Old habits die hard

I'm starting to think there's something wrong with me.
Ever since high school, I swear to god I can't keep a close girlfriend longer than a year and I'm kind of getting sick of it.
And the bad thing is, I know it's all me.  I know that's cliche to say "It's not you, it's me" but it's so true!
Here's how it usually goes:  I'll make a new friend, get really close really fast, and about a year in I'll suddenly find something that annoys me about them and then bolt.
It happened my junior year of high school, and I can't even tell you what drove me crazy.
It happened in college with a super close friend I made working at my first California Starbucks ever.  That was one of those Steph-got-a-boyfriend-who-she'd-later-marry-and-chose-to-spend-all-of-her-waking-moments-with-him type of thing.  I feel bad about that, but we're all girls and come on, we all do it at some point.  
And it happened again this year, and thinking about it now I'm really bummed.  We were joined at the hip for a couple of months to now nothing, and again, it's my bad.
The thing that sucks is I really miss her sometimes, because she is a really cool chick.  We still see each other once in awhile, but it's not how it used to be.  I know I'm the one that pushed her away, and I'm really sorry I did.
I just don't know what this means for the rest of my life.  I've always been the girl that hangs out with the guys, and gets along with guys so much better because there's less drama.
But as much fun as fart jokes, horror movies and beer power hours are (and I love all of those things, don't get me wrong) I can't really talk about emotional and feelings crap with my guy friends that I can with other girls.
It would be nice to make a close girlfriend or two and keep being friends with them for longer than two years.
I just wonder how I can do that with my track record.  Is it possible?  I hope to find the answer one day.

Three months

It seems like I see fire engines wherever I go now.  Hell, I was surrounded by fire trucks for two days last week during the tanker fire.  It doesn't usually bother me too much, doesn't make me sad and think of my uncle.  
Today, though, I was leaving the gym, and spotted one in my rear view mirror, which inevitably got me thinking about my uncle.
I find I don't get really sad every time I think about him, but today it hit me like a ton of bricks that he's gone.
Today I just wanted to cry, and I think I figured out why the thought of him bummed me out.
My mom posted on Facebook that it's been three months since he passed away, and I was kinda like, "Ohhh, that's why it must be harder to think of him today."
I still really can't believe that he's gone.  I mean, we went through all of the funeral stuff, which is supposedly supposed to bring closure.
But it's not really real yet.
I think when we all gather for Christmas this year, that's when it's going to seem real.  I don't want to even think about how difficult Christmas is going to be.  My brothers and I, my brothers mainly, usually park ourselves near him because he always had the funniest stories to tell about being a paramedic.  Who are we going to sit next to this year?
At least we have another three months to think about that.  

Tony

I think I've put this blog off for long enough.  I've been meaning to write on this topic since it happened, I guess I'm ready to deal with it.
A little piece of my heart is left in San Francisco, and will be there forever.  
My uncle Tony passed away on June 4.  He died doing what he loved, which was being a San Francisco fire fighter/paramedic.
I still don't know what went wrong, but a fire he was fighting went tragically awry and claimed his life and life of one of his fellow fire fighters, Lt. Vincent Perez.
Though he taught me so much while he was alive, he taught me so much more while he hung in there in a coma for two days and even when he passed.
I will never forget the phone call I received from my mom on Thursday, June 2.
It was a little after 1 p.m., and I had spent most of the day up to that point cleaning my desk.  Not willingly cleaning my desk, but that's a different story.
I usually freak out when my mom calls me between midnight and 7 a.m., so I wasn't expecting the subject and tone of her phone call that day, since it was such a normal time of day for her to call.
She was hysterical.  
Screaming.
Crying.
She told me to sit down.
I really thought my grandfather had passed.
She informed me that my Uncle Tony had been in a "bad fire" and was in ICU in San Francisco.
She barely could say anything else.  At one point I was yelling at her to calm down.  I didn't know what to do, so I told her I would do anything she needed, and she let me go.
I remember calling Lincoln's fire chief to see what I could do for my family.  I explained what happened, and he read an e-mail about a fire in SF.
He told me to just be there for them. 
I decided right then to get to my parents house before they left for the city, to be with them, because that's the only thing I knew to do.
I'm not a spontaneous person, so for me to just up and leave like that, not knowing when I'd be home, where I'd eat, where I'd sleep usually freaks me out, but not that day.
I called my husband at work, and briefly told him what was up and that I was leaving for San Francisco.
I abided by all traffic laws on the way to my house, crying, thinking about what to pack.
Brody was very confused by how quickly I flew through the house, gathered essential items: laptop, phone charger, sweatshirts, etc.
The drive that usually takes ten minutes from Lincoln to West Roseville took about five.
My mom seemed fine, we left.
I immediately took on role of little brother wrangler and regulator.
My dad took care of my mom.
We had to tell her to not log onto Facebook or news websites, because some of them were saying my uncle had passed.
When we got to the hospital, I told my family to not let on to the seven or eight news crews that were were family, or else they'd not leave us alone.
When we got to the fourth floor of San Francisco General, my grandparents and some aunts and uncles were there, as well as miscellaneous fire staff, including the SF Fire Chief.
We were so well taken care of, food-wise, shelter-wise and emotionally, by the fire department and police department.
For that Thursday night, Friday and half of Saturday, our base camp was the hospital, and we had a room for family and fire people.
We had food out the ass.
Bagels, bananas, apples, pizza, salad, donuts, Gatorade, chocolate, and lots, and lots of coffee.
There were a couple times our family was able to visit my uncle in ICU.
He sustained burns over 12% of his body, so he looked great, but his lungs were severely damaged after the flashover knocked him over, and at one point his heart had stopped.
I visited him twice.
The first time, my youngest brother and I went in.
It was tough.
My grandparents were in there, and they just looked shell-shocked.
My brother didn't really know what to do.
I talked to Tony.
I told him that it wasn't fair of him to leave us so soon.
I told him he had to survive, because he was in better physical shape than I am at 28.
I told him that we had just started to know each other as adults, and I wanted to keep that going.
I believe I also told him that the whole situation was fucking ridiculous, and that this wasn't supposed to happen.
I told him that our last phone conversation is the reason I'm a happier person, because we talked about being yourself and letting everything else fall into place.
I think that was Thursday.
I told him the same thing on Friday.
My family visited his fire station, Station 26 in Diamond Heights.
Our family was immediately embraced by his fire family, and I am so grateful to know his friends/family.
I'm so grateful for everything they did for us, and I'm happy we were there to support them to, because by allowing them to take care of us was therapeutic for them, I'm sure.
I'm very grateful for my Lincoln public safety friends, who were there for me when I called them at all hours of the night and day for support.
You know who you are.
On Saturday, the decision had to be made to let my uncle leave his earthly body.
The amount of blood pressure medication he was on, keeping him "alive," was not sustainable.
When he took his final breath, he was surrounded by both his genetic family and some members of his fire family.
We all said our goodbyes before he was taken off of life support, and most of us had a hand or finger on his body when he left.
I held onto his right foot.
I never want to see my grandparents cry again.
I never want to see my little brother or mom cry again.
I know that when he died, it wasn't goodbye forever, just for now.
But it still really sucks.
I bake bread now, and I can't ask him for tips and tricks.
I gave him some ciabatta I'd baked the last time I saw him, and I never found out what he thought about it.  I could have asked, but I assumed it would come up.
The shitty neighbors next door are gone, and that was a subject he was concerned about.
There's a for sale sign in the front yard next door, and I thought about what Tony would say when I told him new people could move in.
Can't do that.
I have some really good days, and I have some bad days. 
I would say today is a bad one.
I guess the biggest thing I've learned is that you can't really depend on tomorrow, you have to live today.
You need to tell those that you love that you love them, and those that you appreciate that you appreciate them.
Don't say no to trying new things, especially ones that scare you.
Grief does some messed up things to your family, and can bring out the best or worse in people.
Not everyone grieves the same way, and just because someone seems happy doesn't mean that they aren't sad.
It's sort of renewed my belief in God and Heaven.
I've met a few chaplains since he passed, one in SF and one in Vacaville, and I was comforted in their words, their prayers and the Bible passages they read.
I'm comforted by the idea that I might see Tony again one day.
I'm glad he made me laugh when he messed up the part of the funeral I was supposed to help with.
My cousin and I were supposed to bring the communion up to the altar, but someone had already done that.
I feel like he had a hand in that, just to remind me that he's looking over me and my family from his surfboard in heaven.
The funeral itself was amazing.
It started at 11 a.m. and wasn't over until 7 p.m., and that's not including the dinner that went until 10 p.m.
Fire companies from all over California came to the funeral and were included in a long, long procession.
My husband and I will always be grateful for our chauffeur to and from the city. 
The first few weeks after his death were definitely hard, but in a way there was a benefit, because it brought my immediate family and I closer together.
It was really nice to be with my little brothers 24/7 for awhile, because they are so much fun and are growing up great.
I think that's something Tony could be proud of.
 

New stuff soon

Wow, I've dropped the ball with this whole blogging thing.  I will update very soon with a photo blog type thing for everything that's been going on for the past few weeks with work and life.  For now, here's my favorites for the moment.

More to follow soon, but should probably go to bed since tomorrow is Tuesday.  Then to be followed by Wednesday.

My cake pop king.

Fun night!

"Can I go in the tower?"

Moo.

Bane of my existence.

Best photo ever!

More difficult than you would think.

Girls guide to crochet and shelving

Since "House" is currently pushing my Grossometer level into overdrive, I figured I would write until the gory stuff is over.   

Some sort of cold or flu bug is currently kicking my buns.  I rarely get sick, and if I do, I get over it usually within three days.  I started feeling the scratchiness in my throat Wednesday, felt pretty crappy Thursday and Friday and was somewhat down for the count on Saturday and Sunday.  Luckily, my boss is super cool and let me take off early Thursday, Friday and today.

Feeling better now, just experiencing the end portion of a cold with all of that coughing and snot goodness.

Mr. Bug didn't stop me from doing my Lincoln library volunteer training on Friday, though.

Having been a shelver at the Roseville Public Library, a lot of it was the same, but I did have to get to know the library's set up, shelving system and how to check books in.

I forgot how much I miss shelving.  I'm going to be a little rusty with checking books in, especially DVD's and audio books, but I'll get there in time.

Shelving, though.  There is just something so very relaxing, almost zen-like, about sorting books by author or dewey decimal system, and then slapping 'em up on those shelves.  I know I sound like an extreme dork, but I love it.

I "accidentally" got myself signed up for the Lincoln Women's Club.

I was interviewing the president, and she was talking about all of the different sub-groups the club has, like Mahjongg and scrapbooking.  I was all, "Hey, that sounds like fun.  Maybe I'll join."

Those words were my kiss of death.  I'm only partly kidding about that.  I'm looking forward to joining, and I've even agreed to be leader of the crochet group.  Our first project will be baby hats.  So, anyone woman in Lincoln want to join me, hit me up.  

They meet in this beautiful 80+ year old building on E Street.  Most of them are over 60, but they are the sweetest old ladies, and they all seemed super excited to have me join them.  I'm told there are others in their 30's, 40's and 50's.  I have not seen them yet.

Oh yeah, and we're gearing up for the Cake Pop Heroes stand.  More on that later.

Holy family, Batman!

There is something about the months of April and May that means hanging out with some branch of our family at least once a week.
Not that I'm complaining, but it truly shows how different each branch truly is, and it's something I've grown to appreciate over time.
For instance, last Sunday we drove to Vacaville for my maternal grandfather's 81st birthday lunch at a "popular" Mexican restaurant.
I made a beeline for the seat across from my dad and one of my brothers. I basically chose the boy end of the table.
As much as I like my girl time, boy time is very much needed for my sanity.
My side of the family tends to be very outspoken, and that was in full bloom last Sunday with my side of the table.
We talked about cars, public safety (one of my uncles is a paramedic/firefighter in San Francisco), speeding in cars and getting away with it (nice Dad, real nice) and raising chickens in the backyard.
The chicken conversation did take a turn for the worse.
"You don't name chickens cute names, you name them after ways you cook them. Come here, Broiled. Leave him alone, Seven Herbs and Spices!"
Some how we got into talking about hamsters and terrible things people do with hamsters, and we had the coolest waitress.
"You know, gerbils are better."
When I asked her to elaborate, she didn't have an answer for me, and someone told me I should research it and write a book.
I will pass.
Lunch was awesome, I enjoyed every minute of it, and hope we all do it again soon.
We attended a birthday party yesterday for my husband's little sister, and my favorite part of the whole day was picking out a birthday present for her.
In addition to the flower pot (complete with real flower) that I painted for her, we decided to get her a doll to help her cope with the impending birth of her little sister.
At Target, we headed to the doll portion of the toy department.
Little sis likes Disney princesses, and her favorite is Belle. We found some baby dolls that were like junior versions of Disney princesses. They had Aurora, Tiana and Ariel.
We chose Ariel, since there was no Belle, and there was a matching Ariel tiara that could be purchased separately. Prior to choosing Ariel, though, there was some discussion about the fact that she had legs.
Legs, not a tail. Hubs was the one who brought that up, saying that she was born with a fin, not legs. The doll doesn't quite match up with what is featured in the movie, since Ariel wasn't born a human, he says. We decided that was okay, though, and got it for her anyway.
We were the first ones to the party, and in the first five minutes of being there, little sis was a duck, horse, chicken and took me on a magic carpet ride. It was adorable.
The thing I love about hanging out with that particular branch of the family is that I think all of us, even the grown-ups, are all kids at heart, and like to have a good time.
We enjoy each others company, and aren't afraid to be goofy, like getting on the floor and coloring, and sending text-message commentary to one another.
I've also been a lot happier this week. I recently came to the realization that I need to remember to go with the flow more often, and make it a point to have a good time wherever I am. I've also decided that I'm going to say no more often, and not do every single little think anyone wants me to do anymore. This doesn't mean I'm going to be slacker, but my family (hubs, dog and future kids) is my number one priority, so if something conflicts with that interest I choose my family.
I've also decided to hold those close to me accountable for their actions. If you do something that affects me or my family in a negative way, I will tell you how I feel about it in the nicest way that I can. Life is too short to allow people "roll over" me.

Police Blog

Right out the gate, the first call was for a restraining-order violation on Eighth Street. Apparently, the woman filed a restraining order against her son.

Although it can be questioned whether or not she understands what that means.

She had let him in the house the day before at about 4 p.m., the cop said, and he left for work at 4 a.m.

She called the PD around 9 p.m., saying he was back and knocked on the door. She did not want to let him in.

We rolled up to the house, looking for his car, but he had already left.

Somnoplasty got back in the car, and rolled up next to another cop to talk, so naturally the owner of the home we were in front of drove up behind us and was uber confused.

Seeing no car, we drove around the neighborhood for a few minutes and then moved on.

While cruising around the East Avenue area, there was an area check of the VFW, since wedding guests reported “gang members that showed up and had words” with guests.

No gang bangers, sadly.

On the way back to the East Avenue area we drove past a black car, where it looked like a man was trying to get into a car.

We drove around the block some more, and went back to check on the guy about five minutes later.

He was in the car, with the lights on. I think he was even facing the back seat.

Scanning the license plate quickly, Somnoplasty typed it in and drove around the corner.

It came back that the plates were expired, expired in January, so he flipped a beezy and drove back.

Mr. Man in Car was gone.

He was, however, driving down the street with his lights off, as well as a laundry list of other things.

So he got pulled over.

During that process, Somnoplasty contacted dispatch to get some more information on the car’s registered owner, which was Slow-Mo.

That name sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite place it.

Until dispatch reported back that the driver was known to carry a .38.

Then I remembered Slow-Mo, who in July, got hopped up on “central nervous system stimulants,” and shot up his house, garage and car before pointing a gun with a laser pointer at the cop who responded to the scene.

Right about the time she said he was known to carry a .38, I got really scared.

Not just for me, but for Somnoplasty, too.

Somnoplasty asked Slow-Mo to step out of the car, and led him to the passenger side.

He then asked him to put his hands on his head, and patted the guy down for various fun items like weapons and drugs.

Seeing none, Somnoplasty proceeded to the field sobriety test, since Slow-Mo fessed up to being on several prescription drugs.

Right around that time, Officer Rollover and Sergeant SpongeBob rolled up.

Since it was a DUI, the FST had to be recorded.

Tests included walking in a straight line heel to toe (not so straight), a one-legged balance test (not-so balanced) and that whole touching your finger to your nose test.

He failed.

He was cuffed and then put in the back of the car, and I was left alone in the car with someone who was stuck in slow motion.

He didn’t talk much, though.

It turns out, he was “allegedly” driving to Tower Mart, when he side-swiped a tree.

This happened over near 7^th and D Street, and he was pulled over near 8^th and E, I think.

I noticed the damage to the car the first time we drove by him, but Somnoplasty said he was paying more attention to the guy with the car.

After heading back to PD to exchange the Charger for a Crown Vic (sad) due to battery/computer/radio troubles, we were on our way to Sutter Roseville.

Apparently, since Slow-Mo was in a vehicle accident, he needed to be checked out at the hospital to be declared fit to be booked into jail.

When we got to Sutter, Somnoplasty’s shtick was pretty entertaining.

I guess when you have to lead someone into the hospital who is hand-cuffed and can barely walk, you need to have a little fun.

When we walked through the doors of Sutter’s emergency room, he told him he’d won the Price is Right, and when he sat him down in the doctor chair, told him they’d reserved him the best seat in the house.

When it was time to leave, he told him he was free to move about the country.

The humor was lost on our new friend.

The nurses and doctors assisted Somnoplasty and Slow-Mo right away, which could be because it doesn’t look great to other patients to have a cop and dude in handcuffs getting checked out.

They checked his blood pressure, temperature and asked what sort of drugs he had taken that day.

Then we were out, and up to the Placer County Jail.

You don’t need to watch Saturday Night Live when you are watching someone in drug-induced slow-motion getting booked.

The deputy (Nerd Glasses) asked him various questions, like, “Did you only get one set of presents at Christmas-time?”

At one point, Nerd Glasses asked Slow-Mo if he had any tattoos or scars, and Slow-Mo started to take his shirt off, until they stopped him.

Then Nerd Glasses asked if he had any track marks on his arms, and asked him to take his sweatshirt off.

He took both shirts off, and revealed tattoos of the century.

On his right “moob,” there was a bulldog, and on his left moob, there was a grim reaper.

It looked like the grim reaper was walking the bulldog, and that the reaper had a very care free look on its face.

Somnoplasty said he looked effeminate, and I said Mr. Reaper looked like a woman in a Virginia Slims ad.

Nerd Glasses told Slow-Mo he could put his shirt back on, which was priceless.

He sat there for a good ten minutes trying to figure out how to put it back on. He kept rotating it in his hands.

Somnoplasty described it as a Chinese finger trap, and I equated it more to a Rubix cube.

During the battery of questions, Slow-Mo answered the questions with an east coast time delay, according to another deputy (East Coast.)

Every time Nerd Glasses asked Slow-Mo a question, East Coast went “Uhhhhhh,” to be followed three seconds later by Slow-Mo going “Uhhhhhh.”

Due to the severity of Slow-Mo’s slow-motionness, another deputy (Braces) exclaimed, “He was driving?!”

Braces could not get over that fact.

After placing his shoes, wedding ring (gasp!) and other personal effects in a bag,

Slow-Mo had his blood taken, which Somnoplasty said will be deposited in the prop room and later sent to the DOJ for an analysis.

Poor East Coast had to deal with a 69-year-old man who shat himself while sitting in booking.

We headed back to Lincoln, at one point driving 100 miles per hour down I-80 .

I was terrified.

We headed back to town, and since it was 1:40 p.m. and I had a good 20 minutes left, we went back down Highway 65 for a DUI stop, but since SpongeBob had already responded for back-up, we headed back to the station.

We were almost there when Somnoplasty got a call for a man pushing a cart down Nicolaus Road. We started out going normal speed, but the other officer reported that the man with the cart was not being compliant.

Vroom.

I think we hit speeds of 80 while driving down Nicolaus, pausing for stop signs and stoplights with the blues and reds flashing.

Since the man wasn’t posing much of a threat, I was allowed to get out of the car and listen.

All I could really hear while I snapped copious photos was that he just really wanted to get some water, and remembered where there was a tap he could use.

Somnoplasty kindly told him that he was headed to Lincoln, where homeless men with shopping carts full of crap aren’t viewed the same way they are in Sacto.

He basically told him that if he didn’t want to be bugged by them, since lots of people would call in reporting him, he shouldn’t go into town

The man chose to walk to town.

All in all, a very interesting night.