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.

If Only It Were

"Denial ain't just a river in Egypt."
- Mark Twain

Funny thing about this quote - I remember it as being something Al Franken said as Stuart Smalley on Saturday Night Live. I looked it up online to make sure I got it right and discovered that it actually belongs to Mark Twain. Clever, very clever, this internet of ours. Instantly elevates me from aged pop-culture referencer to Champion of Classics.

I've been thinking a lot about denial and what changes honesty causes to occur inside me. Self-delusion makes for a messy life. Peel off the lies and you're left with something much simpler. Unfortunately it also is raw upon first being exposed, but new skin always is. I've written before about needing to shed a few pounds but I chose not to write about the bigger issue for me, my eating disorder. Today in the spirit of honesty I've decided to spill it.

I'm a compulsive eater. These days they also call it food addiction and binge eating, but when I first became aware of what my problem was I learned it as that. Food is to me what alcohol is to an alcoholic: friend, mother, lover, confidante, enemy. If I had nothing with me on a desert isle but unlimited supplies of certain foods I could live out my remaining days quite content, albeit well over 400 pounds. So I suppose I wouldn't have too many days to live out. Good thing since I'm not sure I'd have the energy to cut down enough coconuts to cover up a 400 pound body.

The genesis of my disorder doesn't really matter for the purposes of this blog, though I have enough insight to see bits of its birth. I went to a twelve step program (Why do they always say "twelve step program"? Why don't they just call it by name? We already know it's anonymous. Saying its name isn't going to give anything away) the summer after my freshman year of college. In the years since I've seen a few therapists who specialized in eating disorders and have found a great deal of healing. Each one of them brought me to a new level of health. Sadly, I've come to admit that this disease is never fully going away. I have good days/weeks/months and bad ones. On good ones I can eat one cookie and enjoy its taste. I can even keep cookies in the house if I want. But otherwise, it's much better for me not to keep any in my home. I have a weird split personality about food. My first line of defense is usually strong: I won't buy stuff I know I have problems resisting. I know that in a weak state and left alone I won't be able to resist the allure of bliss, sweet bliss as I float away on a cloud of sugar nirvana. It lasts all of 3 minutes or however long until the item is eaten. Make that, 3 minutes minus 15 seconds or so. As I approach the last couple of bites I'm already thinking ahead to what I can next eat. So goes the cycle.

So in this latest round of semi-sobriety, I've come to admit some very hard honesties to myself. One cookie will do nothing for me: I will barely enjoy its taste, and the bliss I seek in eating it won't last long enough to sustain my mood. It will take many cookies for me to experience the physical change, the actual calming of my nerves, the relaxation of my muscles and the slight haze that sets over my brain. You thought I was exaggerating when I compared myself to an alcoholic? To an addict? I'm not. Sugar causes biochemical changes within me; I don't need a medical scan to show me the changes in my brain. I experience them vividly. I know what to eat to give myself that high. And like any addict, the amount required to achieve that high increases with time. So I've admitted to myself now that my method of medicating just doesn't work. As such, I've been avoiding cookies and the like altogether. I've been doing Weight Watchers since January and have successfully dropped about 20 pounds. I know, I know - what happened to the "9 pounds" I was carrying around for months? Ah, yes. Escaping over the holidays and into the new year with all the baked goods I could get my hands on rapidly increased my weight gain. Today I feel and look good, and my clothes are all fitting again. The food plan for WW keeps me constrained so I really don't have the ability to binge, though I still want to every day. EVERY DAY. I am not satisfied on the anxiety front but at least I'm not compounding it on the body-hate front by not fitting into my wardrobe. I imagine my approach these last few months is like an alcoholic sobering up by himself, alone, with no real support. No one who knows exactly what he's going through. No one to lean on when so help him God, that bottle is screaming to be imbibed. What I've done is commendable but highly tentative and not recommended to anyone.

I've already done the hard work, haven't I. Perhaps I should hit a meeting, connect with others battling my same demon. I know it's the right thing to do.

"Always do right - this will gratify some and astonish the rest."
- Mark Twain

Mr. Clemens may be on to something.

Sage Advice

Phantom Boyfriend Syndrome

Cassius OUT
Nick IN

This is the state of my brain these days.

Nick kept up his texting all week and we saw each other Saturday night. The encounter was nice, albeit in an inebriated state on my behalf (not really a good idea, right? Right. *sigh*) and here it is, Tuesday... with no word from Nick.

Like an army vet with an amputated right arm who feels the pain of a door catching her missing fingers as it closes, I feel pain where there can be none. My heart is aching with the absence of a boyfriend I don't have. I did once - for a few hours - and then he was gone.

With an actual amputee, the syndrome she's experiencing is well documented. Phantom Limb Syndrome can be painful, last for life, and cause her quite a bit of hurt. Phantom Boyfriend Syndrome is the most annoying of my wacky mental quirks. Why should I care so much if I haven't heard from him? He was, in fact, heading out of town for a few days, and then a good friend of his died unexpectedly. He's got to be busy and probably sad. He has a life independent of mine... why the hell can't I?

I do, in fact, need to chill, y'all.

I may need to meet more guys. Cassius cling-ed himself out of me having any interest in him (Hello, we've just met! Don't act like you can't live without me!) ...which, er... seems kind of familiar...

This crazy chick is outta here. I may go stand naked in front of a mirror. I hear if you hold your remaining limb in front of a mirror it can cause your brain to reset things and cease the phantom pains. It's a plan!