The late afternoon/early evening workouts (*flex*) require late afternoon/early evening showers, so I’m good and clean come morning time. I’ve even devised a hair situation that involves some mousse and some bobby pins, and la-dee-da, we have morning time waves that are a half-step above hipster bedhead. The morning routine really only needs to involve clothing, teeth brushing and deoderizing. When I’m feeling nice, I’ll get Kiddo on the move while her dad takes a forty-seven minute shower. 

This morning I didn’t drag my body from the blankets and the direct aim of the fan* until 6:55 am. I am a half-step under hipster bedhead, needless to say.

*I just love sleeping under the big zebra blanket but July hardly allows that to be comfortable. Having the fan blow all night keeps temperatures good and balanced. 

There was much to be celebrated this weekend. My sister’s sixteenth birthday was on Friday and my gift to her was tickets to a Dodger game, attended by five of us girls. Saturday was the day of the Hootenanny, which I’d been waiting for with wet hot anticipation since about here:

Sunday was for the celebrating of my most bestest friend’s birthday at her house, involving a Taco Guy, music, good people and many, many drinks. And the holiday that brought on this whole weekend-plus-one-day was done right at our friends’ house where there was more music, good people and many, many drinks PLUS a band and a ton of fireworks going up in every direction.

There is more to be said about all of these things. In due time.

-CJ

Friday was nice, when my boss allowed us all to duck out early. I was super selfish and came home for my workout before I picked up my kid from school. I know, to hell with me. I actually doubled that workout in anticipation of All The Beer. We had some vague plan shapes that frothed over into nothing when Josh went out to finish the dragon tattoo on his arm. I hung out at home with kid, did some shopping, did some cleaning. A young gentleman got in line behind me at the grocery store with a case of beer. I told him to cut in front and he asked if I was sure. “Come on, you’re obviously going somewhere fun and I’m *sweeping gesture over the cart of lunch foods and dinner ingredients* going home.”

The thing about being home sort of alone on a Friday night is how fucking awesome it’s become. I am thrilled for those wide open weekends with few to no commitments so I be loungey and cleaney and do everything I want according to my watch.

My watch is set like that of most other Pacific time zone dwellers, so I guess I do things according to theirs too but you know.

At one point my mom called and asked what we were doing. I told her Kiddo and I were fresh off a “penis and vagina conversation*,” to which she asked what one had to do with the other. “Um… a lot?”
“Really? Penises and pajamas?”
Choke laughs, snorts and tears followed. I told her what I’d actually said, baffled that she hadn’t put it together on her own, and told Kiddo, “Grammy thought we were talking about penises and pajamas. Haha, go wipe your pajama!”
“No, YOU wipe your pajama, Mom!”

Totally had to be there. Mom got it right when she said, “Yours is the only eight-year-old that would laugh at that.”

*It’s high time she had an educated conversation about those, IMO.

Halfway through a cheap bottle of red and several Chelsea Lately episodes down, Josh came home, showered off the Bactine smell and showed me his new, raw goods. He has had the outline of a “paper cut” style dragon in need of shading on his forearm, which I fawned over and accidentally touched a few dozen times.

Then I touched his bathrobe, over his chest, and he flinched. He opened the robe to reveal a freshly shaved patch of chest with my name BLAZED across in large, fancy letters.

“Oh, you’re not fucking around, huh?”
“Nope.”

This is translated roughly to: “Oh, you’re very serious about us, huh?”
“I am.”

There’s some history here: In October of 2002, eight months after we’d met, he came home to his pregnant, sleeping girlfriend to reveal a small, printed “Jill” on his chest, with a small x dotting the ‘i.’ A few months after Kiddo was born, I took on a scripty little “Josh” on my right hip. Over the years, his little chest piece faded and faded. I asked him to get it touched up but it never happened. Queue epic breakup of 2007, after which I spent thirteen hours (in three sessions) under a needle to get a huge, colorful dragon down my ribcage to my hip, covering his name completely. HA, I scoffed. And then last summer, we got back together. He still had my name, despite having dated others in our down time. If I mentioned touching it up, he gave me that look that says, “Bitch, please. You erased me.”

A (super-cropped) glimpse of the top portion of my cover-up:

Needless to say I did not expect this huge, bold proclamation in place of his tiny, faded one. I’m still shocked when I see him shirtless. It makes me giddy.

Saturday was the day for All The Beer. My neighbor rolled his BBQ downstairs to our common courtyard/front lawnish type area and grilled up some burgers, brats and dogs. We had a number of folding chairs out under an awning filled with friendly faces. Perched next to me was my blue ice chest filled with frosty Coronas, which I sipped on for a solid seven or eight hours, in between dipping chips and smoking cigars. On every rare occasion we get this group together, we say, “Why don’t we do this more often?!” There’s no right answer. It was a really good night that even included some new faces, though I’ve forgotten the names attached to them.

At (my) of the night (11ish) (some others didn’t head home until dawn) came a text message from my friend Oscar, inviting me to a one o’clock Dodger game the next day, which I happily agreed to. Once I was jersey’d and ready that next morning, I found out we were on the FIELD. The tickets retail around $120 each and could have sold for over $200, surely. They were incredible seats, which we toasted to over and over. They were a last minute gift from a rep at our work who I will seek out and hug. I drunk-Tweet’d from said incredible seats.

There are so few things better than perfect weather at your favorite team’s stadium, cold beers and good company. When my plastic cup emptied, I spied a new one in the next cup holder. “A fresh one?!” I asked Oscar. And he said, which will stick forever, “The beer fairy came.”

The girl I’d overheard turned out to be this hilarious, super baked young girl that we laughed with as well as at for about seven innings after we’d shook hands and declared ourselves friends. That’s one of my favorite things anymore; those single serving friends you meet when you let your guard down and stop thinking the world believes you to be a freak.

And today: Kiddo went off to swim with a girlfriend and Josh and I were blessed with a sudden three hour window for an afternoon date. We loaded up on gummy type candies and hit the movie theater for Hangover 2. If you find the first one to be epically hilarious, and you should, this one is worth seeing. It’s not up to the same caliber as the first, though not much is. It is very, very funny though.

Now I’m slow-cooking some chicken and looking forward to some serious ice cream eating in bed with my freshly inked and wonderfully sexy lovah.

-CJ

I break the fascade sometimes and revert back to shenaniganing around the city with some lady friends. Last night found four of us sipping beers and shots of Jager at a friend’s house before a company sponsored baseball game at Angel stadium.

Yes I know I’m a Dodger fan, thank you, but I have a love of the SPORT.

Geez. Anyway. Next thing I knew, the Angels were down, and we were warming bar stools at a nearby gay bar. Then suddenly it was after midnight and I was drunk. Good morning, Story of My Life.

At the time I realized I should probably head home and not lose my ass in pool any longer, I remembered my very favorite little dark punk rock joint was about a signal away from where I was. And it would have been like driving by your grandma’s street and not at least saying hello. I parted the familiar curtain by myself and sipped some beer while Ferris Bueller’s Day Off played behind the bar. A super cute girl asked if I was there alone and I attributed it to my incredible popularity, natch. We made friends. And then we went to the bathroom and showed each other our tattoos in all the inappropriate places. She had one whole boob inked!

It was a good night but I had drinker’s remose like you wouldn’t believe except that you totally would because this happens every single time, doesn’t it? Doh.

BBQ at my house this weekend for the BJ Penn fight. My new friend is coming. If you play your cards right, maybe she’ll show you the tattoo.

-CJ

The alarm went off at 5:55 a.m. and all I could do was scream, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME, CLOCK?!”

-CJ

*sigh*

I was silly happy to see the Dodgers go as far as they did and I figured, like last year, if they’re going to lose to someone they might as well lose to the team everyone else lost to as well. So I actually rooted for the Phillies over the Yankees during this World Series. And I was a sad panda when it all ended with the Yankees’ 27th World Series victory.

From an article titled Baseball Flame on Feministe:

“When teams like the Yankees buy all their talent, it takes the heart out of the game for fans who appreciate the  teamwork and training needed to achieve a mutually shared goal like winning a national title. Where’s the art in buying your team?”

Thoughts?

-CJ

Prolly my favorite line in Without a Net. (For Those Who Like to Dig by Ricky Lee.)

My tired, red eyes and nagging cough can be explained via the following timeline:

• company anniversary party, friend Oscar’s birthday party where much vomit ensued, though not on my part (or on my parts either, praise Buddha), breakfast burritos, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs in 3D, Return to Ozz themed house warming party that involved much dancing, breakfast in San Fernando Valley, Dodgers vs. Giants from reserve section in the blissful, blissful shade…

No complaints.
Nottaone.

-CJ

*I am only recapping something that made me shout-laugh. Please do not use my family’s words against me.

-CJ

A moment of silence and may she rest in peace.
We only had a few sweaty weeks together where we bid farewell to some stubborn weight that had settled in my hips.

I’m told things like ‘blew a surge’ and other things like ‘need a surge protector.’ And I’m all but what does that MEAN? It sounds like it’s dead but I’m up for second opinions.

(Second opinion from funny co-worker this morning when I asked about ‘blowing a surge’: “Last I checked I’m not gay and I don’t even like System of a Down.”)

Defeated, I move on to free weights when my cell phone rings. Rarely would my dad call around nine p.m. as he works twenty-seven hour work days so I worried for a second before he was exclaiming, “TELL ME YOU JUST SAW THAT.”

“Buhh, saw what?”

OH, JUST A MOMENT TO GO DOWN IN DODGER FUCKING HISTORY. THAT IS ALL.

I spent the rest of the night in between mourning and moping. I could probably cry right now if I wasn’t on drugs in a good mood.

-CJ

8:45 a.m., Saturday morning: Mama, can I come cuddle with you?

Could you have send no?

We went on a two store quest to purchase Ice Age and accidentally purchased Across the Universe and Next Friday as well. It needed to happen.
That night our neighbors fed us steak because they’re awesome and we watched game two of the Angel/Dodger series. WHICH WE TOOK, BY THE WAY. Ahem. I have a few sore Angel fan friends so my gloating had to be released somewhere.

Father’s Day was for brunch, toy stores and Huntington Beach with Kiddo and her daddy:




Check out the dune buggy/wheelchair in the background!

If all the daddies and grandpas had a day half as good as mine, the world is right.

Tonight I start school. Four nights a week of Ethnic Studies for one month. Eeek.

-CJ