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

When said box was empty:

I should really call those posts “Mo In, On & Around Stuff.”

For Cinco de Mayo, I opted out of tacos and beer with the ladies and pulled a double workout. Can you believe that shit? After I rewarded myself with a little red wine, I got a tempting invite via text to hit the gay bar for a drag show. Despite planning to stay in for the night, I hustled into something clean and did a sloppy little number with my hair to go cheer on some queens. It was a damn good show, as always. The beer was flat and gross but you couldn’t beat the company. One of the girls and I hit the punk rock bar on the way home for some free drinks. I’m not sure how we pulled that off. We picked up greasy, salty food for the ride home and I was up for work three hours later.

Today’s my broseph’s secondy-second birthday. He’s going to get all beered out at a dive in hometown. I probably will not be clinking pitchers with him but I’m talking about his day of days on the interwebs, so I did my part.

-CJ

They were covered in red ink where corrections are required when I left the office. So, ya know. SON OF A. But it’s best that I’m the one catching these and not the folks who would have the ability to rip us off several hundred dollars because the new project manager is an asstard.

Over the weekend, I bar hopped around with Ree. It was the tamest night of drinking we’ve ever had. We maintained a reasonable volume, didn’t drunkenly swear newfound friendships to other patrons, and were each at our own homes before one o’clock. I didn’t even find any unexplainable notes on a bar napkin in my purse the next morning.* My mid-twenties went directly to into my mid-fifties this year. My most exciting lunch break used to be a giant mug of beer and a grilled cheese. Now it’s a whole wheat flat bread sandwich at the park, where I can get fresh air and quiet time to read.

I am reading a comic book, if that helps.

*We had an especially drunken week night once and the next afternoon, we hit a Starbucks on our lunch break. When I went for the cash in purse, I pulled out a crumbled napkin that said “rebel girl, rebel girl, rebel girl” in red ink. Ree recalled me hiding what I was writing and but had no explanation for the nonsense. I’m still trying to figure out how some repetitive Bikini Kill lyrics could be so top secret.

My mama hosted a jewelry party on Sunday that was champagne brunch themed. I piled up handmade hair flowers and enjoyed too many snacks and glasses of bubbly mixed with various fruits and juices. It was quickly becoming nap time in the later afternoon but I had to force out the reserve energy to get my happy ass to a huge thirtieth birthday in LA at this place. The birthday girl had rented it out for the night. Of the FOUR HUNDRED people that were invited, a solid ONE HUNDRED FIFTY had RSVP’d. I am confident that I don’t know that many people who would care to see my face on my birthday, dirty thirtieth or otherwise. But I have about four years to get there.

I’ve successfully untagged myself from most of the pictures that occurred over the last few days.

By this morning, my throat was equally raw and phlegmy from all the flavored cigars. From carrying them around, my purse smells so, so awful.

I SAID PURSE.

-CJ

“Dude, it already shifted the earth’s axis.”

“It did?!”

“YEAH. Well. I mean. I haven’t measured it lately but it’s what I heard.”

“You should really take care of that.”

“I should get back down there.”

Of note, the reason that Corona six-pack might seem so super on sale is because it is CORONITA. Which is about half the fluid ounces of a normal bottle of beer. As I loaded a six-pack into the fridge for Josh, my hand seemed to dwarf the tiny bottles and I asked tentatively, “Are these… smaller… than normal?”

Indeed, very much so.

*It has been so long since I’ve seen an entertaining movie. But Red was worthy.

Next thing I knew, I was mad-scramble cleaning because four friends were on their way over. So much for movie night.

At one point, myself and two ladies (the Girlfriends) were at the kitchen table, while the gentlemen (the Boyfriends) made a second liquor store run for more mixers and flavored, girly cigars for yours truly. We were talking loudly and laughing and such when a strange and foul smell came over the room. I looked to the small bar attached to the kitchen counter, where we keep the cat food to prevent Lucy from eating it all. Furby was face down in his bowl, mashing his flat face against the food and trying to lap some kibble into his mouth (a hilarious struggle I enjoy watching, while Josh takes pity and piles up the food in little mountains for them) and his tail was completely covering a large, purple ceramic bowl that holds a big lavendar candle. That was lit.

His ass snuffed my candle.

Lavendar tainted cat ass hair. In my kitchen.

It took a little while to air it out. When Josh got home, I told him the story by way of saying that the smell was not Furby’s butt hair. Nope.

Oh, the death glare. 

It has been made clear that he loves those kiddens more than he loves Kiddo and I combined. I’m working on accepting this.

-CJ

Sliiightly hungover, but mostly just sleepy and thirsty, I rode shotgun out to OB the morning before my birthday. The drive was full of laughs, as per usual agenda. With Ree, it’s always a riot. We’re poking and prodding at each other’s funny bone, laughing until we risk wetting ourselves and this was continued throughout the weekend. My mama was in the backseat with her People magazines and Goldfish crackers, alternately shaking her head at us and chiming in to tell us how ridiculous we are. Which we’re aware of.

An aside: I am so, so lucky that my own flesh and blood mother is who she is. She is one of my very closest friends, and while she’ll still remind me on occasion that she is my mom first (“Stop telling me this story, I don’t wanna know!”) I never forget how lucky I am.

There’s something about the place — everyone we encounter is friendly and engaging, every bite of food is ridiculously delicious (save for the fried zucchini), the drinks are strong, the shops are unique and plentiful… I was in love the minute I set foot there, about a year and a half ago, and now I’m not so subtlety tugging Josh’s sleeves and asking him to pack up his things so we can move our happy asses down there. There, where I can find: the all-time best Irish pub, the yummiest pizza place with craft beers and amazing pesto bread, the coolest of little shops filled with everything I desire in abundance (handmade jewelry, candles & incense, etc), the BEST brunch on the planet complete with fresh strawberry juice mimosas by the PINT, an incredible hotel view, good looking locals, awesome Japanese food served by a sassy Japanese woman my mom may or may not have been flirting with…

The beach, just outside our hotel; stunning even in winter

View from our second story balcony

One of two lovely, cozy beds in our lovely, cozy room

Saturday night, sushi dinner complete with wine, beer and sake

Home away from home, comes with high recommendations from yours truly

Eggs benedict & tots, the greatest meal that ever was

I maintain that I can only take unflattering pictures.

In the ice chest my mom brought along, came a few classic red Solo cups, some Pinnacle whipped cream vodka (SO GREAT IT HAS ITS OWN FACEBOOK PAGE) and ginger ale. These, mixed over ice, make for my new favorite cocktail. I know most things are my favorite, especially in this post when I’m ecstatic about life with my favorite people in my favorite place, but take my word on this one, friends. It’s cream soda tasting and it will get you drunk. A&W, for shame. You should have thought of this first.

Twenty-six is off to an amazing start.

-CJ

LOVES. BIRTHDAYS.

The last few years were only celebrated because Ree took the reigns and refused to back down until I was good and hungover, fond memories of blurred nights burned into my mind, even as I woke up with cotton mouth. If she never took charge of February 20th again, I will forever be thankful for the times she’s been responsible for.

Although, let’s be real, the girl doesn’t need a celebratory event to throw back some cocktails. She’s of an elite class of lushes and this is why she’s my best friend.

This year, as with all previous, we centered the celebration around alcohol. It’s just… what we’re good at. Ree put together a short list of locations walking distance from one another and items to collect throughout the night and there we had it: a pub crawl/scavenger hunt. Where I am lazy enough to find solace at the first place to serve me a cold drink and a basket of tater tots (!), Ree continued to round us up and march us out, always onward to the next destination after we’d had a few. The pub crawl would go on.

A few of many. As it turned out, every picture of Josh and I came out looking like I was eating a dozen Warheads.

After the first joint where I took in a few delicious Blue Moons and a “Jillian” (item #4 on the list: have a bartender create a shot in the birthday girl’s honor) (ps, though my name is not and never has been Jillian), when I breezily and unthinkingly walked through the exit with a half full pint glass of beer (“Yep, that’s a beer in your hand, Jill”) I knew I was on a roll.

Lushy McDrunkface

At the end of the night, my purse was bulging with stolen pint glasses that everyone had signed messages on in black marker, cardboard coasters of the same nature, and two photo booth strips featuring 2-3 faces smooshed cheek to cheek and smiling. Aside from one strange and out of place dramatic occurrence, it was all gravy. I was serenaded by strangers and fed shots of harsh booze that contorted my face into something terrible until closing time, when we cabbed it back to Ree’s and continued on in a drunken fashion, like the bunch of hooligans we are.

The next morning, three of us hit the freeway at eleven a.m.
Destination: my favorite city in the United States; Ocean Beach

To be continued.

-CJ

Today’s thought: “I have no faith in a human critter who hasn’t one or two bad habits.” — Margaret Deland

Would you want to be friends with some flawless freak?
Me either.

-CJ

you are in the future, no? it’s Saturday night here.

yeah, sunday afternoon here. or ‘arvo’ as they say.

OMG I’M IN YESTERDAY
HALP

well, the future is pretty great… I’m bound by universal law though, and cannot tell you what it holds.
SO DON’T ASK KTHX.

-CJ