La Vida Perfecta

This morning my friend JoJo dropped me a text asking if I'd like to drive up to Malibu and relax for a bit. I replied quickly and immediately started rubbing on the suntan lotion. JoJo's got a convertible and today's a gorgeous day. Me, JoJo and her two little dogs were on our way before high noon and as we wound our way through Las Virgenes canyon, all felt right with the world.

As I mentioned, I was careful to slather on suntan lotion before leaving the house. My fair complexion ensures a lot of freckling and burning if I'm not too careful in the sun. Little Dog #2 found my sun lotion rather appealing though, and licked off a fair amount of it before we even got out of the car. Sad to say she licked me more than anyone has in months (ahem, Mr. John Chambers!). Little Dog #1 made herself at home behind the driver's seat (see picture). They are adorable indeed.

We parked and spent an hour or so relaxing at the side of the sea, enjoying the sound of the surf crashing onto the shore. Then we headed back down the Pacific Coast Highway and stopped at a divey little place where JoJo assured me we'd get great seafood. We headed inside to order to go and I was amazed by the quality of people watching! This was such a slice of America, so many different kinds of people. There were a lot of bikers there. The PCH is understandably a big destination on such a gorgeous day off. Standing in line to order, I was impressed with the volume of diverse beverages in their coolers. Sort of reminded me of an old house party when everyone brought something to drink and you ended up with buckets of drinks to choose from. As I searched for my drink of choice, I started chatting with the guy next to me about those days. All the drinks you could want. Someone else would drive you home. No work the next day. Ah, ignorance was so bliss. This guy evidently was a biker but of the Latin persuasion. He was dressed in something out of a movie - neatly pressed khakis, a thermal long sleeve shirt under an ironed black Harley tee shirt, and a bandanna folded just so and wrapped around his forehead like he was covering a precisely inflicted head wound. He had sideburns but was clean shaven. He spoke with a slight Latino twang, and I was touched by the living embodiment of someone I'd only ever seen on screen. As we neared the end of the line he introduced himself and when I said it was nice meeting him he said it was really nice meeting me. He chatted with me several more times as we waited for our food and even later when JoJo and I were sitting in the car finishing our lunch (we didn't want the dogs to be alone, and they couldn't come in the restaurant) he came by again and chatted a bit. After he left, JoJo teased me that he liiiiiked me uh-huh uh-huh and I thought.... my very first chulo. I'm not sure what that means but I'm pretty sure I am now a bad ass, or at least could have been, had our exchange progressed to an invitation to go out.

We pulled out of the parking lot and headed south on the PCH, slowly winding our way back to LA and I fantasized that the Harleys coming up behind us were Fidel and his friends, maybe to say hello and smile one more time before heading back down to the LBC (that's Long Beach for all my fellow non-urban types). Ahh, the first day of summer, this Memorial Day. I shall remember it for all the possibility it contained, from licked toes to attractive chulos. Some days are too perfect to repeat.

In the Nick of... What Time is It?

I had a hot date last night. My Mac and I reclined in bed and caught up on all the Glee episodes we'd missed. How I love that show!!! Never thought of 'bluffing with my muffin' as something a mother would sing caressingly to her daughter, but it worked. Brilliant. I could go on and on about the genius of this show but I won't. The real interesting part of last evening was what happened after Glee, when I was still up playing with my Mac. I have yet to get a full night's sleep since the Mac arrived... that should tell you something. [Editor's note: January is on warning for Mac Overuse. If she goes further with her addictive behaviors she will be forced to attend Mac Rehab, a dark and crowded in-patient rehabilitation facility where patients are required to sit at a PC all day creating charts in Excel.] Anywho, just after midnight a text arrived on my phone. Who should be texting me at that hour? Nick. Mr. "I'm Not in the Place to Be in a Relationship Right Now". He started with an innocuous inquiry as to my well-being and over numerous texts progressed the conversation to the timeless and too-cliché-to-be-bad "what are you wearing?" Now, by this point, I was drifting in and out of consciousness, having already turned off the light and closed my eyes for the night. But I couldn't resist engaging him. I mean, it's been almost two months. I'm curious. Wouldn't you be? Here's the rest of the exchange:

Nick: "what are u wearing?"

January: "nightie. u?"

Nick: "nakey"

January: "home already or just keeping things interesting at the bar?"

Nick: "home. let's trade undies"

January: "that's random. and i'm in bed sans undies so ur SOL."

Nick: "apparently"

January: "nightie nite."

Two months with no word from this cat and last night he came prowling... It felt nice to be thought of, to be desired. I won't lie! But really, given the way things went last time, Mr. Nick stands a snowball's chance in hell of 1) coming over for a booty call and/or 2) me going over there for a booty call. So booty calls are out. See my recent post on this topic.

Today I was tempted to text him something sassy but then I thought how great this is, being on this side of things. The desired versus the desiring. And besides, Mr. Chambers is still very much in the picture. What that picture is is completely and totally unclear to me [insert laughter: here]. But there is still a picture and I respect that.

Plus John is coming over. Speaking of which - I'd better go before I run out of time. Still have to pull myself together a bit. Sweatpants do not a fetching January make ;)

The Mac Daddy

Ladies and gentlemen, I am happy to announce the arrival of the newest addition to my happy family. Please put your hands together in a show of support for my new... LAPTOP. Even better, take a good look at her. I know she's not pink (yet) but I'm sure you'll find her exceptionally beautiful. [Editor's note: wait 'til you see her in her pink skin/protective case. January will post a picture of her at that time.] I am not too shallow to admit that a pink fashion cover will be arriving shortly (as soon as I can make up my mind which one to buy) but even at this point, my new laptop is beautiful. And guess what? It's almost 2:30 am and I'm typing in bed! Wow, wow, wow.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: my new MacBook. Yahoo!! Who says dreams don't come true?

The Boot in Booty Call

It's 3:45 am. My patience is thin and my eyelids are heavy. I shall leave you with a topic for discussion - talk amongst yourselves...

Let's say you're dating someone. Perhaps his name is John. You may accept his invitation to go over to his place after a long and late day at work, and you may enjoy his company in a very unbiblical way. No, make that in the biblical way. (Ironic, isn't it?) And John might possibly make a comment as you start falling asleep in his bed along the lines of "If you sleep here, would you be offended if I slept on the couch? It's not that I don't want to be with you, but I slept really badly the last time you stayed over" so you naturally answer without hesitation "Yes. Yes I would" and you subsequently rouse yourself, get up, dress and drive home. Would this be considered a booty call? In the strictest sense of the term.

According to UrbanDictionary.com, a booty call is "A late night summons -- often made via telephone -- to arrange clandestine sexual liaisons on an ad hoc basis."

Mr. Chambers undeniably successfully got himself a booty call tonight. And I, I got the boot.

When Everything You Touch Turns to Mush

I’m having such a moment of mush.

I was just talking on the phone with texting my guy and started doing the old “Hmm… January Chambers. John and January Chambers. January and John.” and a smile spread across my face. I can’t believe I made it 12 days before dwelling on that one [insert slow, wide grin: here].

“My guy” you might ask? Well, what does one call someone who’s more than a friend but less than a boyfriend? Who feels like a boyfriend taking root? One you’ve been friends with for a while but suddenly is more? For now, for me, I’ll refer to him as my guy. I do sort of see him progressing to full boyfriend status and honestly… it tickles me on the inside. I imagine this is what it looks like to have a little glow about you… this subtle inner smile, permeating through and peeking out the outside… I like it. I like him.

John’s been my friend for somewhere around a year and a half. I met him on set and over time we took our friendship offline, hanging out several times at my place or his place or going to see a band. Nothing ever happened between us. I figured that’s just the way it was going to be and wasn’t sweating it. I mean, we were once at his apartment at one in the morning, just the two of us, and he didn’t so much as brush his arm against mine. So I resumed my seat in the friend zone and moved ahead. 12 days ago – or nights, to be specific – John and I were hanging out at my place when the topic of the friend zone came up and he finally kissed me. (Why didn’t I kiss him myself, you may be wondering? People, I’m 37 years old. I like to think I’ve learned a thing or two over time… like, let the guy make the first move, if you want to be sure he’s into you. At least, that’s my theory this year. Ask me again in 11 months.)

Being happy doesn’t lend itself to being snarky, but I hope to hold on to that edge for amusement’s sake. Anyway, it’s only been 12 days. We’ve got plans already on days 14 and 15 so things look good into the teens. And why wouldn’t they? As he pointed out, this is the way people say you should do it. Be friends with someone first. Me, I’ve always known quickly if I was attracted to someone and if he was to me too, things usually happened rather fast… see any number of my previous posts. But this way feels strangely nice. Kissing him didn’t feel shocking. And if he doesn’t reply to my text right away, I’m not worried thinking that perhaps I shouldn’t have texted – I just figure he didn’t get it. Best of all, I know he likes me, actually likes me a lot. He’s already been exposed to enough to know I’m more than just a cute piece of ass ;)

Oh, Mr. Heatmiser. Mush feels pretty nice.