people seemed so shocked to hear I enjoy watching batting practice?

I always have. I purposefully finished pre-game responsibilities early to watch it (much to a certain coach’s chagrin) but I like getting to the yard early to see it.

People are consistently floored to hear this, as if I’m bs-ing them. I get that I’m a female and it is out of the norm but come on, people. Give me a break. Girls can like BP too.

Sidenote: I was questioned twice as to why I was “here so early” and certainly I must be “waiting for someone on the team.” Nope, assclown, just like to see how guys in the majors swing it before playing.

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