Month: September 2010

No, this isn’t another girlfriend post, and yesterday someone told me no one in a relationship over 50 has a “girlfriend.” I see.

Anyway, this post is about some of the critical decisions I face on mornings at the local bagel shop. “Do you want the pumpkin spice?” That was the bagel accompaniment tossed my way this morning by Mary-Ellen. “No, I think I draw the line at fruit coffee,” except that’s not really true. I’ve been known to sample the Apple Strudel and Bananas Foster, so maybe I’m just anti-berry and anti-gourd coffee as the pumpkin and blueberry concoctions are definitely out. As we got talking, I mentioned what a great job it would be to sit around thinking up these coffee flavors and names (I’m thinking Marlboro flavor would rock for people who are trying to quit and always loved a nicotine rush with their first morning caffeine jolt.). Anyway she mentioned “Burning Desire” was a local favorite, apparently a java mix including almond and black cherry. I’d down that roast. One of my go to flavors is “Sinful Delight,” described thusly, “Take a trip to the islands with the tempting flavors of Jamaican Rum, buttery morsels of Macadamia Nut, and a splash sweet fragrant coconut.” Ahhhh, yeah. Plus, it’s sinful.

So where do you stand on flavored coffee? Do you draw the line at coffee itself, or do you indulge the product extensions of Juan Valdez? Oh, and a nice shot of Bailey’s in your Joe around the holidays? That counts.

It was just a Thursday night, a school night, so to speak. An old acquaintance, George described it like an article from Wine Spectator. He had certain cylinders that met the criteria for corkage on a Thursday night, but they weren’t of a vintage fit for a Friday or Saturday night, especially with your best girl. These “Thursday night wines” are OK, just not worth celebrating.

Surprising me with an arrival before the floated time of “around 8,” she looked beautiful in black Capri’s and grey sweater over a black lace trimmed camisole. Since her definition of “around 8,” typically falls on the dark side of the snowman, I hadn’t even begun watching water boil for the tortellini in lemon-butter-garlic-pepper sauce with green beans and Prosciutto, but that’s not important right now. I poured us some Saturday night Chardonnay and we got to chatting and laughing. She deferred a workday story until Megan got home, and then dumped it on us about how you have to deal with shit some days at work, and for her, this was literally one of those days. Apparently, someone dropped a small nugget in the ladies room at her office, and after the facilities guy feigned fainting to avoid stooping and scooping, my poor girl had to perform an unpleasant “other doodies as assigned.”

The crappy story didn’t hinder the girls gastronomics as they quietly disposed of the tortellini, Caprese salad and fresh Italian Sesame Seminola bread. Yeah, it was just a Thursday night, but we only have so many of them, so when you’re taking care of those you love, you go all out, don’t you, no matter what the day or lack of occasion, right? You don’t? I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I am just a “mushhead” who “loves unicorns and rainbows,” but when I see her, even on an unexceptional Thursday night, I am moved. After joking about the early arrival, I hugged her and said, “It’s still a big deal for me to see you.”

In the last week I’ve made reservations for three work trips during October and November, all of them on Southwest Airlines… I’m not too crazy about traveling twice during my favorite tinted month of ten, but the aerial to and fro through Manchester can provide a breathtaking, burning vista. Colors aside, October also is home to Maddy’s birthday, Mickey Mantle’s birthday, and other dates of significance. Sadly, instead of being here, I’ll be being there:

Disney Caribbean Beach Resort – Sure, it will be nostalgic to revisit the site of a wonderful March, 1999 vacation with Megan and Kyle as the internet bubble completely inflated. During one mid-day break, I noticed a $5 stock I’d bought was $35. No. Of course I didn’t sell. We finished each night with a frozen drink by the pool. Strawberry Daiquiri for Megan and a “Lava Lamp” for Kyle. When my presentations and small talk are done, I’ll surprise Dad in “the Villages” for his 77th.

Mirage, Las Vegas – Just attending a conference is so chill compared to presenting at or organizing part of one. This is one of those, plus, instead of spending my birthday night on a plane, pal Pete will hang with me for hookers and blow in Sin City. (OK, do I have to say I’m only kidding about that part? I wouldn’t want to get either of us fired… or worse!)

MGM Grand, Las Vegas – I’m already sick of Vegas and I’m not even there for trip #1 yet. Maybe I need to develop a gambling habit to really enjoy myself there. Our customer conference is always fun and I’m anxious to see how our efforts positively impact customers this year. Plus, Robert Reich is our keynote speaker!

I’m saddened to be missing some important dates involving people I love, but Maddy at 3 will have fun at a party for her Sunday, October 17th. Late that morning I’m also planning to meet a friend for coffee at a local Starbucks. I want to thank her.

On Saturday afternoon as we strolled Boylston Street from the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum back toward Copley Square, Joyce bowled over in laughter a couple times (anyway), mostly in reaction to my valiant efforts to sell her Red Sox tickets. “SOX TICKETS! WHO NEED TWO?” I would bellow out at any random passersby, and for the most part, we wouldn’t even get a look. “GET YER SOX TICKETS HERE!” Nothing. I will say Joyce tried a couple little yips (they weren’t even close to bellows) and got a nibble at the hotel from some guy who offered her $50 for her $180 worth of Section 18. Hey, it’s a supply and demand market and there’s not much demand for our nine as the season slowly drains empty.

Anyway, just as we were descending toward the Hynes Convention Center, for some reason we began discussing the days when one had to only circularly dial 7 digits to reach a neighbor, friend or foe. Joyce then asked if I remembered the lettered prefixes the used to represent the first 2 numbers. I recalled the concept, but didn’t remember any the way she did. There was “KEy” (53) in Leominster and “DIamond” (34) in Fitchburg. Back then, when you gave someone your number, you’d say something like, “DIamond 5-7654.” Researching this post, I found the way cool Telephone EXchange Name Project, where you too can check out your old lettered prefixes, if you were old enough to have one.

It’s funny how we remember things like that. While I’m not old enough (I couldn’t resist…) to remember my actual lettered prefixes, I will probably never forget “245-8654.” That was Mike Gonnella’s number when we were growing up in Wakefield. I dialed it on our yellow rotary phone in our kitchen, and I was pretty fast, too. You had to be, because when it was busy (and with four brothers, it often was), it was busy. There was no call waiting, voicemail or even manual tape answering machines. You just had to keep dialing that memorized number and hope “Buckwheat” was off the freakin’ phone. Now that I think about it, I don’t even know Joyce’s number. I just press one button on my phone and it dials. Oh, wait. I remember her home phone. It’s “DIamond” something… I’ll never forget that one either.

Where did a year go? This week last year, I was headed to a Marketing offsite in Newport and 363 days later, I’m preparing for a similar trip, only without Newport and with far less anticipation than last year, when a past company reunion occurred simultaneously, 96 miles North in Boxborough, MA.

Since then, my life has changed much for the better. A long time friend of mine attended that reunion and “stood in” for me in two important ways. First, he was “arm candy” for the fabulous Gigi, and he had a long conversation with an old friend on my behalf that I almost certainly would have mangled. Thankfully, he did not.

Thanks, Mr. Kimmel.

I took some today toward running the 2011 Falmouth Road Race in, um, Falmouth. I hope to get a number too, because as I may have previously mentioned, “My girlfriend has a house down the Cape,” and Falmouth “residents” get some consideration for runner numbers. Anyway, on Saturday I worked with a cool runner chick at Marathon Sports in Melrose and invested the sweet ride ASICS Men’s GEL-Nimbus 11’s in the 2E width. Man, they are cushy and comfy. Not as sweet as my mandals, mind you, but for running, they are dripping with high fructose corn syrup. I also accessorized with some Zensah Calf Compression Sleeves in an attempt to protect my pull-prone calves. Last night as I proudly modeled the sleeves and my new pups, Joyce wasn’t exactly endorsing the look, and seemed concerned someone might see me in my geeked out gear and (the horror) then associate me with her. “Whatever” I muttered (to myself) and then galloped, gazelle-like from the living room, and swooshed like an autumn breeze through the dining room and into the kitchen.

Today I pulled up, laced up and drove about ¼ mile to the gym. After employing my newly learned calf stretches for both the Gastrocnemius and the Soleus, I stepped on a treadmill, walked for 2 minutes, then moved from jogging to running pain and pull free. As I was calculating the 30 minute, 2.25 mile workout, I saw Joyce walking in. I thought she was there to congratulate me and crown me with a golden olive wreath like they do at the Boston Marathon, but she was only there to cancel Nick’s membership. I walked up behind her, touched her back and told her of my feets feat. Then I proudly pointed to the compression sleeves cruelly mocked just hours before. She smiled, then looked at the kid behind the desk and said, “I don’t know this guy.”

Baby steps.