A Day in a Life (maybe)

Dear Valentine

2012-02-14T12:14:00.000-08:00

We are here again I see. And you expect me to behappy. With your antics that you call romantic.

Full of blinding red, glitteredpromises and flowery sweets. If you want something in return.

I hope my heartmeasures up to being your valentine.

But for now. I will give you this note.

Tolet you know.

That I love you so.

Here Me Roar

2012-01-04T11:14:00.000-08:00

Graphic: Felicity DeYarmon

The crisp winter morning makes me want to dress up likeCatherine Deneuve. You know cool and chic in Belle Du Jour. Well toadd to my edge, I get to enter the scene for a woman’s conference panel called Here Me Roar (something about themodern-day woman now). And for bonuspoints, I get to have Jake Miller as my wingman. I know it is still a bit oddbut earlier he somehow convinced me again and this time around that it is for “researchpurposes”. I don’t know how much of that is true. But you know us writers.

We stroll pass a sign of a middle-aged blonde womanself-help writer with a list of names under. My name is at the bottom. Go figure. Jake stops in histracks. “Guest speaker. Why?” he snarls. I have been asking myself that samething. “You knew I was invited to do this,” I answer with puzzlement. “Not you.Her,” he points at the main picture.“You mean Katie Sage?” I ask. “Yes,” he ping-pongs back. “You do know who sheis?” I probe. “Unfortunately, yes,” he mumbles. “Because she is so awesome,” Isay in my bubbly teenage voice. “No, she is not,” he proclaims. “She is a fourtime New York Times Bestseller,” I defend. “Seriously? You like hereffing psychobabble dribble?” he mocks. “Is she not a good enough real writerfor you Jake,” I say facetiously.

“Jake?” a mellow woman’s voice says. We bothturn around. OMGah! It is Katie Sage! She has that command like Martha Stewartbut with the grace and beauty of Ingrid Bergman. It is like she stepped out of a50s femme fatale movie. “I guess I wasn’t good enough all around,” she answers.Jake looks uncomfortable but he plays it cools. “Hey there lovely,” Jake says.They embrace with faux French cheek kisses. “Oh Katie, this is the talentedJanuary Lane,” Jake introduces with gleam. Somehow I am being used for ammo. “OhYes. I think your blog is absolutely adorable,” Katie cheers and clasps herhands together. She reads my blog? She reads my blog! That is wow. “Thank you,” I modestly say. Jakegoes to say something but Katie beats him to it. “So I hear you are working abook. Is this true? Because if it is, I want a first print,” she asks like atrue fan.

“I want one too,” a familiar deep smooth male voice adds. We all turnto see GC smiling that “perfect smile” and dressed in a gray D&G suit. Ithink we all lost our cool points at this point. I break the awing with, “Whatare you doing here?” “I am here to introduce Katie,” GC answers. “Oh so you arethe surprise?” Katie adds. Jake just stands watching us girls ogle over GC. Helooks down at his watch that is worth more than my car (and I have a cool car),“Ah well, we should be getting started”. “Yes we should,” Katie concurs. Heextends his arm out for support and she takes it without hesitation. “Well, youkids have fun,” Jake jokes. I look down. I wish it was me he was introducing.“Hey kiddo,” GC says. I look up and answer with wide eyes, “Yes, George?” “Ican’t wait to hear your speech,” he says. He could have said something else.Gah! No pressure. He winks and walks on with Katie.

“What was that?” Jack squints. “What was what?” I ask inthat airhead way. “That,” he points in mid air referring to a few minutes ago.“Oh he is like my mentor. He likes to encourage me,” I brush it off. “Oh,” Jakesays unbelievingly. He continues, “That is what they call it these days.” “JakeMiller, are you jealous?” I say in amazement. “You better believe it,” headmits. “I thought I was your only side action,” he adds. I can't help but to shake my head andlaugh. He lights up a cigarette. He cigarette dangles as he says, “Now I have competition”. I walk on toward theconference room. “So Katie is your?” I inquire. He drags on the cigarette andsmiles. “Heartbreak of most of the 2000s.” Smoke escapes his mouth as hespeaks. “Sorry,” I empathize. “No I deserved it. I cheated on her. On more thanone occasion,” he confesses. I slug him in the arm. “Gah! You are so twisted. Who cheats on Katie Page? You upgrade. Not downgrade.”I shout. “Jan, you judge too easily,” he says. “No I don’t,” I say. He gives methat “not believing it sister look”. “Well maybe a little,” I add. His facialexpression changes but it still that look.“Okay. A lot. But it is for good reason. It is my way of measuring peoples’capacity,” I defend. “Anyways, there was a lot of pain and I dealt with it myway,” he confides. Now I give him the look.“And she dealt with it her way,” he points indicating the crowd and Katie onthe stage. He then flicks his stub of a cigarette on the floor and his shoe pushesit in hard as to wipe and grind something away.

Dissolutions

2012-01-02T09:18:00.000-08:00

Photo: scottchan

Are New Year’s resolutions like wishes where if you revealthem they will never come true? Do we think them through or do we just go afterwhat we think we should or what everybody else is? As the new year fades intofamiliar, do the resolutions dissolve as well? And why is that? Maybe we set ourselvesup for failure because we know there is always next year if we don’t get itright this time around. I don’t believe in waiting until January 1^st(my birthday by the way) to make a resolution. I make goals throughout the yearas I go along and I try to accomplish them that way. And if it isn’t a totalsuccess, I don’t drop it and put my hands in the air. I just examine what Ishould do tomorrow. Now, I am no where perfect at pulling myself off the groundsometimes but I always remember this Japanese proverb “Fall seven times, standup eight”.

New

2012-01-01T00:00:00.000-08:00

Graphic: Salvatore Vuono

As we approach another finish line, is the new “new” really new or willit bring the same old with a new wrapping? We hope that some things don’tchange. Those things are usually all the goodthat has happened to us. But we still want to improve from last year. The trickis to learn from years past and try not to recycle the bad. You know the sayingabout where the road paved from goodintentions leads to. But can hope change it all? Can it make it possible tohave a fresh innocent start and succeed?

The Golden State

2011-12-29T08:00:00.000-08:00

Photo: Damian Brandon

The sun light streams invade my room to remind me that it is a new day.But I don’t move. I just swim through thoughts wondering what is in store forme since coming back to California. One way or another everyone that comes heretries to get a piece of the golden glitter. Even if they deserve it or not.Just because it is shiny and big, does it make it real? And who is the fool?The fake object or me? A hammering sound at my door snaps me to reality. Wt? Ijump up and scurry to my door. This better be worth it. I look through thepeephole. It’s Georgia. What does she wantnow? I am not in the mood for her shenanigans. I walk away from the door andplop down on my sofa. The banging continues. “Jan I know you are in there.Please,” muffled through the door. Sigh. I look at the door. This moment is sonot golden. I slug over and open the door. “I am so glad you are home,” Georgialeaps on me. She starts going into a frantic cry and babble thing. I catchwords here and there. “Come on in,” I guide her to the sofa. It seems her golddigging isn’t adding up and she is out of a place. Oh great. You know what thatmeans right? Insert multiple expletives here. I sit being silent and stiff.Georgia continues to explain what happened. I want to turn to dust anddisappear right now. Then she asks the dreadful question, “Can I stay here fora few weeks until I get back on my feet?” So now I have to wait until she canfind a new man to dig off of and hope it is quick. Oh joy! I get to add“matchmaker” to my repertoire. I just need to tell her “NO!” I look at her andthe black stained tears and I firmly say, “Sure. It is only a couple of weeks,right?” “Oh Jan. Thank you. I loveyou! You are the best,” she wraps her suffocating arms around me. I nod andslide away. I guess today my golden nugget is making someone else’s day.

From Under the Mistletoe (part 2)

2011-12-28T09:12:00.000-08:00

Graphic: Danilo Rizzuti

Georgia runs up to me, “Oh Jan, look! Isn’t it divine?” She flings herwrist that now has a blinding diamond bracelet (from her pseudo sugar daddy). Ismile and nod to give my girlfriend approval. I look around the cast of red,green and white costumed characters but still no him. Mel sides pass GA under the mistletoe with me. We both look upat the mistletoe. Mel giggles. “I am not kissing you,” I abruptly say. “Oh whynot?” Mel asks. Mel leans in to go for a kiss. “You are cute and all but…,” I answeras I back away. She falls forward and hug attack me. I sorta do that half hug backthing. “Oh. Where is Kyle anyways?” Mel inquires. “He is still coming isn’the?” GA adds. I unconvincingly say, “He texted that is on his way”. “Yea but that was an hour ago,” GAreminds me. “I know,” I mumble. I down more eggnog. I hope that it is spikedwell.

From Under the Mistletoe (part 1)

2011-12-24T19:00:00.000-08:00

Photo: suphakit73

As I stand under the mistletoe, I down a spirited eggnog and watch theglitter and tinsel. I wonder what the holidays would be like without thefanfare. Would it be another holiday to reflect upon or would it still be thatretail frenzy thing after Halloween? And all the Sugarplums and little drummerboys can’t save us from us. You may say that it is about the “gift of giving”, so whynot give the best. But is the best the largest price tag or that new trendytoy? What is it really? Should we even call it Hanukkah or Christmas? Or eventhe holidays? Maybe we should call it “Gift Day”. Now there is a thought.

Always One

2011-12-23T08:00:00.000-08:00

Photo: vichie81

There is always one you want to blow a kiss. There is alwaysone you want to toss your drink in their face. There is always one that youwant to kick. There is always one that you want to throw a punch to. There isalways one you want to hug. There is always one you want to say…

You Get What You Need (Side B)

2011-12-19T08:00:00.000-08:00

Graphic: Felicity DeYarmon

“So this is where you hide,” Jake shouts. I look up and thinkI am where I am always at…my favorite café. I say with a smile, “Hey trouble”. Hesits down and says, “Hey kiddo. Whatcha up to?” “I am prepping for this womanconference thing”, I answer while I scramble through my mess of papers. He grabsa paper that falls and skims over it. “Interesting”, as he lights a cigarette. “Idon’t know why they chose me. I am horrible at speeches,” I confess. The baristaclears her throat and points at the “No Smoking” sign. “Oh yea I forget aboutthat. Sorry,” he says as he stubs out his cigarette. I squirm. “A speech. Really?” Jakeinquires. Oh Gah! Why did I tell him that? “Oh I have to see this,” he gleams. “Ohno,” I protest. “What? I like women,” Jake answers. I give him the “really”look. “I like words too,” he devilishly adds. “Seriously?” I say. “Serious.Plus you need someone in your corner,” he admits. I go to say something but Irefrain. No matter how much I want to disagree with him he is right. I wouldneed someone in my corner.

Forever Young

2011-12-18T11:02:00.000-08:00

Graphic: Felicity DeYarmon

This time of year makes me want to slip back into time and be twelveagain. The scents, the colors and the energy all mix into a warm previousexistence. I don’t know why but I guess that was the year that changed it allfor me. A borderline in many ways from what had been and what was to come. Atthat age, I thought I knew it all and what I wanted. I was so sure. But at the same time uncertain. Everything seemed like itwould last forever. Some say some things shouldn’t last forever. But I thinkthe heart knows best. And when I look around and get that fuzzy and giddyfeeling it reminds me that she isstill there even as I face another year.

You Get What You Need (Side A)

2011-12-14T15:36:00.000-08:00

“Why?” Melody wails. She sits on the toilet in her happy flowerwallpapered mesh of pale colored bathroom, crying into my shoulder. Tasha, Dale,and even Georgia surround her to give her some girl power. “Here sweetie,” I say, handing her a tissue. Melodyburies her face into the tissue, “Why is it that every man that I want doesn’t want me?” While I console her with Kleenex and woman fighting coaxingwords I dwell on that statement. I swear I have felt this way myself. Do allwomen feel this way after it goes wrong? Were the signs there but they wentinvisible or were stolen and hidden? Or did he tell me he didn’t want me but Ipursued anyways? It seems the one you want is unattainable. No matter how muchyou try to get their attention. It is an empty worthless feeling. Why do we setourselves up this way? What is the purpose? Everyone says it is the chase. Butis it worth it if there is no prize at the end? Is the game even fair amonghuman nature? Maybe it isn’t meant to be fair. Maybe you don’t get what youwant. Georgia interrupts with, “Mel sweetie lets go for a drink to take the recenttwenty-four hours off of your mind.” Actually that is a good idea. She needs an outing with the girls. And youask well what about tomorrow when the hangover can no longer distract…we takeher shopping like all good friends do.

Gratitude

2011-11-24T09:28:00.001-08:00

Picture: Salvatore Vuono

…is a powerful word. How do you stay humble in a “press a button now”world? And if you are grateful how do you show it? It is so disappointing on how itgets lost on occasions. But today is the occasion to bring it to light. Toremember that you have more than you have noticed before. That you have amoment to reflect and let everyone else know what you are thankful for. So Iwill begin the tradition with letting all know that I am thankful for: thepeople that have entered my life in one way or another, having the greatexperiences of a lifetime (good, bad and OMG), being graced with creativegifts, my good health, for being me (even though at times I wonder “whyme?”) and you. What are you grateful for?

Reach Out

2011-11-24T09:26:00.001-08:00

Picture: federico stevanin

“Oh hi mama”, I answer in my child voice. It is amazing nomatter how grown up you are that you regress back to a child when talking toparents. This call is to remind me that I isolate myself from the rest of thefamily and I never know when I will need them or vice versa. “Yes ma’am”, I sayin my mind but it didn’t come out that way. Don’t get me wrong I love andrespect my mama but the adult in me wants to be my defense lawyer. Most of thetime it starts off calm but the child takes over and I am instantly guilty byvocalization. The point is not about the “he said, she said” stuff that wasthrown in but the facts. The facts are if I didn’t need them all these yearswhy should I start now. Where were they when I was growing up? What if I can’trelate to them? I have built my own external family outside of my parents,brother and a few close relatives (they know who they are). I understand thatnow that everyone is older and everyone wants to take an interest in each otherafter pursuing careers, loves and what-have-yous but why do I have to be theone to reach out. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

The Boy is Back

2011-11-16T14:05:00.001-08:00

Photo: photostock

Kyle is back in town and he wants to spend every minute ofevery hour with me. Or like he wants me to spend all my time on him. I don’tget why men sometimes have spurts of wanting to bother you to death and thenwanting to be left alone. Be consistent please (at least us women have a cycleonce a month). And this is the time if it isn’t about “him” or “doing thingswith him” then he doesn’t comprehend or it doesn’t exist. I never thought I hadto negotiate my time like this. I figure you know some allotted couple time butthis is all my time. While we enjoyour Sunday brunch, I figured I could multitask. You know to be time managementproficient. Oh no. That is the wrongthing to do. I got the stare as soon as I pulled out my ipad to start writing.I just kept on but I could feel something was wrong. Since The Ideal Man article was so well received last month, I wasassigned a “guest column” on…relationships. Me? Yes it is comical. The flunkyof them all is advising on relationships and men. Now I get to write make-believenot a loosely based tale of things. Maybe I will get a novel done after all. Itis supposed to be about how to tackle relationships. The editor or “whateverher title is” lady got all excited when T hinted that I am in an interracialrelationship. T added that she loved the idea of a modern multicultural womanin such diverse situations. To tell you the truth I think T did the spin on it.“Seriously, right now Jan?”, Kyle scorns. I look up for a second to noticedistain in his face. I go back to pressing (cannot really call it typing on atouchpad) out some thoughts for the article. Kyle continues, “Do you alwayshave to bring that thing wherever you go? I know you can spend one second withoutwriting”. Did he really go there? This is what I do. I write. I am a writer. “I did spend a second withoutwriting. Matter of fact come to think of it I spent more than that”, I fireback. “I am just saying can we have anormal breakfast”, he kindly asks. Since that “wt?” button was already pushed Ianswer, “If I had a normal life I could oblige you on that. But…I don’t”. Helooks down and then away at the Sunday late morning crowd in the café courtyard.“Deadlines you know…”, I add. “We all have deadlines, Jan”, he interrupts. “Ihave more on my plate nowadays. T has this goal and I am going along with it Iguess”, I justify. I look at him to reassure him. Nothing. He doesn’t move. Hejust stares, gritting his teeth. “You know you don’t have to go along. It isyour career. It is your life. Blaming T isn’t going to validate you focusingonly on you all the time”, he saysquietly. He then gracefully stands up and throw his lap napkin on the barelyeaten meal. I sit there confused, angry and sorry all at the same time. Am I thatbad at this us thing? Am I that tooreoccupied with my writing? Or is he being too sensitive? Or is he being tooselfish? I look to the chaos and I see him walk down the sidewalk until he slowlyblurs and then disappears around the corner. I guess this month’s article canbe about avoiding conflict to save a modernrelationship that is barely holding on by a thread.

The Ideal Thing

2011-11-02T15:03:00.000-07:00

Photo: kongsky

The weekly schizophrenic weather has taken a tollon me and I fell like calling it a lazy day but I have to finish this article.I crawl out of my comfy spot to my desk. I stare at the pale wall and then tothe laptop screen. Sigh. What really is the ideal man? Is he what we were readto about each night in “Happily Ever After” stories or is he real? If he is notreal, can the real man compete with the ideal man? What is my true ideal orreal guy? Do I even have one? Or do I just float from one romantic crash toanother? Maybe I should make a list of what I should find ideal in a real guy.But that would be faking it. Then again I am a woman…and a fiction writer…whichmeans I am good in that department. Still I don’t want to do that this timearound. Looking around, I tap on the keyboard. I have to at least put somethingon the screen. I-D-E-A-L. I look away and then back at the screen hoping that Iwrote more. Nope. Just “ideal”. I ruffle through my desk things and pull outpen and paper. Maybe the old-fashioned way will let me scratch things out. Cuttingthe silence, my phone buzzes around on the coffee table. I dash over andanswer. Oops! You put the phone “vibrate” for a reason, January. “Hey babe.How’s the article coming along?”, Kyle joyfully asks. “Oh. Ah. It is comingtogether”, I stutter. “Everything okay?”, he pries. I slowly answer, “Oh yea.Fine. Deadlines you know”. I giggle. Why did I do that? Sigh. “Yea I know”, heaffirms. Two beeps interrupt the moment. I look down and “Giordano” is flashinglike a beautiful exit sign. Should I put Kyle on hold and answer it? What wouldbe the ideal thing to do? I mean I am still working on this thing but it isnice to hear Kyle’s voice. I sink into my own mental cloud while Kyle continueson about the tour and the craziness with it. But Giordano is a “dream fling waitingto happen that I might be able to turn into something more”. There is potentialall around. I return to reality in the nick of time. “Missed call” blinks inand then out. “I can’t wait to get back home with you”, Kyle gently says. Anawkward silence creeps in. “I miss you too”, I perfectly answer. “Well I willlet you get back to your writing. Talk to you later okay?”, he says. “Yea. Talkto you later”, I say. I look at the phone. Kyle’s picture disappears and my “missedcall” and “voice mail” reminders pop up. And just like that I remember what Ifind ideal in a guy. He may not be storybook perfect but he is ideal for me.

An Ideal Man

2011-10-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

As I stuff a velvety cupcake in my mouth my iphone rings. Ina thick but sexy European accent, “May I speak with…eh…January Lane please?” Yesyou may. “Yes. This is she”, I answer. “Great. I am Giordano…your photographerand layout artist”, he says. Hey he said it. You and I are innocent. “For thecolumn”, he adds. “Hi Giordano”, I say. I just wanted to say his name. Has niceroll off the tongue doesn’t it? “Eh…where would you like to meet?”, he asks.Wouldn’t you like to know? “How about Nat’n Al?“, I ask. I couldn’t let himknow I am at Sprinkles. “Okay good I just up the street. See you in 15? That isgood?”, he confirms. “Good for me”, I answer. “Okay. Ciao”, he says. “Ciao”, Isay back. Maybe I can get back to my place to change right quick. “Cute dress”,a girl says in passing. Or not. I walk on with a smile.

I walk in and the yummy smells hit me. But as I walk closerto a guy that is flagging me down my hunger shifts. If a guy can be a dreamboathe is a cruise. He has a rugged kind of attraction. He stands up and pulls outa chair for me. “January, right?”, he says. “Right”, I say. He puts a photo ofme in his back pocket. Nice. “Do you want anything?”, Giordano asks. How abouta few things? “Oh no thank you”, I say. I cannot help but to keep looking at him.I try to look down and away. But the dark silky wavy hair, the bronze skin, theMediterranean Sea eyes, the tight arms that tell you there is more like thatsomewhere and the accent. Okay focus.Be professional January. “So I was thinking that if we focus on the everydayguy. Instead of the celebrity or superficial guy…eh…the photos will complementyour column better. What do you think?”, he asks. I think wow. “I like that.Because the true ideal guy isn’t glamour and glitz. He is real and always therefor you”, I answer. “Good. I see why you were chosen”, he says. “You haven’t readmy blog?”, I inquire with puzzlement. “Oh no. I do not even have a computer”,he says shyly. “Really? How is that possible?”, I exclaim. “I do everything onmy camera. And then if I have do any on a computer I just go to my friend’shouse who is a designer and edit stuff there”, he answers. “Wow. Do you evenhave a smart phone?”, I joke. “No. Just a regular boring call and text thing”,he answers. “How ideal”, I remark. He smiles. “Something like that”, he adds.

The New Ideal

2011-10-19T08:30:00.000-07:00

So T set me up with some meeting with an overrated Urbanmagazine. “What’s going on?” pops up on my iphone. I text back “What do youmean?” Not even a second later she rings me. “I saw you with Jake Milleryesterday”, Melody scolds. “I met him at my manager’s office. What’s the bigdeal? I just hung out with him and his friend”, I defend. I was too embarrassedto let her know that I knocked myself conscious and he had to save me. “I knowyou guys are going through a rough time. And Kyle is on his tour and all. But Ijust wanted to make sure you didn’t do anything…”, she rambles on. “Crazy?”, Iinterrupt. “Yea. Well”, she says. “Don’t worry. Been there. Done that”, I joke.She is not laughing. Sigh. “Not funny. You guys are a great couple. And I knowif…”, she rambles on again. “Hey luv, I have this meeting. So I will call youback. Okay?”, I interrupt again. “Okay. Bye”, I say fast. I quickly hang up.Chug down the rest of my adrenaline rush. Toss cup in can. Pop gum in mouth.And enter into the glass gates.

“Who is your ideal man?”, a lady inquiries. I look away fromthe window to the stunning lady. She kinda has that overdressed schoolteacherlook. “Come again?”, I ask. “Your ideal man. What do you consider him?”, ladyasks again. That is a long list lady. “Well…”, I say. I stall as I search forwords. “He is sweet, smart and sexy”, I say. I smile. I just went with the “s”words. “Perfect”, she exclaims. “I want you to write a column on the ideal man.This is our feature column for next month. I will have a photographer andlayout artist that will be working with you. They will be contacting youshortly. The deadline is by next Friday. You will send all correspondence to me”,she says rapidly. She hands me her business card. Then she stands up and opensthe door. I guess I am supposed to leave now. “This is going to be a greatsurprise for our readers”, she gleems. I smile back because it is the idealthing to do.

Fade to Black

2011-10-17T08:30:00.001-07:00

Things sound different when looking up at the ceiling. I laylump on T’s sofa as she babbles on about a new tactic to build my readership. Iwanted to care but... “January!”, T yells. “What?”, I mumble. “Come on. We needto focus. I want to have your work selling kindles this holiday season”, shecommands. I sit up and focus on her. “Okay I am ready”, I say. “I know you are going to hate this…butI have to now market you as the young Black Latina version of Carrie Bradshawto get more pull”, T exclaims. “Oh seriously”, I sigh and plop back down. “Ibrought this up when the movies came out. And we should have taken advantage ofit then”, T reminds. I give her a look of “really”. “I am my own writer. Ican’t be put in a niche”, I defend. “Well pick which flava version of acharacter you are going to be ‘cause I have to brand you to market you to morereaders”, T says. “Oh I know. How about an American Bridget Jones? No wait, Ican be the female version of Hank Moody? Or a present day Jane Austen?”, I sayfactiously. “There you go. You are on to something”, T cheers on. “Or how aboutI just be me”, I say. I jump up. “January. I know you don’t want to play thegender and race card. But you will have to. It will help you. People likefamiliarity. Something they can place before and know it is safe butdifferent”, T says calmly. “So you are going to make me a remake”, I sayboldly. “I expected better from you T”, I scold. “Why? I am your manager”, Tsays nonchalantly. Then I storm out. I somehow trip over myself and bump into awall. As I fall back a firm grip holds me up. “Well hey there stranger”, saysin a familiar male voice. I turn to see a blurry version of a cute guy. Myvision finally merges into one. It is Jake Miller. He has a boyish charm that shines past his disshelved hair and stance. Ifyou are having a hard time picturing…think Hank Moody. Rumors say the character is loosely based on Jake. I smile and then everythingfades to black.

I slowly raise my head from a pillow. Nothing looksfamiliar. Ouch my head. I have I been abducted by aliens or some cult. I hopenot. “Everyone thinks they are a writer now a days”, says a male swank Britishaccent in the distance. I slowly tip toe out of bed. Very empty bedroom. But itmanages to have a stripper pole. I don’t want to know. Definitely a bachelor’spad nightmare. I walk to where the voices are. There is Jake and some tight ina suit. “Hey Roger have you met Ms. January Lane?”, says Jake. My stomachgrowls from eye connection of a nice yummy spread of bagels, jam, cream cheeseand coffee. “Oh the bloggist”, Roger sneers. I wave. I don’t know why I didthat. “Bloggist?”, Jake asks and hands me a plate and a mug. “Sounds moreappropriate than blogger”, Roger says. “Really? Why is that?”, I inquire. Ishove the bagel of heaven in my mouth. “Because you are basically raping thewritten word. Just getting it in and out in a flash before anyone knows youhave invaded their mind”, Roger justifies. I can’t fight him on that. Eventhough I want to. “I never claimed to be an expert. I just write what I knowand think and feel”, I defend “Yes. But does every woman with a computer haveto sob about looking for Mr. Big”, Roger pleads. "I write about being asingle twenty-something girl juggling it all. Which isn't easy by the way. Thegirls in Sex and the City had their careers and all established. All they hadto find is the Ken doll to go with it. I am not looking for Mr. Big…justsomething BIG", I defend. “Firecraker”, Roger says with excitement.“That’s my girl”, Jake cheers. “Actually I like your blog. It is a dirty littlepleasure of mine”, Roger praises. “Oh. Thank you”, I say shyly. I haven’tfigured it out yet but I get all bashful with praises. I need to work on that.“Yea. But you can do better than that Kyle dude”, Jake interjects. “Who do youpropose? You? I think not”, Roger derides. I bury my sorta smile in my mug fora sip.

Where?

2011-10-15T09:00:00.000-07:00

I sluggishly wander back in my favorite café in West Hollywood. The whole gangis here: Tasha, Georgia, Melody, and Dale. I slouch in the comfy booth. I am solagged I can’t even lift my hands to wrap around the hot mug. “You look likecrap”, Tasha loudly confirms. “Thanks Ta”, I say slowly. I look up in my dark glassmaze. “Everything ok girl?”, Dale checks. “Oh yea. I just enjoyed first classtoo much”, I joke. Ouch. Everything hurts. “So why are you here?”, GA rudelyasks. Thanks GA. Just like her. Throw me under why don’t you. Don’t laugh. “Howdo you tell your boyfriend that he isn’t your muse but someone else is?”, Isincerely question. I couldn’t tell them who the muse is they would commit me. Tasha,with her baby boy twin in arm, questions, “Seriously? That is the dilemma youcame back for?”. “No not really. T wants me back for something. But it isserious. Does it mean that it is the end for me and Kyle?”, I ask. “I don’tthink so. You guys are great together”, Melody screeches. “Really, I came upwith this list”, I add. I gingerly pull out my ipad and show them my pros andcons list on e-notepad. “Where do I go from here?”, I ask. I search in alltheir faces for an answer.

Who?

2011-10-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

Photo: YaiSirichai

As soon as I heard the door shut I knew I should have jumpedup and looked like I was typing. Instead I was tangled in pillows, sheets anddoubt. “I thought you were writing”, GC says. Whoa that isn’t what I expectedto see. I cover myself quickly and look up to see GC holding my ragdollboyfriend. “I was”, I answer. He slowly plops down Kyle on the bed. “Whathappened?”, I interrogate. GC sits on the edge of the bed. I draw up my feetjust in case he needs room. “Oh he felt guilty and took it out on a few bottles”,GC asks. “Guilty?”, I ask with puzzlement. “I don’t know. Something about not beingsupportive enough for you”, GC sighs. Now I feel guilty.

“He said you were goingat it all night and morning”, GC adds. “Yea well my muse wasn’t here to keep itgoing”, I say. “Well that is good you have one”, he sincerely says. He smiles.Great smile. Then he gracefully stands up and heads to the door. “I’ll let youget back to work”, he mentions. He turns around. “I want to read it soon”, headds. Then my muse disappears.

When?

2011-10-13T20:22:00.001-07:00

Photo: Nutdanai Apikhomboonwaroot

I sit at the desk in our nuvu (new and retro at thesame time) designed hotel and tap away on my MacBook (love my Apple…thank you Mr.Jobs…you will be missed). “How long are you going to sit around in your underweartyping?”, Kyle grunts. “Until I finish on these edits. You know I havedeadlines”, I answer with cheer. Now I didn’t really have a deadline but itwould help if I finish my real true first novel. That would make me a writer. Notjust a blogger that can write. “Well we have another junket to go to in aboutan hour”, he taunts. I hate when he is under pressure. It makes my lifedifficult. “Baby, you can go without me this time, right? Great, thank you”, Isay quickly. I jump up and give him a kiss and then focus back on my creativejuices. “Yea. I guess so”, he mumbles. He sighs and quietly walks out. As soonas the door closes my fingers stop typing. I turn to the door and then look back to the bright screen.

How?

2011-10-12T09:49:00.000-07:00

I sit at the empty hotel bar with my ipad and a glass of liquid hope.There has to be some inspiration lurking somewhere. “What’s wrong Jan?”, GCinquires. He startles me out of my thought of nothing. “Oh just working onsomething”, I say. I hope I was convincing but I doubt it. He sits next to me.“I’ll have what she is having”, GC says to the bartender. He turns to me andsays, “Seriously?”. “Not really. It is more like trying”, I confess. I closeout of Final Draft (my handy dandywriting program). And I don’t know why I will say this. “Everything comes easyto you”, I remark. He chuckles. “Oh really”, he adds. “Watching you is likewatching Bogie in Casablanca.Completely flawless”, I defend. “It just looks like that. It is far from it”,he says. He takes a drink. “Well you have it down however you do it”, Ipraise. “So you are working on Porsche’s new nightmare”, he surprises. “Howdid you…”, I ask. “I heard but wasn’t sure until you confirmed earlier”, headds. “More like was”, I confess.“Good for you. You deserve better work”, he says. “Or a younger sugar momma”,I remark. “Oh you too huh?”, he jokes. “Yea”, I answer. “What’s next?”, heasks. “I really don’t have anything lined up. But I bet T is working on it”, Isigh. “Gives you time to work on your stuff”, he gleams. “Which is great bythe way. You just need to finish it”, he adds. He downs his drink and digs in hispocket. He throws a twenty on the bar and stands up. “The secret to it all isnot to fight it. Just re-read what you wrote and find the reason why you wantedto write it in the first place. And never be afraid to take a chance”, headvises. I smirk and look at my handy device. Then I look at him. He is sodreamy. He excuses himself and walks in the darkness behind me. I have to handit to him he always seems to show up at the right moment. I sit in a daze for afew moments. Then I finger press open my work in progress and start reading atpage one.

What?

2011-10-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

Photo: luigi diamanti

So after all the circus of the "show and tell" we add more to the exhaustionand go to a charity dinner at Nobu. To add to the fun we go with the main cast,the producer guy I never met before and whoever else is part of the creativeelite. Many glasses of white wine and overpriced unpronounceable entrees later,some well-known middle-aged actress (in a dress for a seventeen year old) bendsover Kyle. I bet GC and his lady enjoyed the scenery of plastic and lines. “Thescript was lovely. You have an award hit on your hands there Kyle.”, she says.“Well you can thank January for saving the film.”, GC praises. “Why?”, sheharks. “She rewrote the script.”, GC answers. “Oh wow. Isn’t that spectacular.”,she remarks. “Yes. It is. You should have seen the original. Oh you didn’t, didyou?”, Penny adds. The actress sneers and walks away to another table. I hadthe actors on my side as my man sat on my side. “Don’t worry, she smooches withevery director to try to find work.”, Penny jokes. “My neck is stillrecovering.”, Kyle adds. “She was on you pretty hard.”, GC remarks. Everyonelaughs.

Why?

2011-10-07T17:31:00.000-07:00

Photo credit: tungphoto

I watch as Kyle packs his bags. Oh don’t worry. He isleaving on business. He gets to promote (his “baby”) Why?. “You know you can come along.”, Kyle suggests. “Oh no, thisis your moment.”, I defend. “Exactly. Plus you are the writer so this is asmuch your film as mine.”, he says. He leans in and plants that “come on do whatI want” kiss.

Me and Kyle, dressed to kill, walk past the lobby crowd tothe conference backstage. I try my best to follow Kyle but I lose him to a seaof lights and people. Usually I can handle this but usually there is a waiterwalking around with something to take the edge off. I continue to try to makemy way through. Somehow I get shoved or I trip into a guy (probably the latter).So embarrassing. I look up and it is GC. “Hey you.”, GC shouts. “Hey back.”, Isay coyly. “So how is the writing coming along?”, GC. “The blog is doinggreat.”, I answer. He gives me that “now you know what I was talking about”look. I look down and say, “Oh that. Well that has been on sorta a mini-vacation.With the TV show and all. It has been a little hectic.” He grabs my hand andwalks forward and leads me through. “What TV show? I didn’t know you werewriting for a show?”, he says with glee. I squirm around for a worthy answer.But I can’t. “Oh it is just some political dramedy pilot. It is a disasterreally.”, I shrug off. Then we stop in front of the curtains. He slowly lets goof my hand (now it may have been faster in real time). “You still doing thatsecret thing?”, GC whispers. Then out of nowhere, “What secret thing?”, Kyleasks. In a flash, I am saved by the press. We all sit down at the panel. Oh boy,there is a mic in front of me. I look at the other panelists. Penny Nichols (strikinglead actress…I think it is her strawberry blonde hair that does the trick) andGC look so relaxed. Kyle looks like he has a bunch of emotions swarming. And me? Idon’t even know why I am here.

One

2011-10-06T09:25:00.000-07:00

Photo credit: Paul

As I write this on a napkin and enjoy my giant waffle platter by m-y-s-e-l-f. I realize this is nice. I noticed to myself thatI am happy and feel like myself. No one to impress. No one to interrupt. No onethat rubs off on you (good or bad). I know some will want to slap me sillybecause I used to write about being lonely and miserable and now I am whiningabout being cluttered and pulled. But you must understand that the overwhelming balancetilted a full one hundred and eighty degrees to the other end. Sometimes youneed to jump up and down on the high-rise until you feel back to even. Andright now is perfect just to be. Yum.

Redemption

2011-10-05T10:40:00.000-07:00

He taketh and then he giveth it to you. Now you maynot like what is given in return of what he takes. My empty jail cell with nobars and all windows is this in between period of waiting on what is next in mycareer and relationship. Some would say I have it all already.

Photo credit: Salvatore Vuono

But as I lookaround at this tower that I stuck me into I wonder if I have reached mypotential or there’s more in store for me (maybe a pun not sure there). Thenagain it is up to me, isn’t it? They can set up the show but you have to cometo it and perform your heart out of it. But you have to want it first, right?

Haiku for No One

2011-10-04T08:48:00.000-07:00

Holes in the jeans and cracks on the floor. Dropsfrom the ceiling as the rain pours. I jump in my car for shelter. The rear viewglance fogs up. Here is something for thought. What is more important? No onegives a (insert your own expletive) until you are gone. The pain of the heatcomforts me to make me strong. But only for a moment.

Knows Best (Part 1: Just the Beginning)

2011-10-03T13:11:00.001-07:00

You all know I am the Queen of awkward moments. Matter offact you will see my big silly picture on wikifor “awkward” (and sometimes “wt?”). I know I have a hard time laughing atmyself. But this was so not comical. Kyle decided to have us drop in to thein-laws by surprise. Mind you that it would be the first time I would meetthem. Mind you that I dressed for just a weekend day out on town (hair pulledback and up because too lazy to flat iron). When his mother opens the door Iimmediately fell out of my league. I never use that much starch and it shows incomparison. I don’t know if it was an act or if it is “who is this againlooking through the corner of her eye” reaction. His mother looks away and makesa remark under her breath. I guess I wasn’t good enough as a present for herbirthday. I don’t blame her. Maybe if I had known I could have jumped out of acake and it may have been sweeter for her. I know her husband and otherrelatives would have loved it. But no, I had to have judgment cast on me. Ilook around hoping the punch is enhanced and that someone will pin the tail onme.

Of course, I have to go through the torture of the infamousdinner scene. But it is worse. I do not fit in with my own family and this wasmix-matched beyond compare (and no I can’t play the multiracial card here…someonealways finds something that’s opposite). I am still under the impression thatdinner tables are made to intimidate the persons in the middle. His father bringsup the fact that we are both in the liberal arts and neither one of us hasanything solid as a career. His mother asks what college I went to and wants toknow all about my family. I want to shout something but do not know what thatsomething is. But as the evening went on I was starting to question if I amworthy of Kyle and if we are a good match. Things like this make you not wantto be in a serious relationship. They are that good.

Knows Best (Part 2: There is More)

2011-10-03T13:09:00.001-07:00

After we said our goodbyes and fake signs of affection wedrive away into bliss. It is silent. Everything is great. But that self couldn’t hold it any longer. Ladiesyou know “her”. She calls “BS” and goes through the list of crap you have hadto go through in ten seconds and slings back. “Thanks by the way.”, I say . “OhI am glad you loved it.”, Kyle smiles. “No”, I flatly add. “What?”, he questions. He looks lost. This makes itworse. He didn’t notice. Now this is the point where you are suppose to control“her” before she makes you look crazy. He made an even bigger mistake when heasks, “You want to talk about it?” What do you think this is? Just me makingnotes for the “conversation”. Hepulls the car over. My chest wrenches tight and I leap out. He jumps out andasks, “What’s wrong?”. I rear my head and I explode. “You basicallyassassinated me in front of your folks. We were supposed to just go out on a“fun day” (I did the quote marks in the air and all). I wasn’t prepared formeeting your folks. And they sure weren’t ready for me. Not to mention I looklike a nobody without a present for your mom. And when the inquisition startedyou didn’t defend or help me or us. And not to mention you keep bringing upkids. I don’t want kids!”, I spew. That last part was the crazy out of nowherepart. “I what? Calm down. What’s the big deal? I thought it would be great foryou all to meet each other during a great time. And I only brought up the kidsthing ‘cause you were talking about how great having Tasha’s twins for a day.”,Kyle defends. Why do men do that? They think it will be better to surpriseeveryone at a so-called happy get together. No! I shouldn’t have to sufferbecause you can’t plan. God forbid you have to remember something outside ofsports stats and porn stars. And just because I make a comment doesn’t mean Iwant that. Get a clue they are Tasha’s kids for a reason. Not mine. “Calm down?What’s the big deal? Y-o-u thought it was a great idea?”, I roar. “Yea! Andthey loved you.”, he cries. I had to come back with something. “How do youknow?”, I shout. “’’Cause they said so.”, he adds. “Your dad doesn’t count.”, Isay. “It was my mom and aunt Janet.”, he sighs. “Oh”, I whisper. The momentwent awkward. I felt that out of body experience of “oh wt?”. We stand weakfrom the verbal battle with that look of “don’t know why it started in thefirst place”. He walks over and wraps his arms around me. “You still doubtme.”, Kyle questions. All I can do is bury my head in his shoulder.

I am (Part 1: Unfinished)

2011-10-01T10:44:00.000-07:00

In a teeth-brushing wander I see Kyle’s distant blur in themirror and it leads me to ponder around a comment he said last night. I have toquestion the question. My cynicism doesn’t mean I am not grateful. My quasi OCDcomplex doesn’t mean I don’t like disorder I just like things to be where Iremembered them last. But last night I had to be in rare form. The rare formwas egged on by something. But now someone had to bring up that topic (AGAIN). I don’t know if I can do the kids thing.Babysitting for friends is fun ‘cause I can give them back and not lose money. Mydefense to him was “just because every one in Hollywood is having a kid for thefun of it doesn’t mean we have to.” The truth is I don’t have the time andenergy for two. What makes the equation equal to more is good? I know I amsupposed to want this (my twenties isflying by me and I have my ducks in a row) but…is that what I am.

I am (Part 2: Finished)

2011-10-01T10:41:00.000-07:00

“What’s wrong with this picture? Shouldn’t I be being askedto be his “forever” and instead he wants to bring up being my “baby’s daddy”?”,I shout across the table. I pound my fist making our delectable delightsrattle. “Well it probably isn’t like that”, Melody coats. You have to hand Itto her she really knows how to bring sunshine to anything. She would make yousympathize and rethink your high and mighty self. She continues, “He is justexcited and wants to share and experience more with you. And you yourself havesaid over and over how you don’t want to get married. So what is the next step?”“Okay, I get the point Mel!”, I scold. Then her smile wipes away and her doeeyes looks down. I fell worse now. I ease my hand out to hers. “Sorry, just abad day overall for me.”, I explain. “Oh that is okay.”, she coyly says. But itwasn’t. None of this is okay. I have to tell Kyle this. I just have to. Thedoor opens and the bell rings clear. Kyle struts in and plants a kiss on myforehead. Usually a kiss would make it all right but here goes…nothing. I openmy mouth. Pick up my hot chai tea. Look over to Kyle. And sip quickly. Ouch! Atthis moment, tongue burning seems less painful than “that talk”.

Don't Let Me Down

2011-09-24T15:08:00.000-07:00

Trying to make your own sometimes can fog your purpose all together. You think you are getting ahead of the game; however, the game has changed and you are behind it all. What do you do when you are beat down and can’t get back up no matter how much cheering you hear from the crowd? I threw the thoughts around in my mind but it couldn’t distract from Georgia’s casino themed party for some hotshot venture capitalist she met somehow. I don’t wanna know how so I probably blocked it out. But anyways she leans over (well I know why she is wearing that dress now…made my imagination disappear) and whispers, “I am secretly hoping he funds my new social media idea”. “So you went in debt to throw him a birthday party?”, I questioned. She quickly says, “No. I had a little something left over and thought he would like it.” I give her that “really” look. “That is all.”, she defends. That means she sold something of value for this. She grabs a tray of cute little food teasers and storms off to him. In a sweeping speed, I grab a sparkling swirl of happiness and guzzle it down. That wasn’t enough. Maybe more. So I flag the waiter down. More like stalk him and snatch two drinks. I stroll over to the roulette table where my darling is (I figure if I call him pet names it may make me more…I don’t know). Kyle grabs one of my drinks thinking it was a “his and hers” moment. I wanted to fight over it but it wasn’t worth it. I wanted to say just because we are a couple doesn’t mean we have to share everything. I wanted to scream I am tired of this. But I figured that it was a bad mix of GA and liquid assertion. I figured I had some kind of chance maybe but I left it alone…this time around.

Stuck on You

2011-09-24T14:51:00.000-07:00

“You do what you want with him. But whatever you do honey…don’t move him in.”, scuffs Georgia in her usual glamarella way. I think to myself to validate my decision. “Well, we have known each other for two years now. I don’t think it is too fast.”, I defend. She answers, “Who cares about fast. I was talking about having to be stuck with him.” “Being stuck to him is nice though.”, Carmeleon puts her two cents in. They hi-five each other like giddy cheerleaders. As I look into my piping hot mug of tea, I wonder if I am already stuck or not. And is that a good thing? I might not mind for him to be around but not like an accessory (even though he makes my apartment look good). I don’t know but I working on this “commitment issue” that T slams me for (mostly about my career choices…okay, maybe it is only about my writing come to think about it). I can’t even commit to a thought right now. Okay, I will just jump up and walk out of the café for now. Or maybe not. Maybe I am stuck…here.

The Show Must Go On

2011-08-12T18:23:00.000-07:00

While the pressure cooker calmed down a bit I decided to slip out on a jet plane to the city. It was a good excuse to give me and Kyle some space. I had to think and be me for a bit. Maybe I would appreciate him more. You know with that distance makes the heart grow fonder thing. So I drop in on an old friend Jonathan Marcus, (yea he has two first names). He suggested we catch up over adrenaline rushing concoctions.

In a whole in a wall trendy café, I strut in with my best Tory Burch outfit. I look around for a familiar face through the buzz. Nothing. “It’s the blog lady!”, a high-pitched male voice shouts. I turn and see that he hasn’t changed much. He is still tall, dark and bubblegum cute. Darn, he traded his dreads for clean-shaven. “Ha ha”, I smirk. “So what you think?”, I shyly ask. “It is quirky.”, he answers. “Quirky?, I defend. “In a cute sorta way.”, he jokes. “I know it has been lacking lately but I have been pulled every which way.”, I squander. “Oh no, it is just starting to get juicy. Tell me more about this Kyle guy.”, he counters. Panic hit my throat and stomach. He sits there anticipating something. Say something January. “You are on Broadway now! Wow.”, I cheer. That is all I could say. Pathetic. I should blame it on being overwhelmed. But I know better. I am too busy trying to avoid my crazy world. “Yes. And the best of it is that the New York Times loves it.”, he adds. “ You have made it big if you are in NYT.”, I praise. “Anyways, back to your guy.”, he says. I was trying get away from it all. I shrug. “Well. I don’t know. There isn’t much to add to the blog and what you already know about him.”, I say. “You seem to really like him. And besides he sounds like a catch.”, he adds. I guess he hasn’t read the most recent posts or he would know that I am thinking about throwing my catch back in. So to not let him down I say, “Oh yea he is a sweetie and a hottie. The two things a girl wants.” Ugh. Seriously. I said that. I just look around and gulp my steaming drink down my throat.

Later that night, I went to Jonathan’s play and it was great. It had me laughing and crying in all the right spots. I guess relationships are like that too. I should give Kyle a chance to be him and instead of me trying to hold on to me.

Dead End

2011-08-12T17:26:00.000-07:00

As I window dream myself out of the conversation Georgia pulls me back in with, “It is better to have someone instead of being alone.” I ditzy my way out, “What?”, I say. Georgia digs her nose in her favorite celebrity smut mag and continues on as though I didn’t answer. “You just have single girl syndrome. You think you remember what it used to be like and it was better. Well it wasn’t.”, she adds. Great, I am getting love advice from the party gold digging queen. “Yes you are honey.”, she fires back. Oops did I say that out loud. I hate when that happens. “Is everything so simple to you?”, I snap back. “Yes. And you really do need to have fun. Plus he is yummy cute too.”, she says smoothly. Fun? We are past that point aren’t we?

Detour

2011-06-16T18:47:00.000-07:00

Why do we make it so hard on ourselves? Shouldn’t life be easier? Not as complex or difficult. I tried to skip over roadblocks and still came back to the guy that is smiling at me now. I look up at Kyle and give a cheesy “hi there”. Then I go back to brushing my teeth wondering “what if”. I should be happy right? I should because he has the full package (in more ways than one) but my gut wants to take another path to my happiness. Why do I have the tendency to take the “w” in we and grab and throw it down until it is an “m” for the sake of messed up me? I don’t know. I want to be an “us” but I love “me” more.

Life’s A…

2011-06-15T13:11:00.000-07:00

..soundtrack…if I would look at my lifeline it would start with Stevie Wonder’s “She’s Lovely” then go to…Guns N Roses’ “Every Rose Has A Thorn”…now it is P!nk’s “F**kin’ Perfect (that is the real title people). I have explored with life as you can see. Just like pop charts nothing seems to last but it tends to recycle. I don’t know what I want my next Top 5 to be. But I know I want something different this time around. But what happens when the music is over will I be left with loud silence?

Just dropped in…

2011-06-15T13:08:00.000-07:00

My condition is no match for myself. I stare at the crated ceiling. I don’t know if there is anything that can help me to recover. Now that my boss had made the situation interesting and T is worried about me involved in the writing group. Something about retaliation for “not taking her up on her offer”. To tell you the truth I am enjoying the gratification. Of course, it doesn’t stop there. She wants me to work on a web series idea as well. How about just working on a book? I slowly crackle out of bed. I head towards to the kitchen. Oh nice there is a hot guy on my couch. Wait a minute. That is Kyle. I stop and stand in disbelief. Kyle is on my couch. I do a mini “happy” dance trying not to wake him. Major fail. He turns over to see me standing there looking at him. “Hey there baby doll.”, Kyle says. Oh great he doesn’t think I am a weirdo. “Hey there.”, I shyly answer back. He jumps up. Then he looks at me with those hazel dream eyes and kisses me (so romance novel right here but I don’t care). I linger in the moment of his nice soft full lips. Then he leads the way to the kitchen holding my hand. Oh so yes. I think I am good for now.

Coming Out

2011-05-13T12:22:00.000-07:00

Another visually numbing party for the lucky devils that made it to the top of la la land for some good cause. I listen to another sloppy butchery of words in my ear that was supposed to have a joke in there somewhere. He is supposed to be some kind of “big wig”. The only thing of it all that I can put together is “big” and “joke”. He finally comes to the punchline. Everyone in the huddle is “knocked out” in an awkward silence. Then the laughs trickle in. I mumble into my glass as I take a drink, “This is a joke.” “I love people who are so full of themselves.”, answers Porsche. She brushes up against me. I turn to notice her glassy eyes and slick smile. She points and asks, “You want another?” “Sure.”, I confirm. She waves at someone. In an instant, a waiter comes over. “I love people who can get things done.”, I state. She grabs pink champagne for me and her. While she hands me a glass, “I love you. You are my favorite writer.” She then leans in and plants her lips on…my lips. Whoa! A surge of instant gratification and shock shoots through me at the same time. I try to back away but she keeps on me close. “I hoped you liked all the presents I sent you.”, she adds. Should I be flattered or worried? I panic sorta. Not for the fact that she kissed me. Big deal a “kiss” but what if she is “psycho”. Is this like “Misery” but Kathy Bates is a hottie with money and power? “It was you?”, I shout. “Yes. Who did you think it was?”, she questions. She goes in for another kiss. I pull back. Then out of the crowd, Kyle stands with a “wt? but that was kinda cool” look on his face. I look at Kyle for a moment but then I look down. “I do not know. I thought it was someone but I never thought it would be…you”, I stutter. She notices Kyle. “He is cute but he couldn’t please you like me.”, Porsche. He is hot! I guess my thought slipped out because her face tells me so. She walks up to him and looks him down. He looks uncomfortable. She stands against him and looks at me and says, “When he is done tramping over your heart I will be here waiting for you.” Then she disappears within the crowd. Kyle sighs with relief. He walks over. “What was that all about?”, he asks. I just laugh and shrug my shoulders. He swiftly pulls me close to him and invades with a deep kiss. I guess I got “it” like that.

Pour It On

2011-05-13T11:36:00.001-07:00

Some look at the glass half empty or full I just see it as a need for a refill. To add to the fun I have a new official job other than writer and it is editor. Thanks T. They say it has to go worse before it gets better but how long will the tunnel be dim and uncertain. I could cry in a corner but I rather pour salt on the glass than on the wound. So I ask for my more and say “C’mon bring on the madness.”

Write Down

2011-05-13T11:11:00.000-07:00

Sipping black coffee and staring at the bright screen waiting for “Ms. Inspiration” to show up in my mind. The blog thing is nice and all but the fried chicken and greasy collard greens of writing (for me anyways) is pouring myself out on a manuscript. But I do have to admit everyone’s attention spans are getting shorter by the day. Even I am guilty of it. We live in a time where we get news from twitter instead by newspaper. Are we better connected with all this social media? Or we more isolated than ever? Can we regain the attention needed from texts and video chat? Are 140 words enough to express ourselves? Can I capture an audience for two hundred pages? Or should I stick with the sweet bits here and there? Do I have more in me? I think “yes”. At times I feel the need to expand my literary horizons. I believe now is the time to let down my hair and throw around some words and see where it goes.

Gray

2011-04-16T10:35:00.000-07:00

Is the world still my oyster like it was when I was seven or so I was told then? But now, I am not too sure if it is or not. Each day things become less definite. Are we really sure about the things that we are sure about? I thought I knew this game but as I play in it more the more it changes. So I sit here being the “yes” girl to make it easy instead of being. Just as I thought it would be predictable Porsche is being unusually nice to me since I gave in. It is actually scary but at the same time it is an ego soar. She has been going out of her way to make sure everyone is accommodating me. But at the same time I feel the animosity from the others (didn’t remember that was in the agreement…isn’t he enough). Oh yes, there are others other than Vince and I. The others that they pulled are fresh on the scene with papers in hand to prove that they learnt how to write (ha ha). Oh there is that one (Scott) that keeps telling everyone that he wrote episodes here or there on a hit show (I can’t recall the name…I guess not much of a hit). On my report card it is noted that I am learning to play well with others. So as I go from writer room to my room and back I wonder what is in store for me. Who draws the line? And where does it go? So far the line has major issues with jumping around in and out of focus.

Revolver

2011-03-24T09:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we go through the perpetual revolving door over and over again. Seems like we don’t learn from our lessons. And believe me I was reminded (by T), as I sit in the principal’s office chair. I was reminded that I have to “work with others to build my persona”. She also pointed out that “lighting the bridge with a blowtorch is not the way to go”. “Hey I thought it would be fun.”, I joke. She doesn’t laugh. “It was not fun.”, she scolds. “But I am glad you have come to your senses and is back on the project.” I am? All I could say is, “You are welcomed.”. I jump up to the door before I get into any more trouble. “Jan!”, she yells. I turn around with my hand on the knob. “Don’t mess this up.”, she adds. “Yes ma’am”, I answer. I give her a salute and then I dash out. Not sure if I learnt anything but I know I am quite dizzy and for now I just want to stand still for a bit.

Mystery...continues

2011-03-24T09:34:00.000-07:00

Just as I close my door there is a knock. I go into that Matrix inner dialogue moment wondering if I shall pretend that I am not here but what if they saw me and they know I am here. I give up. I spin around and swing the door open and it is Porsche, the producer lady from that horrible TV pilot project. Wow! What is she doing here? Maybe T is up to this to get me to reconsider so she can make that ten percent off of nothing. I guess when I said “I didn’t care” and “I would pay back whatever” it got to her. Porsche walks in without my invite to say “come on in”. But I can’t be mad at her because when you are “her” you can do that. She slides down onto my couch and starts with the begging, “January, I know Vince can be a little to deal with. That is why we wanted you on board, so it would balance everything out.” I answer, “There is no balance no matter who you partner up with him.” I plop down on the other end of the couch. “He respects you. He personally asked for you.”, she adds. Now the truth comes out. The producers didn’t want me. It was the crazy writer who wanted me on his project or they would can it. “Oh I see”, I sigh. Maybe he is the mystery person. Oh yuck. Gross. I have to get that thought out of my head. “So it was Vince that wanted me…on board for his project?”, I question. She reaches out and holds my hands. “I convinced him that you would be a good fit. If you make him think it is his idea he will go with it.”, she reveals. “Stroke his ego so to speak.”, I add. She answers, “Yes. He is one of those types.” “Oh I see.”, I say. I had to say something but I didn’t know what to say. “So you will come back and make this a hit.”, she requests. Then she springs up and struts out in perfect timing. I guess she has the final say. Or not.

Lucky

2011-03-17T12:30:00.000-07:00

I guess today is my lucky day because I am wearing that magically delicious color. Yes, I am still chasing after the rainbow. Sometimes I get caught in the blue ring and other times I bounce from each ring in a day. And let me tell you it is freaking long because it looks like it will never get to the surprising end. Every now and then, I notice a glare here and there that fools me into believing it is a glimmer of gold. Which makes me continue on my journey to getting lucky. But then again my name isn’t Patrick is it. And I am surely not a saint. All I can do is what we will all do. I will wear green (I still think real Irish wear black). I will stuff myself with what seems traditional (fun and more fun). And then hope the leprechaun gives me three wishes (isn’t he like a genie) or that I don’t have to fight him for my prize at the end. Until I meet him, I will just raise my glass to today and make a toast to the past and to a colorful future. Now that I got the sappy stuff out of the way…Happy freaking St. Patrick’s Day! Now that is charming.

Mystery

2011-03-16T12:09:00.001-07:00

In an overdesigned hotel lobby, being grilled for an interview wasn’t on my wish list to do today but somehow I am doing it. The ditzy interview chic (not even going to assassinate her physical appearance because she is doing a good job at that on her own) distracts my daydreaming with asking, “So what’s this rumored mystery blog all about?” Well lady you said the keyword mystery.

Image by Master isolated images

It is a mystery for a reason. I answer, “I don’t know. Just something to do.” Then she goes to try to pry more but I just start mentally floating again and wonder “who” the mystery person is that is still sending me gifts. They stopped for a while there but then started back up a few days ago. I look around at each usual suspect trying to guess who would do that to a person. Make them wonder for this long. This whole thing is agonizing. I haven’t heard from Kyle since Valentine’s Day and I can’t think whom else it could be other than the dude that took me on a blind date. But the dude is too goofy for something so smooth and romantic. Maybe I should just call Kyle and say thank you but what if it isn’t him and I make a fool out of myself. I guess I will leave things as is.

Losing

2011-03-14T12:17:00.000-07:00

A loser telling another loser that they have lost is a losing situation all around. However, you will always get that person who thinks they are expert in being the best of the best of something. And you know you are thinking “if your own advice didn’t work for you then why do you think it will work for me” while you politely nod your head and slip in a few “umm yea” as you sip your fruity drink at a new soon to be forgotten bar. Of course, your mind travels away from hideous words being thrown at it. Then you start asking questions. What’s with winning? How about losing? Let’s make a big deal about that.

Rebound (Again)

2011-03-13T22:05:00.000-07:00

After missing the shot in the game of love can you rebound in time to win the final score? And if so, by how much of a margin? Is each person just the stepping-stone to the next? And if you remember a few ‘nexts’ ago the new next isn’t always going to be great (just make history…history). How does one’s interests go from exploring to boring? Does one ever bounce back?

The Comedy of Errors

2011-03-08T12:47:00.001-08:00

…and other things that can wrong. And when I thought it couldn’t be any weirder in La-La land. It took a fast left turn on Crazy Lane. It started with a mistake on my behalf. I asked a question. And got an answer far from what I wanted. Instantly, I wanted to jump out when Vince (still creepy) said, “Now I know why a certain party is against birth control. More children equal more adults. More adults equals more taxpayers. I get it now. It is about the money not sincerity or the good of man. I want to focus on the deception and smoke and mirrors of it all. ” Yea I gave him the ‘wt?’ look too. How did he get that from what I had asked? I had asked if he thought the line of “I am pro anything. Mostly I am pro-me.” (I wrote that by the way) worked with the scene. At that moment he made all the recent Charlie Sheen intoxicated bipolar rants look sane. What did T have me sign up for? This can’t be right. This joke isn’t funny. There has to be a way to correct this. I usually give most a second chance but I think I will settle for one-day stand with this guy. In a cheap morning after moment, I stand up among the group and walk out without even saying a good-bye.

Headlines

2011-03-08T12:46:00.002-08:00

I know what ‘they’ will say. They will say I can’t work with other writers. They will say my ego defeated my goodwill. They will say a lot of things. But at the end of the day I have the last say on this sitcom called my life.

Dirty Laundry

2011-03-08T12:46:00.000-08:00

All loves a show especially when they are not in it. It is quite an accepted hypocrisy. Just like the scent of cigarettes and perfume among dazzling lights, fire twirling and glittering people. None of it mixes but it is there. These nights on the town make it hard not to be caught in the virtual madness of the smart phone eye. I just want to not be the known me. Not to be noticed. Not to be a night to remember. But then I remembered the song “Dirty Laundry”, as I saw the red light in the corner pointing at me. I pause to recite the lyrics as I look down at magical glass of forget-me-nots. Should I give them a show? Or should I leave it up to them to make up a story?

The Game (4th Q)

2011-02-28T12:09:00.001-08:00

Most of the time we don’t get to express ourselves or just react away from the original intention. The great thing about being a writer is that you get to say what you want to say. So I decided to just be a “yes” girl and to continue to rebel in private with my anonymous blog. It is liberating to do something that no one knows who you are. They can’t look over your shoulder and tell you “no-no”. I love creating her. I wish I were more like her alter ego. Or maybe the true me already is. Either way I plug away at the keyboard to make a new world of my own.

Secret

2011-02-28T10:37:00.000-08:00

After a long day of dealing with the controlled madness I come home to more presents from my secret admirer (SA for now on). This SA thing is spooky but intriguing at the same time. I still can’t figure out who it is. I am not sure if I want to find out either. But then again I am quite curious. Then my mind dreams on about what he looks like and how he may act. I hope he is tall (so I don’t look so awkward). He has to be handsome. Not in the ordinary guy way. But in the ‘I have to rip his Express dress shirt off’ kinda way. It will be a plus if he cooks gourmet (sorry guys a mean grilled cheese is not gourmet). I am a sucker for exquisite foods. And exquisite men too. I guess explains why I am alone most of the time. They are rare. Maybe this SA is one of them.

The Game (3rd Q)

2011-02-23T12:33:00.000-08:00

I just lounged around in my dark and semi-lonely (still have Bling around somewhere) loft to try to make sense of it all. Sometimes you have to get away. I had to bang around the notation that after the GC/Kyle project that my own agent thought it would be best to develop a TV series based not on my own writing but another client of hers. T said that “they” love my writing and that “they” want me to give this a go. They said a lot and somehow it ended in we don’t have faith in you or the other writer to be writers. At that thought, I slugged myself to my desk. It had all the comforts I needed in this world: my laptop, notes, books, and something in the bottom of a bottle.

What a Fool Believes

2011-02-23T12:31:00.000-08:00

If Shakes were alive now he would base his jester on me. I am confident of that. Enter stage left the jester walks among the worthy people (producer, director, and stars) at our story meeting court. I fumble into my seat hoping no one notices my last hard day’s night effect. Now I have to be honest here and confess that I have only read the first and last pages of this spec. So if they ask me what I think, I am just going to agree with what the top dog says to keep it safe.

The lady of the hour introduced herself as Porshe and that she loves the writing and wanted me on board to build a dynamic writing team. I must say I see why she is the producer because she has a presence that even I couldn’t blind behind my foggy shades. She made you want to be around her. She made you want to be her. Then she said that Vince’s (the creepy dude beside me) perspective is too dark and we need to lighten it up a bit. This is where I come into the grand plot of things. Somehow my specialty is comedy or light sarcasm that doesn’t offend much. She adds that they want to make it a political dramedy that touches on issues that affect eighteen to thirty-five audience.

To make sense of this I am the only one in this room that falls in that demographic and I can tell you that I don’t particularly care for this little violin movie of the week weak stuff. My demographic realizes that they have issues and that society has situations. And believe me we don’t need to be reminded of it. Also we could care less on a how-to fix your crisis in forty-five minutes that took a lifetime to develop. I wanted to comically say that but T would have my “you know what”. So I refrain…for now.

Cover

2011-02-18T08:49:00.000-08:00

I have never thought of myself as cover girl material. I have always figured that I am cute and trendy cause the mirror tells me so. It feels like am I looking down at myself as I am picked, pronged and colored into the look of the moment. I have done this before but never on this level. Apparently, you have reached “it” when you are on a fashion mag. Then the “it” feeling ripped away quick with the stylist having a fit that the pair of skinny jeans is not fitting. She yells at me that I was able to wear it at the fitting and what did I do. I countered her insults with telling her that she made a mistake. She assured me that it is a real size 8/10 (I am too tall and athletic to be a size 0 without looking like I am on meth) but I don’t know. She then pinched me on the thigh. Ouch! Those quads are not going anywhere chica. T rushes over to look at the disaster area that is me. ‘How could you get like this?’ was screaming from her face. Now I am a problem. I feel seven again. That feeling of being ashamed and embarrassed to be such a bother, a problem or so difficult for those in charge. It took a long time to get away from that frame of mind and I don’t want to visit there again. But I do have to be honest with myself. Okay, I have been enjoying good cuisine and there has been junk here and there…and I have slacked on the gym for a while but I couldn’t have gained twenty pounds and another dress size (OMGah or two) in a month. Or could I? Now I just want to sink down and disappear. Now I wish I was a size 0. At least they wouldn’t be making a big deal over it all. The stylist then handles me this spandex thing that might help to hold it all in. I fight to hold back the tears. I just pull them on. Then I close my eyes and wrestle with putting on these silly jeans. I keep my eyes shut because I am too afraid to see if I have failed or not. I hear a roar of giggles that affirm I have succeeded. One thing’s for sure there will be more of me on the cover so you will get your money’s worth.

The Game (2nd Q)

2011-02-16T08:40:00.000-08:00

You ever have the feeling that at times people want too much out of you? And it tends to be when you are wearing thin. Maybe what they want of you, you don’t have to give. And you try with all of your might. Sometimes you change for all the good and bad reasons. I want to rebel. I want to say I am tired of playing everyone else’s games. I want to be my own person not their product. I want to scream, shout and throw things with the strength that I have left. All I can say is, “I have a headache”. Then in an aching move I walk out of T’s office and refuse to respond to anything around me not even my annoying cell phone.

Labels

2011-02-15T12:27:00.000-08:00

…are no importance to me. On clothes or at people. GA says that is ridiculous and that I should be with her at NYC Fashion Week. But I think it is important to go through life freeform. Not to be held down by a status or definition. I like the mystery of letting it be. Are so concerned to contain everything? Will we loose grip if let it all go? Do we think we need an “identity” at all times? Would be so bad to not be caught in the hype of the name? What’s in a name really?

Roses?

2011-02-14T12:40:00.000-08:00

Photo credit: luigi diamanti

I have to say even after all that has happened in the last seventy-two hours it has been a very productive writing day at the coffee shop. At a twist of the door handle, it looks like it will be interesting. On my usually empty coffee table is a collection of vases of pink roses (my second fav color and my first fav flower). Then thoughts dashed in my head of “who” it might be. I rush over to find the note and it reads, “I love you. From you know who.” I guess it is Kyle trying to romance me. Or not. Or maybe it is the dude. Or maybe it is someone else. Maybe an ex (hey a girl can dream). Maybe I haven’t met him yet (stalker material there…I am just saying). Whoever it is, is so wrong to leave me guessing like this. Something so beautiful is causing panic. I guess the card is the greatest thorn of them all.

New Love

2011-02-14T12:37:00.000-08:00

I needed something to refresh me after the whirlwind weekend I had. But it was gone. It was no longer a choice for me today. So I had to improvise and chose something different but familiar. And now it is my new favorite. Dear skinny green tea latte I love you!

Red

2011-02-14T09:57:00.002-08:00

I see RED but not for a good reason. Nothing of importance that is. It just follows me around. Too bad that it is my favorite color or I would loathe it. Why did red have to be chosen for this bloody day? Shouldn’t it be yellow (I guess Easter stole that one) or something? Anything but red. It needs to be changed because today’s version of Valentine is watered down.

Be Mine

2011-02-14T09:57:00.001-08:00

So my so-called Valentine (a hook up of T’s) showed up late to our first date at some swank L.A. bistro. Shows how much he was thoughtful. He blamed it on writing (writers should never date other writers) he had to do and he lost track of time. Anyways we decided that Saturday night would be less congested for this so-called holiday. We were wrong. Shows you how long both of us have been out on this special weekend. I usually avoid it like the plague and eat bonbons while watching bad TV. The table waiting period at the bar was fun. At least I was able to calm my nerves with a few fruity specials. I couldn’t hear a thing he was saying and I was able to just mouth and nod my responses. Then in a heart crushing moment, I noticed a familiar beautiful man all dressed up. I tried to hide behind the sea of people. OMGah. He noticed me. Our eyes locked. He is so hot right now. I could just eat him up right now (emphasizing). I gulp down my LI Iced Tea. I look at boring guy talking on and on. I want to be standing over there with Kyle. I look back to Kyle. Oh his light blue shirt and black ensemble are bringing out the best of his puppy dog hazel eyes. He slings back a shot. I couldn’t see what it was from here. Then looks back at me with pain in those same eyes. Usually, it is a fifty-fifty probability that my relationships wreck because of both parties. This time I believe it was a hundred percent me. After the film, I just couldn’t step forward with him. I felt bad for him though. Just bad timing I guess. It looks like he never forgave me or himself.

Our freeze frame felt like it lasted forever. I don’t know if I breathed or not. I do know my heart stopped for a while. And then Kyle worked his way over to me and my date of the hour. As if it wasn’t awkward enough, Kyle introduces himself to what’s his name (I forgot…don’t judge me) and shakes hands and all. Wow. That shot must have been good. I think I might need one myself right now. “Hi Jan”, he says flirtatiously. He leans up close on me. I could smell his tantalizing cologne and soap combo and feel the warmth up against my dress. So wrong. I know what he is doing. He is getting back at me. And I am enjoying every minute it of it. He grabs my hand and excuses us from the dude (sounds better than the descriptions). He guides me over to a more secluded area (we all know it is the outside of the restrooms which will lead to somewhere else). He invades my personal space again. But this time he takes all of it. Where is that drink when I need it? Then he whispers in my ear, “You know what went wrong with us?”. I shake my head “no-ish”. He pulls away and looks deep into my eyes. He continues, “I wasn’t man enough.” He slowly slides his (soft) hands up and down my arm. “I was too busy caring about being proper and taking it slow. I was too busy protecting your heart.”, he reveals. What? Did that even make sense? I am going to blame part of that on the shot. I am starting to feel bad for the dude. Kyle dives in for a kiss. I coyly move away. And shake my head “no”. “I don’t understand. I thought you would want a conquest like you write in your blog.”, he defends. He knows something he shouldn’t know. How does he know about my other blog (which is fictional)? Poor guy. He doesn’t know any better. “It is because I love you that I am not going down this path with you.”, I answer. I place a full kiss on his smooth cheek almost clipping his mouth. Then I cha-cha my through the crowd. I pass by the dude and tell him “thank you for a nice evening” in a hurry. Then I walk out with the last bit of everything in me not to go back to him. Of course, the images flashing transparently while I hunt for my car didn’t help.

While turning the key, my imagination continues to run wild. I convince my other self that “yes it would have been nice to have an intoxicating evening with a beau but the suspense is much more intense”. Without hesitation, I jump in my muscle car and peel off on the main. Then the part I hate. Out of nowhere, the tears pour like champagne. Now my vision is blurred by all my decisions dealing with the man that I thought would be nice to have around for a while. What happened? I don’t know but I know it aches too much to think about it. I need something to get this feeling out of me. I can either go to the club and dance it away. Or go home and just try to sleep it off with lots of bottled comfort. I choose the latter because it sounded like the least amount of consequence. I race home to be safe. Or so I think. With the turn of the key and shove of the door, he was there. He beat me home. If there was going to be a guy to be let in why can’t it be the dude so I can just fall asleep? But no ”here goes trouble”. “What are you doing here?”, I asked Kyle. “To apologize for the way I acted at the restaurant.”, answers Kyle. “We sure apologize a lot to each other.”, I jab. If I stay mad at him I won’t cave in. “Nah. Just a little here and there.”, he amusedly adds. He continues, “All weekend I saw you there. I went there to forget you and you showed up anyways. But I can’t forget you.” Then I go to interrupt him but he is quick. He places his gentle finger on my lips. “Then I thought what if we quit this cat and mouse chase. What if we actually get together and I show you how I actually feel about you. Maybe I could capture your heart in a way that we could be.”, he adds. He then walks away to the door. Let him leave January. “But I guess it is better this way. If it is meant to be it will happen the right way.”, he ends. He blows me a kiss and disappears behind a closing door. Then there in a cupid’s flash Valentine weekend is gone. Now that is romance you can’t sell.

The Game (1st Q)

2011-02-13T15:39:00.000-08:00

My life has been full of random unwanted interruptions lately. I just feel invaded and at the end of the experience I am not the same. I am left with my crown in hand trying to explain to myself what happened. When the past is foggy it makes difficult to plot out the future. To make it worse you have to prove that you had “earned your MVP” over and over again. And if you prove too much you may be benched. Usually I feel that the flashing lights ware a bit too much but then I secretly crave for them to be there another day. Today wasn’t one of those days. Neither was yesterday.

Limbo

2011-02-13T14:36:00.000-08:00

Is it really that bad? I haven’t fully survived it yet so I truly don’t know. Technically, you are not high on a cloud and you are not kissing the ground. You have a chance to make it either way. I took some more advantage of my down time and hit the road and visited a friend that has been down on her luck. I had to because a telephone isn’t enough when you can hear the “the world is coming to an end” quiver on the line. I felt worse because I couldn’t do anything about it. Kinda like when I got that phone call last September that Ohio Jo is gone from my world forever. I deal with that late night on a daily basis. And now I have another friend that is backed in a stressful corner. Is this my chance to save her? I still blame distance on not being able to save my Jo. So I am making sure I bug my friends and family as much as possible. They may grow sick of me at times but I will be there If anything goes down. I know I am a mere mortal and I am limited. That is the thing about limbo. You are neither in heaven nor in hell. You are just somewhere.

Trapped

2011-02-09T18:41:00.000-08:00

If TV killed the radio star then what are reality TV and remakes doing? Seems like everyone is mentally lazy and doesn't want to truly create. We can’t get from the senseless distractions but if we do will we have anything left? I guess we are trapped on our own island.

Happiness…

2011-02-09T13:07:00.000-08:00

is a warm gun. If I can shoot it. At the mouth that is. The first round of shots was fired when some artist quack stated at the panel for “Future Creative Leaders” (don’t ask…T books them I just go) that “Anybody can be a writer.” My knowledge and talent was deflated to a common nothing. What happened to talent, hard work and practice? Better yet what about taking nothing and making something that someone can relate to? I wanted to say anyone can paint your four-year old-ish style paintings but I remained sociable to show to the youth group that he is a jerk and sometimes you just have to take it and look happy. All would have been fine had he left it there. But he pistol whipped me by continuing with “new literature isn’t valuable” and that “it is just regurgitated junk of past stories”. Now, I can partially agree with him on that but I am part of that new lit group. Then he went further to compare my blog and novel with being like a female F. Scott Fitzgerald (honored by that) and that it isn’t needed really. Seriously? Who is this guy? Why is he on this panel? Someone teach him how to draw first before he handles paint. Little did he know that I was a double major and I have the right to judge his art as well as my own. So I knew I could go all out and it didn’t matter I was still the better slinger. I fired my shot. “Everything is left for interruption. That is the beautiful thing about art or anything creative for that matter. As a writer, I can understand your perspective that we are all writing the same thing but different. However, just like with fine arts you learn from the classics to learn your style and something from the classics might be reflected but in a different way in your work. What is important is the expression and how it affects others.”, I defended. He went to say something but the clapping from around the auditorium banged through. Sometimes I have a way with words.

Turn the Page (Two)

2011-01-20T10:17:00.001-08:00

Enjoying my chai tea and tapping away on my Macbook (still looking for that endorsement Steve) until the inevitable Kyle interrupts with a harsh stare and silence. Somehow I failed. I could tell. I just wanted to hide behind my shades so I couldn’t radiate what shame I felt to him or the world for that matter. The conversation of nothing was killing me because my conscience was screaming. “You know we never said that we were official. Actually we never said anything.”, I defend. I painfully watch for some sign of acknowledgement. “True. Well we need fix to that don’t we.”, he answers back. I shrug my shoulders and under a sip say, “I guess so.” And that was that. Relationships have never been my strong suit. I just don’t wear it well somehow. Since so-called love has no label that I can identify with certainty it makes it difficult to see or feel that it is true. This next chapter is sure going to be a major performance curve.

Turn the Page (One)

2011-01-19T14:37:00.000-08:00

And it rips out of the book. Just like that. The story of my life.

They say it is…

2011-01-19T14:26:00.000-08:00

Why do we torture ourselves with reminding ourselves that we are getting older? I tried to not remind myself that another year passed me by and that I have lost some things (and ones) along the way. I tried really hard but all the usual suspects (Kyle, Carmeleon, GA, Melody, and countless others that I can’t remember) effectively dragged me out of my junk TV marathon and bonbons for a twenty-four hour whirlwind on the town. Of course, I grabbed a few friends of my own in order to numb myself. Just to balance things out, you know. I think it worked. Or at least from what I can recall. As the images interrupt my thoughts I think it maybe worked too well. My friends have a way of stripping me of all of my inhibitions and I run with it at times. This is one of those times. As I continued to drown myself in the chaos I forgot who I am to be. I forgot that I cannot be that writer that flies off at the mouth because I have some kind of public image to uphold according to T. Maybe I should have thought of that before I told GA really what I thought of her, kissed that strange hot guy and slammed to the floor of my loft door. Not necessarily in that order. I think. Just maybe. Maybe I don’t want to act my age. Maybe age is just a number. Either way they say it is my birthday. Happy Birthday to me!

On and On: Part Un

2011-01-07T14:34:00.000-08:00

It is the first day back on the set and I just want to blend in with the extras, crew and chaos. “January!”, a shout from a near distance. That is not so. Darn! I look around to notice the guilty party is GC. I can’t be too upset now. He scurries over with script in hand. “You did great kid.“ I smiled and just said, “Thank you.”, in that timid ‘I don’t deserve the complement way’. I finally glance around to avoid the eye contact (scares me at times…that window of the soul thing) and see Kyle staring at us from a far among the set chaos. Now if I was Kyle all the giggling and chatting may look like something more than two professional people in awe of each other’s talents (not that type of talent…head out of gutter people…geez). The reason I had to look at this perspective is because Kyle has been acting v. weird ever since the “January Lane Place Sessions”(sounds like a cool album doesn’t it…anyways) and looking at him now seems like he is getting weirder.

The DA calls for all the actors in this next scene (an awkward comical bedroom snippet) on the set. GC rushes off to play his part. I walk around slowly soaking in the organized craziness. At that instant, GC shirt goes off. Should I be here? I look at the script. I don’t remember writing that in. Oh well. I admire the view of the two beautiful people playing out a scene that I wrote. Was it meant to be that provocative or more witty like Woody Allen. Hmm…then my mind wanders maybe I should just trust the other artists and stop thinking about “provocative” and “woody” and “GC” in the same visual sentence. Then I think my thighs don’t look like that maybe I should do my treadmill sprints ‘cause the double body for the lead actress looks awesome. Kyle yells, “Cut!” He usually doesn’t yell on the set. He is more of personable director. Hmm…weird.

On and On: Part Deux

2011-01-07T14:29:00.000-08:00

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. Many chai teas and takes later, GC comes up to me and asks, “So I hope I didn’t disappoint.” He winks at me. George Clooney disappoint? Never. Then Kyle walks up and adds, “Disappoint at what, George?” GC just looks at him like he is confused (you know that look…if you don’t go to Netflix now and order every GC movie you can). Out of nervousness, I answer, “Oh no you didn’t disappoint at all. You were great actually.” And then I did that thing. I lit the match to the fuel that was lying between us. I tend to do that at times. I think I am being cute but others may not take it that way. “I can’t wait for more.” And I winked. “Good ‘cause that is the worst thing that I hope I don’t do. I have learnt to respect the script in and between the lines.”, GC adds. Then Kyle enflamed and yelled at us, “More like between the sheets. Shame on you Jan. I took you for a more posed woman not someone to sleep her way to the top.” You are with me if you are thinking, “Oh heck nah he didn’t”. Flirting is one thing to do but to call me “that” and be incorrect in front of everyone that has a cell phone and twitter account is so wrong. GC defends my honor and says, “Hey Kyle it isn’t like that. You know…I know better not to take advantage of her like that. Plus I have someone remember.” Kyle goes to say something but GC interrupts with, “I think you two need to work things out or something because we have work to do.” GC looks at me with pity and then looks at Kyle with disgust and then he walks off. “Seriously? What is your problem?”, I yell. “I thought you know.”, Kyle quietly answers. “Even if I did what is it to you anyways.”, I yell louder. I was angry and didn’t care what I was saying so it may not make sense from this point on. Kyle walks closer in my personal space. He adds, “I thought we had something for a while there. Was I wrong?”. OMGah to infinity.

“We had something? Us? Or do you mean you and Georgia?”, I yell still. Poor guy. Everyone is watching me go off on him and he is taking it. I start feeling like the bad guy here but it was too late I had gone pass argument point of no return. So I continue. “What am I supposed to think? You never mentioned the kiss. The next time we saw it each other was at the café and there was no sign of a connection or remembrance of that night”, I fire. “Well you didn’t ask about it.”, he defends. “Neither did you”, I sarcastically answer. I shove the script I was holding into his chest and I march away trying to fight the tears and fears. I hate emotions at times. Kyle goes to walk away in the other direction but then races over to me. “You.”, he says while pointing at me. “What now?”, I shoot back. “You really thought me and Georgia?”, he questions. An awkward pause lingers and then we both die laughing to add to the already confusing episode to our audience. Then a crewmember bumps into me and I almost spill my chai tea. It added to an almost bad day.

The Kids Are Not Alright #2

2011-01-04T11:21:00.000-08:00

As the piping hot dark liquid falls from the pot to the cup a loud thunk at the door disturbs the tranquility. I open the door and it is our fav person, GA. “I just came over to check on Bling”, she conveys. She enters in like the place is her own. I didn’t get a chance to say anything it was all GA. She grabs Bling and sits down where I was between Kyle and GC. I stand in looking at the disturbing picture as she gabs away about her holiday in Aspen with some group. Somehow everyone looks disinterested but we are verbally held hostage. “Well, I have to head out.”, GC says. “You sure you can’t stay?”, GA pesters. “Yea. I am sure.”, GC answers. He winks at me and in a smooth move disappears behind the door. I plop down in my chair as GA continues on on how I should have been there and it was the greatest vacation ever. I didn’t need to hear this now. I should have left with GC just to escape the mental torture. “Don’t you ever quit!”, transferred from my thoughts to my lips. Oops. The room fell silent. Then GA annoyingly giggles and says, “Jan you are just a a kidder.” I wasn’t kidding. I kept that thought inside thank goodness. Kyle stares at me as though he can read my mind. Maybe my facial expressions were giving me away. I look away from him to avoid his eyes and I notice that my manuscript has vanished. I nervously smile.

The Kids Are Not Alright #1

2011-01-04T11:07:00.000-08:00

The three and a half of us (GC, Kyle, Bling and I) lounge around my place (again) to work on some minor details on the script. GC turns from Kyle and asks me, “So January what are you going to work on after this disaster of a thing we want to call a film?” “I don’t know yet but I am sure T will come up with something for me.”, I answer. I look over to Kyle to see him clenching his jaw and pretending to read the new script. He was once such a heavenly desire to be around but this project seems to have stressed him out. He could take a few pointers from GC. What? It is true. Well you have Kyle and GC. Kyle is great in his own right but put him up to a seasoned man and he looks like a boy with his tail between legs. Anyways, he has GA as his newfound thing. Even though she does her own thing and is probably just using him as her toy into the industry. I swear it was more like I was improvising and not in a good way. But Kyle was hanging on to every word I said. GC then waves around some other papers on my desk. “What about these?”, he mentions. “Those are just ramblings that I hope to get contained into a novel eventually.”, I say. GC pushes it further with, “So what about the Confessions thing?” OMGah! He read that! Oh no. “Oh that is just a writing exercise.”, I say coyly. I had to divert attention from that somehow. “I like it. It would be pretty cool as one of your blogs or something like that.”, he adds. “You read my blog?”, I ask. Scared as (I don’t know). Just scared. “Not yet.”, he says.

Maybe

2011-01-01T17:43:00.000-08:00

As the ball falls, I think of the possibilities that may lie ahead, why can’t I have the storybook story? Shouldn’t I be entitled to it somehow? The little girl never goes away and she always sits looking out the window wishing upon the sky. As you may already know I do not do New Year’s resolutions because automatically life comes with wishes, decisions, changes and goals and why add more. But I feel a need to shift more to what the little girl inside of me wants. Maybe I can go after that storybook story. Maybe I can actually get it. Just maybe.

Give Me Another

2010-12-31T13:40:00.002-08:00

So another year is coming to a close and another one sliding in with all possibilities and obstacles. Did 2010 give us all that we wanted it to? Will we be glad to trade it in for 2011. Will the New Year bring a since of mortality or vanity?

Out of the Bag

2010-12-31T13:40:00.001-08:00

Georgia stopped by to spread the holiday cheer. I thought I would get some “ME” time after our stint in Vegas. But I kept the door open and I thought it would be fun to take a break and watch old holiday movies with Eggnog (the perfect kind) with someone. GA thanked me but said she didn’t have the time right now and some other stuff. I started to tune her out when she kept going on about nothing. Then she got my attention when said, “The new pad I am moving to won’t allow pets.” I was thinking mine doesn’t either because I like it allergy-free that way. Then she continued with, “I need you to look after Bing for a while if you don’t mind.” Bing? What kind of name is that for a pet? And then she plops this black with pecks of white fur ball in my arms. When I went to say sorry I can’t she beat me with, “Thanks.” For one I am not a pet person. Don’t get me wrong I like animals but they require attention, which I ran out of long time ago. And did I mention allergy-free? Did I also mention I love my things. She adds, “Don’t worry he has been fixed and all.” I am worrying. I don’t have the time to give it all that it needs. So while I try to explain to GA this matter she just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Such nonsense. He loves you. Look.” And there I was watching her walk out my door while I am left holding this little bundle of the unexpected.

Forbidden

2010-12-10T07:40:00.000-08:00

After my whirlwind adventure to Vegas and back I have to face the music. But before I do that I am going to my new place (in West LA) and just be for a few moments. I plop down on my sofa and just replay the last two days in my head and wonder what is next. I close my eyes and take a deep inhale just melt. I must have the worst timing because the door knock just now is on queue. Maybe if I just stay here they will go away. Maybe. Another knock. Wait for it. Just wait…for those footsteps to give you back your freedom. Another knock. Okay already. I jostle up and snatch the door open only to find either a mirage or a real GC. “Did you promise to call me?”, he starts with. “Yes I did. I forgot. I am…”, I apologize. “Lagging a little?”, GC jokes.” Yea, I guess.”, I say. He inquires, “How are those rewrites coming along?” A thought flashes across my mind. Nothing to do with the writing. If I could choose which GC movie to be in I would be playing the part of J. Lo in “Out of Sight”. I continue, “Great finished them.” “Nice.”, he adds. An awkward silence lingers while I think more on that role-play. “Can I come in?”, he asks. “Sure”, I quickly say. As he walks in my iPhone goes on blast. I dash over and answer without checking the caller id. Darn it! Why did I do that? Who answers the phone when they have GC in their house? Isn’t that a “no-no” rule? “Hello.”, I whisper. “Jan, you back yet? I am at the airport waiting on you.”, Kyle interrogates. I sit down and jester to GC to "have a seat". GC politely waves "no thank you" and wanders around my place. I answer, “I am already at the apartment. You didn’t say you were picking me up.” He continues, “I thought Georgia told you I was coming to get you guys.” “Really? How did you?”, I question . Umm. Wait a sec. Georgia wanted it a secret. What is going on here? “Pardon, Jan, is this it?”, GC asks. He points at a printed manuscript on the desk. I answer, “Oh no that is something different. I have it up on the computer.” I watch him sit down at my writing desk and work my Mac. So nice to have a handsome do- it-for-himself man in my life even if it is just for a brief moment to look over at work. It is worth it. Yes, there is a God that loves me! “What? Are you there?,” Kyle interrupts my “forbidden thoughts” moment. “Huh. Oh. That is just George looking over the rewrites.”, I blurt out. Then there is silence. I look at my cell to make sure my signal didn’t drop. Nope. Still there. “Hello”, I say. “I am on my way.”, Kyle advises. I stumble out, “Oh okay. Cool.” But he had already hung up on me. I turn to GC. “Kyle is on his way.”, I inform. “Oh good. Then we can all go over it.”, GC says cheerfully . He smiles at me. Then he goes back to reading. I just ooze in it all knowing that my reality will never match my mind’s eye. But it is a sweet hidden delight.

Anything Gone

2010-12-09T18:44:00.000-08:00

Little did I know that when Georgia left it was a disaster in the making (more like a crash) and not in a cool “The Hangover” way either. Having a friend stranded for real in Vegas isn’t all that funny with or without a tiger involved. Unfortunately, my intuition was right not to get on that plane. But Georgia paid the price hurt and humiliation of the “Gold Digger’s curse”. Or trying to be one that is. She should leave it to the pros. And of course my good deed would go punished when I didn’t show up to the set with the rewrites. “Where the (expletive here) are you January?”, the voice yells through the phone. “I can’t tell you.”, I hopelessly answer to Kyle. I promised Georgia I wouldn’t tell anyone she knew because she was embarrassed. “Not good enough. Do you realize that…”, Kyle scorns. Then the phone goes silent and another deep voice gets on. “Hey Jan where are you sweetie. You have got us worried. Is everything ok?”, GC asks with concern. He called me sweetie. That his made up for this crappy trip. “All is fine with me. But I am helping someone out.”, I answer. What? GC doesn’t know her. “Who?”, he inquires. I tell Georgia, “I’ll wait for you outside, ok? ” Without waiting for a response I walk out the airport ladies’ room and hang outside the door. “You promise you won’t tell Kyle.”, I say sternly. “Scouts honor.”, he says. I hesitantly divulge the craziness of GA getting on a plane with strangers she met in a hotel lobby in LA and now she is in Vegas and I had to come to her rescue cause all her so-called flunkies didn’t and now we are heading back. And that is all he needs to know. Hey what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas right? I wait for him to lecture me but he doesn’t. “Just get back safe and call me when you do.”, GC commands. “Will do.”, I say. At that moment, Georgia walks out and I close my phone and throw it in my purse. OMGah did I hang up on GC. Oh well, I think he will understand. As GA leans on me for support I only hope that someone will do the same when I make non-thinking decisions. And then I thought...someone just did. They say life is full of chances. But if you don’t get all of them what happens then?

Anything Goes

2010-12-09T18:35:00.000-08:00

So after a long hard weekend of rewriting an entire script I needed some kinda getaway. But what I had planned to have in store morphed into something of not my choosing. There I was enjoying the sun and a delightful beverage at Urth Caffe West Hollywood and girl wonder herself Georgia (she was not on my mind) called me up to ask me what I was doing. Me? I was doing fine. Really I was. She begged and pleaded with me to meet her at some resort hotel so we can go out with some so-called rich guys with toys. I really didn’t want to leave. And I didn’t until she blocked my day. I swear it was done stalker style but she swears she just happened to have bumped into me at my favorite café. Ladies and gentlemen we all know better. While she jabbers on and introduces her entourage (an over-labeled rich stranger, a handsome stranger and his annoying looking girl thing), I try to fade into my tea and just nod here and there to acknowledge her importance. They all sit down at my table like I had invited them to do so. Georgia’s “Pimp Daddy Kane” kept hard smiling at me and trying to lean up against my arm in a polite way. Are with her or trying to get with me? It was scary. Hey serial killers can be rich too. I don’t know but I don’t want to prove the theory either. Then Georgia continues to interrupt my thoughts. “JL. C’mon don’t spoil the party. Let’s hop on the plane and have some fun girl.”, GA claims. I look to her and answer, “It is your party. Enjoy it. I have work to do.” She adds, “It will only be for a couple of hours. We will be in Vegas and back in no time. Marco has a jet.” Now for all, Georgia time isn’t the same as real time and a couple hours could turn into a day. Also I don’t know Marco like that. “Maybe next time. But they got me rewriting the whole script.”, I explain. “Oh, maybe, I can talk to Kyle and get you some time off or something.”, she comes back with. I continue, “Kyle isn’t the one that requested me to do it.” “Then who did.? You know I can put a good word in for you.”, she says. Seriously people? “The man himself. George. And we continue shooting in two days. Which means more meetings and all beforehand.”, I smirk. GA looks down and around and then hops up from the chair. “I try to get her to live a life ‘cause her life is so confined.”, she snidely remarks to the group. “And yours is too open.”, I crawled back. “At least I live one instead of just wishing and writing about others’.”, she hisses back. Don’t you love how we show love to each other? I couldn’t come back from that one. She sorta had a point I do wish and write my life away. But that is how I choose to live, right? GA grabs my tea cup and takes a sip. “Ugh. Tea. I need some Long Island in mine.”, she comments. “I thought you…”, I say. I paused because I had to remember whom I am dealing with. GA stripes change on an hourly basis so there is never any certainty. “Well I gotta go. If you change your mind call me.”, she claims. GA gives me air kisses and then spins around and leads the others off into the sunset. I down the rest of my tea and jump up and walk the other way.

Recovery

2010-11-30T10:52:00.000-08:00

Fade in. The holly-days are officially here. Which equals that in a flash everything goes into an acid haze streak and we all try to keep up only to burn out before the next year resolutions turn. But in my leisure lifestyle as a writer I thought it would be the usual: jump on a plane, go visit family and come back to maybe work on some articles and assignments as the demand dies down in honor of it all. In a cold shot I was awaken by a teeth screeching phone ring and was told to come to another meeting.

I show up in a dishelved manner in and out and plop down beside GC. I didn’t notice he was there at first until he said “Good Morning” in that yummy deep morning voice. And of course I was eloquent in my answer by saying, “Oh hi.” Okay, not so eloquent but I said it with a toothy smile that should count for something. Ladies (and some guys) he was unshaven and rough around the edges but still it was a treat. It was definitely worth getting up at no sun am in the morning on a jet lag day for. GC tells a joke and me and DP (for those that don’t know the lingo: lighting and camera dude) guy laugh while the consultant watches uncomfortably in his stiff uniform. Then Kyle wanders into the room and sits at the head of the table. Mind you it is on the other side of me. So I am between GC and Kyle. This is more ironic than it needs to be.

So Kyle starts going over a few things on the script with the consultant and GC and then in my infamous fog I heard my name. Then I said, “Huh?” (another eloquent moment). GC adds, “What do you think January?” Then the consultant defends, “She is only here to take notes for the rewrites.” GC slings back, “She is the writer isn’t she?” The consultant stumbles out, “Yes, but she has limited input.” GC adds, “You are joking right?” Kyle interjects, “No. We as in the producers have hired Adam to make sure that the script is what they want. Jan actually has two roles but it is mostly script supervisor.” GC gives him a look of “WT? (insert your own expletive here). He then inquires, “So let me get this right you have a real writer that doesn’t write and a suit that writes but doesn’t know anything about anything. No wonder this script is all jacked up.” The consultant goes to defend his purpose, “The original writer was not working with us for the vision that my partners want.” Let’s freeze-frame this for a moment. Did he just say that? The writer that came up with the story and gave to them to shoot to film wasn’t working with them for a vision that no one can see because it isn’t written or drawn out. Gotta love movie magic. GC then throws an insult, “We have a writer here. Let her do her job. And you do yours.” The consultant adds, “Mr. Clooney, I am doing my job.” GC says, “No you are not. Because I am one of those producer partners you talk about and that is not what you are to do.” Freeze-frame again. Booyah! He pulled rank on you. Okay I had to think it. Kyle eyes grow and he questions, “You are a producer on this. No one told me.” GC answers, “Yes, I am a silent producer. I like your work Kyle so I helped with getting others involved. But that is beside the point. Even if I wasn’t a partner this is not how this should be.” Another freeze-frame moment. I don’t know why I did this but I felt compelled to do it. I opened my mouth and said, “I agree but the powers that be don’t trust the team they hired.” All eyes on me and the beat (script term for silence) lingered too long. Then GC interrupts, “January, you are the official writer on this project. I hope to get some rewrites of worth by the end of the week. But I have no doubt I will.” Then he winks at me. OMGah. Whoa can I get my lameness back. Now you want me to take charge. Can I have the DP’s job ‘cause it seems to be easy so far now? How is this fair? Then he turns to the consultant and adds, “Adam, what do we need you for now? Please remind me.” Before the consultant can answer GC continues, “Nothing really. I will keep you on the payroll but you will only be to assist me with these story and shot meetings by taking notes.” Everyone else’s face looks like someone told them that there is no longer a Santa Claus. “So now that we have that squared away I want to review a few scenes that we will shoot before the holiday freeze comes along”, GC commands.

Many hours later after the verbal wrestling and twisting we got to a point that we could leave with satisfaction (I was ready long time ago). I can’t be mad at him. No one can. As we all go head out the battle room to the hall and down the stairs I had to ask because my curiosity was getting in way of my thoughts. “Brilliant Mr. Clooney.”, I say. GC questions, “What?” I whisper, “Are you really a producer on this?” He answers and laughs, “I am now.” He winks and dashes through the open doors. There is nothing like Hollywood. I sigh and look around at the dancing nightlights of the city. Great! I had little time to recover from the beginning of the chaos only to jump into another crazy tunnel. Fade out.

This is Dedicated (Thanksgiving)

2010-11-25T08:17:00.000-08:00

…to the one I love: My writing (and my faithful readers). Every now and then I have to remind myself to be grateful (my mother states that I am not enough but I can’t help that I want better) for what I have. So I would like to give thanks on this day of Thanksgiving. Just in case I don’t say it often enough I would like to extend great gratitude to all from the past, during the now, and in the future. Many thanks and *air kisses*.

Wiki Me

2010-11-19T10:57:00.000-08:00

T is verbally assaulting the guy on the other line about my Wiki page being deleted and being told that I was not notable enough. Yes it is disheartening to be dissed by Wikipedia (I have a verified Twitter account what more could I want) but really it isn't all that to have to go to the man himself (or his assistant) and make him make the editors see me as somebody in pop culture. So I slouch in her chair ('cause I know this is going to be a long one) and I slowly drift away as she does what she does best. Now she wrote that page and it was splendid indeed but if I could rewrite it this is how it would go (of course after my editor looked it over):

January Lane, an almost famous writer and main character of the blog, A Day in A Life (maybe). She contributes her blog column weekly to an e-zine called ModLife. Her blog focuses on her observations and ramblings of society, relationships, and being a single twenty-something multicultural female writer in this day and age. Often times her point of view may come across as cynical but the reader soon discovers that her antics are to provoke and entice while making you laugh or shake your head (sometimes at the same time). She released a companion book based on her blog in January 2010 of the same title.

January recently moved back to her adopted state of California and is working with the hot new director Kyle Stone on his film called Why?. He is currently her semi-quasi love interest.

January continues to contribute to her blog (as well as a vlog) and Is currently working on a novel and script based on A Day in A Life (maybe). She is still working on that ‘Great American novel’. She sometimes writes under the pseudonym of j.l. love.

When the Party is Over (Crash)

2010-11-17T08:23:00.000-08:00

Someone came up to me while I was enjoying my liquid comfort and pretty people conversation (not much of a conversation but it was eye candy at least) and decided to end it all. Maybe I looked like I was having too much fun and it needed to be altered. That someone was Georgia. She came up to me and said she thinks her and Kyle are hitting it off. “Seriously? That is what you want to tell me that you are so excited about?”, I questioned. She looked at me with an innocent doe eyed look and said, “Yes. He is just scrumptious.” I can’t have this conversation with her. Definitely not here. Then to add more to the wound Kyle shows out of nowhere. In a nervous jolt, I turn away towards the group surrounding the bar. That is what I get for coming out and about. Nothing good comes of it. I am going where I belong. I am going to lock myself in a room. But I should just scream and pull hair out (not mine of course) like real women do. But I do neither. I hear an annoying laugh and look over to see Georgia and Kyle close laughing. I just nurse myself with a sensory overload of so-so mixed music, verbal confusion and liquid persuasion. It feels nice to let it all go crashing off my shoulders but in the morning I know I will have to pick up the pieces and carry it all over again.

Hungover

2010-11-17T07:51:00.001-08:00

Bashing & hopping around LA at night can take an adverse effect overall. As I open my eyes the distortion becomes the morning in the bottom of the glass blur. I slug out of bed to embark on the fragments of myself. I have to find something to put myself together. I say good morning to Skky (not a product placement) and plop down in front of my writing desk. I have some catching up to do and I have put off my written rants for long enough. A screeching sound from out of nowhere pierces my ears to my skull. I hunt around to find my iphone. I look down to see that it is T (I was hoping it was Kyle). Should I answer it or not. She has been trying to meet up with me all week but I am not feeling it. In a heartbeat skip the phone goes to voicemail. Whew! Off the hook for now. I throw the phone back in my bag. Now what was I doing. That’s right. Writing. I have been doing so little of it lately because of this Hollywood gig thing. I sit back down again in front of the intimidating bright screen. Then a pounding knock on the door breaks the lovely silence. I want to ignore it but it continues. It is probably Georgia bugging me. I will just tell her not now and I will catch up with her later. I limp over to the door and swing it open before confirming through the peephole. And to my surprise…it is T! Darn it! She out clevered (is a word now) me this time. Through her tight lips she says, “I called why didn’t you answer?” And like a fumbling boyfriend that is about to lie I say, “Well you know.” She sternly looks at me. I continue, “I am in the middle of writing and I have to focus on that.” “For four days. You couldn’t take a break?”, she adds. And I continue to dig myself deeper, “By the time I did get some time I forgot to get in touch with everyone.” “Really”, she says with doubt. “Really”, I answer back. I am in trouble now. “So why were you at The Vanguard last night?”, she inferred. I answered, “That was the time I forgot. Certain liquids do that to me.” I smirked. She didn’t find that funny. She sat down on my couch and then proceeded to give me a tongue-lashing. I let her go on and on about my career and how she is looking out for my best interest and she doesn’t want me to become a cliché writer. I walk over to my computer and start typing. She comes over to look at what I typed. THE END stares back. I smile and then grab the dark blue bottle and take a gulp (that goodness it is one of those fruity flavored ones). Then I say, “You don’t have to worry I am no cliché.” She cocks her eyebrows and sighs. “Make sure that you get the YouTube entry done for this week. And we may have another movie project coming up. Seems Hollywood agrees with you.” “Really?”, I say. I continue, “I don’t agree with it.” “Anyways make sure everything is finished by Friday.”, she scolds. “I have never missed a deadline.”, I add. “I know. Just making sure my favorite and number one talent is holding it together.”, she says. In a cool moment, she slides on her shades, walks out and closes the door behind her. Whoa! Really? Her favorite. I would have never known. I must have had too much. ‘Cause I am hearing things now. I turn around to look at the distant glaring screen that has those two words on it and think to myself that I need to go out. Maybe throw around some thoughts in my head until they become clear.

The Underachievers

2010-11-03T11:20:00.001-07:00

As we (me, Kyle, consultant, and whoever else) on set try to muddle through what was left over of the script over my shoulder is Georgia reading a fashion magazine (she secretly likes Kyle…this was disclosed to me the other day…so ew). She decided to come along for the ride. I slip on a strong brew of adrenaline liquid (long night working on my own projects) and watch Kyle and the consultant have at it. I cannot bet on this one ‘cause Kyle has points that make sense but the consultant has power. Sounds like a normal day at the office, doesn’t it? This is getting good. Darn I left my flip camera (hate the thing) at home. This would be great on YouTube. And you are probably asking “January, why are you sitting this one out? Aren’t you the new writer on this project? Do something.” I thought or so I overheard that I was the writer (and scriptgirl) too but apparently the writer doesn’t really get heard out they just write what they are told. So I am going to sit back on this ride like Georgia and do nothing this time and just watch Kyle (bonus). Hours of this just because. Someone please remind me that when I get my script done to be the producer, director, consultant and lead actor (and whatever else) ‘cause I don’t know if I can do the underachiever thing on my own project. At the end of the verbal throwing and hypothetical rewriting we just decide to cut the scene all together. The reason for this decision is that it doesn’t add or take away to the film. Or my reason for the unhappy ending is that Kyle just gave up to shut the consultant up. We worked so hard today so when we have to shoot tomorrow we have one less thing to do. As we pile out of the conference room, I look back at Kyle who looks like he is hanging the writer’s defeat on his broad now weary shoulders. Georgia goes up to him and tries to console him as he violently stuffs his bookbag with papers. He struts away and goes, “Hey Jan, you want to get dinner or something?” I look back to see Georgia hissing with her eyes at me. I was thinking I was first *beep here * and if you want to compete you will lose. Then I remembered the kiss and how it didn’t mean a thing to him. I said, “Busy with rewrites and the blog and all. Sorry. Thanks though.” Georgia smiles. I didn’t do it for you chick. I never in my life wanted to slap a smile off someone’s face like I did today. Then I turn away and walk on so the tears wouldn’t dare start. I heard Kyle’s voice in the cloudy background but I didn’t acknowledge him. As my feet hit the LA pavement I looked around to wonder if this is going to be an inspirational night of words or liquid filler. Loud noise and tall glasses here I come. Why stop at the underachieving now?

Alter Ego

2010-11-03T10:35:00.000-07:00

Is enjoying being someone else a bad thing? I mean actors do it all the time right? Why can’t I? It feels wrong to have this much fun not being me and knowing there are no consequences. Even without the anonymity it would be worth it. I just have to make sure the lines don’t merge ‘cause myself and the character are somewhat dimensions of me. I think sometimes we pull out our alter ego when we can’t control a situation or when fear sits in or we just say ef it. But is that the right thing to do? Can relying on it be too dangerous? Or is it a useful asset? Can it be addictive? If so, is there any going back?

Confessions (One Isn’t Enough)

2010-10-21T12:06:00.000-07:00

Somehow I got caught! Sort of. When I pitched the idea to T she was ecstatic that I was working on a new concept but that approval came to a screeching halt when I confessed to her that I will be going under an alias (and will not leak out the name like some writers do). “Jan, come on. You can’t afford to be alias. People are just starting to get to know you. This office worked too hard to market your style and now you want to sabotage it. Maybe in a few years you can do that silly crap but not now.”, she sternly said. Wow. I had a different responsive alternate ending playing in mind earlier. While T continues to chew me out in that business polite way, my mind wonders (it is always doing that) if “I want to be known as January Lane on this piece or not”. But this piece isn’t entirely my experiences so I can’t rightfully put my signature on it. I interrupted her to defend my idea, “I feel that it needs to be a secret for now. Think of it as a secret within a secret.” I wait to see if that clever coated BS was well received. “Oh, wait a minute. You may be on to something. We can market it up as a “guess who” and release it as a book that has a blog that follows up to it to keep the mystery going.”, T gleams. Then she adds, “And readers can post on the blog anonymous posts of their darkest, deepest secrets”. And there you have it I got the “ok” to write how I want to plus more. But as I left out of her office I wondered how I am going to disguise my style. I would have to try to make it farther from the known me as much as possible.

Confessions

2010-10-21T12:05:00.000-07:00

So through all the recent events I decided to work on a side blog project. This isn’t a brand new concept but a haunting idea from high school. The piece was to be a novel with diary entries of a good girl gone other (what is bad really). I never worked on it seriously I just jotted notes here and there. I had seen a number of French movies to watch without the help of subtitles and one stood out and it was ‘Belle Du Jour’. I am still not sure if she really did all of that or was those all her fantasy/dream world but it got me thinking. What constitutes a good girl? Is a good girl just a girl that never tells/gets caught? Makes you wonder how thin that line is. So the line that I am taking on this blog is to write under an alias (it is fun to see if people will follow because of the writing and not for the name). So I can’t kiss and tell to my readers the title you will have to embark on this journey by true discovery. I do apologize in advance but not everything can be drawn from the shadows.

Cut

2010-10-21T12:04:00.001-07:00

Before going forward let’s just make note that I have made worst decisions. I decided to just do it! I did something different (for me) since I am beginning something different. I sat in the chair and said “take it all off” (get mind out of gutter). It came out to be a trendy pixie cut. I don’t know if a tall gawky girl like myself can feel Tinkle Bell chic but the cut looks good. I feel naked somehow though. While I walk on the sidewalk as though I am in my own cool video montage my iphone buzzes and breaks my model stride. “Kyle” and his picture screams from my caller id. I throw the phone in my purse as quickly as I had picked it up. I must be running late or something. I couldn’t help myself but to listen to the voicemail he left. He left no sweet nothings. He just said he is glad to work with me and look forward to seeing me on location today. Blah blah! In a Hollywood cool Tony Scott style edit move, I walk up to my car (still have McQueen my mustang…got him out of storage finally), open the door, slide into my car and drive off. To continue the Hollywood cut to me driving onto location at .This is classic. Chaos already we haven’t even started shooting. I see Kyle (he doesn’t look happy) in the far distance with a group of people. The PA (must be an intern) nervously comes up to me and states that the screenwriter quit. Okay. For some reason I don’t know if my heart is pounding hard from the fast pace walking, seeing Kyle, by the nervous guy or what news he just divulged to me. I heard him say something but was not sure I heard what I heard. I stop in my tracks. “Seriously?”, I yell. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that. The inner voice was supposed to yell and the outer voice was supposed to be calm. Oh boy, I just made this guy more nervous which is freaking me out. I repeat it but with poise (I think it is the hair cut making me do this), “Seriously?”. “Yes, we need you to work on the rewrites.”, PA guy says. While I try to negotiate with this little guy that cannot do anything. I gone and shot the messenger on day one. Great way to make friends. Out of the blue a voice off screen says “Evan why are you hassling this lady”. I turn to reveal GC (for those that don’t know who this is please go back and read Going Back to Cali entries). Seriously? What is he doing here? Does he have a crew that gives him cues to show up? “Hey there. Oh he isn’t hassling me. It seems that my job description has changed.”, I say. “Yea. That happens a lot on set.” GC answers. I facetiously answer, “Yea I am starting to see that.” “How have you been other wise?”, GC smoothly changes the subject. “Staying out of trouble and keeping busy.”, “Oh that is no fun. You have to get into trouble once in a while.”, GC answers. Another PA comes up to break up our little group. She appears to be confident and has been doing this like forever. “Mr. Clooney we need you in makeup”, she sternly advised. He nods and slowly walks behind her. He continues, “You changed something?” “Yea.”, I say. I blush shamelessly. “Your hair.”, he acknowledges. He adds, “It looks real cute.” Just cute. That is all. Dang. He waves and dashes to catch up with the PA. Then my mini good bye scene is eclipsed by some suit talking to me. “Ms. Lane I am your advisor to help with the script.” “Huh, I beg your pardon”, I dazely (it is a word now) say. “The producer has assigned me to you to help with the rewrites throughout the shoot”, he answers. I didn’t really want him to answer it was just a figure of speech kind of thing. “Beautiful.”, I say. Even on day one they have a consultant supposedly helping me make this script HW grade. Great! I look at him and walk my way to Kyle. “More experts than that is needed.”, I mumble. Just the audacity for someone telling me how to write before I say “yes” to rewriting someone else’s work is getting under my skin. This is a recipe for disaster. This makes me want to say “Cut!” But this isn’t my picture, is it.

You Put a Spell on Me

2010-10-09T11:09:00.000-07:00

NYC was kinda a blur that was well needed I guess. I believe I just wanted to forget everything but I couldn’t look to escape because life bomb rushed me. It is about time because I was afraid I was going to be stuck too far in the past. So when Kyle called me up hours after touchdown at LAX, I didn’t hesitate to meet him at my favorite coffee shop (the one I bumped into GC at…literally…secretly hoping that happens again) cause it kinda brought me back to where I needed to be overall. While he was talking and I was trying not to glare at his gorgeous smile, I tried to read his true thoughts from his expressions and gestures. But I kept throwing around in my mind that “I am not sure I deserve his attention”. It was invading my concentration on reading man-code. So I cross-examined with “That is just silly January”, to guard my ego. To help out my ego more I added, “He probably wants to meet about our encounter a month back and how we need to go forward, and all that good stuff”. But no, he didn’t do that. What happened? He never even mentioned the kiss. Nothing even close to that. It was all about what he had been working on while I was away. My ego and heart fell like a cartoon balloon that was pricked with a needle. Of course according to many I should be grateful for what he is about to say. It was all romantic (sorta) in a Woody Allen kinda way. He reached over for my hand (bonus points) and leaned closer (ohhh yea…baby) and whispered, “I want you to be my script girl” (reread…script…not that other word…but a girl can only hope). That’s all you could come up with! Great! Gasp! My common sense wrestled with my ego and started throwing out logical notions for this all. Maybe he doesn’t remember because he had too much at the bar. Not possible. I believe I out did everyone that night. I looked hard into his eyes for affirmation while I nursed my chai tea. Nope. Nothing. He doesn’t remember. I should make him not forgot this and say “no” to make it seem like I am too busy to take on his pet project. Then he smiles and effortlessly says, “So what do you think?” I wanted to say…a lot but it wasn’t coming out. Grr…What? OMGah! What do I say? I take a gulp of my legal fix and say, “Sure. Sounds fun.” That was so wrong. That wasn’t what I was thinking when I said that. What did he do to me? That charm. That smile. Those eyes. This isn’t logical. It has to be something more. The problem is him. Not me. He must have done something to me. Darn! That kiss! That night! Isn't it supposed to work the other way around. And just when I thought I had it all clear…it blurs again.

Catwalk

2010-09-23T10:43:00.000-07:00

In a flashbulb moment, society sells us the impossible and makes it seem possible or redeemable. But the possibility makes me feel small while sitting next to Georgia and company at the premier seats at NYC Fashion Week. GA decided on Bill Blass instead of Tory Burch (one of top 5 designers) because it has been a while since his collection has been to FW. And then we rush to a few other collections that I lost the place on the program. And then guilt arises me because I didn’t stay in VA long enough. I jumped on a plane before her final ceremony. Sorry but I still can’t do funerals. That final goodbye is hard enough and I don’t want to remember you as “laid to rest”. I want to remember you as vivid as you once was. So I came to where she loved. NYC. I decided on going to fashion week to get my spirits up a bit. I figured smoozing with the pretty and divine would deliver the fantasy that I need right now. I divulged in dulling my senses and memory in the glamour and liquid persuasion so that the tears stayed inside my mind’s eye. And the impossible seemed possible for a bit. The lights deem down and the walking sticks with fabric on come out down the walkway. All I could think while looking at these vacant faces was that models used to be interesting. Heck the clothes used to be interesting too. What happened to the catwalk? Is it now the typerope? Where are the inspiring crazy fantastic ideas, the immaculate beautiful elite, and where’s the courage? Of course you will say, “January, they took a risk this season.” Yea. Yea. They made a big deal about the first plus size collection at FW. I guess someone has to be the token. Fashion used to be cool. Fashion used to influence. Fashion used to give personality. Fashion used to be a way to express. Fashion used to be meaningful. In the middle of the set I excused myself. I walked out past the superficial attendees, past the gossip hungry press, and past the cosmetic and gift bag pushers and out the doors to the streets. Hello New York City. Maybe you can help me breathe and feel alive. Maybe I can walk straight again and not crawl while looking like a fool. Maybe you can deliver something for me.

Angry

2010-09-23T09:55:00.001-07:00

…and confused. Why? Why? My life has to slam me in the gut and knock me down to the dirt when everything looks sunny. I lose another close friend at this tender age. This time the man (or woman) upstairs shot me through the heart. He (or she) sure knows how to hit me where it hurts so much it goes throbbing numb. It just isn’t the same anymore. The world feels empty and lonely now that she is gone. The world lost another valuable treasure. I know everyone will try to cheer me up and tell me she is in peace now and it was all part of some divine purpose. Divinity doesn’t seem so peaceful right now. But I want her back now. No one will be able to replace her. I cannot trade anything to get her back cause in this tragedy it is tragic with no mercy. I haven’t spoke to her over the phone for a while. Even though we chatted and texted often it is not the same. And I find myself crying and avoiding people or just yelling and then having to apologize in a bipolaric moment. I wanna say I am sorry. I am so sorry that the world’s cold walls closed in on you. I am so sorry that your heart gave out. Maybe we didn’t give you enough love to keep it going. Maybe I wasn’t a good enough BFF that I no longer deserve you. And then anger sets in again and I am mad at you for leaving now. How could you leave knowing that you were supposed to be there forever. You were supposed to be successful and happy too. You were supposed to look back with me over tea and laugh and cry at our younger years. And then the tears flood in to remind me that in a divine wipe you are gone. The two J’s are no more. What do I do now? I guess I get to wear black for a reason because more gloom is hovering over me. I chuckle cause that is your favorite color. Or should I say was.

The Difference

2010-09-23T08:36:00.001-07:00

“What makes you so different from the others?”, said some distant deep voice in the audience. I went to answer into the mic but then my mind went frozen in fear of not knowing for sure. Who knows really? My thoughts swarm for the right response. I wanted to come up with something profound since this is a literary panel for a USC event. But nadda. Nothing. He had me start questioning myself. “What is the difference between me and other contemporary writers?”. I looked around at the audience and wanted to run away with my ego limp between my legs (believe me I played it in my head a couple of times). Then I stood up straight and stated that, “my voice is a twist on the urban single female experience in today’s society.” I thought that was good. At least it sounded different. I look around for confirmation and I think I sold it. Then hit me where it hurts, “So you are basically a fad?”, he snidely said. I defensively answered, “No. An experience is not a fad. I write what I experience and at times let my imagination get carried away. Fad are you writing what everyone else wants you to write to save face and for sells. I am here to put my thoughts and situations out there and see what others think about them.” It went something like that. I think I got a little too defensive maybe. But I think he knows the difference now.

Voice

2010-09-23T07:40:00.001-07:00

…is the most important right (or choice) that a writer has. Or so I have been told. Today started with a strangle when T advised on somewhat bad news. It seems that the blog is “old” (slow growth of new subscribers) news. Book sells are doing “ok”(wasn’t on the New York Bestseller’s list long enough). And the script that I rewrote got passed on to a (male) veteran screenwriter because it needed more a “male” voice. I told T why don’t we “focus” on my book and my “own” script which is “my” voice. Yes there were a lot of “quotes” during our meeting. It continued with T trying to convince me that I have to play the “development hell” game in to be taken seriously among Hollywood’s elite. She emphasized that I am an upcoming writer so I have to pay my dues. I guess having a faithful blog following that transformed into a successful book publishing deal isn’t enough. I have to do more to get my voice across. I thought about the great writers that I admire and if they had to go through all of this scrutiny to get to the top. Then I started to thinking that days like this make me wanna go back to work at a bookstore. Then on second thought maybe not. But still you get the point. I mope back to my posh overkill hotel room hoping to be inspired to write something original until I have to do that darn flip cam thing to the world. I would like to flip something alright. But I keep my cool. This is a moment that most writers enjoy but others dread. Currently, I am both. But 95% dread and 15% excited. The odds could weigh better as the day goes. I slowly sit at my designated writing desk (not like home though). I press “power” on my Mac and stare at the screen as it lights up. I open my tools and wonder should I work on a previous unbirthed idea or start on a vacant one. So I decide on a blank page. The Safari icon looks more tempting to my mind instead of imagination. So I decide to explore and twitter instead. So for the moment my voice is silent.

Going Back to Cali (What Take Is This Again?)

2010-08-31T08:41:00.000-07:00

So here we are! Looking stellar at “the party” of the summer. It kinda reminds me of the Hamptons but with lots of glamour and miscellaneous details. Georgia whispers, “Isn’t it awesome?” I answer back (not really in a whisper), “Looks like a plastic surgery convention”. She rolls her eyes and laughs, “Jan you are so silly at times.” “Glad to be the comic relief”, I added. She nods and then sees someone and runs over to them. Mr. Antoni runs not too far behind her. Ohio Jo, Dale and Mel walk over with drinks in hand. Jo hands me a glass of pink champagne (my fav…don’t ask why…I know why…but I am not telling you why). “Here, you will need this.”, she adds. I think to myself, “If the night is going to turn out the way I think. Yes. I will need this.”

After an hour of introducing myself in between drinks later I stumble into a guy talking about something. I can’t remember now. But anyhow. He turns around and guess what it is my friend GC. Yes the George as Mr. Antoni would say. “Oh hello again.”, he charmingly says. I say, “Hello again to you.” I know lame comeback. Like a true gentleman he puts his hand out to make sure I catch my balance. His girlfriend was scouring at me just wondering “who is she”. So he goes to introduce me. It kinda went like this: “This is…eh…”, George says. I add, “January Lane” I look up for recognition from the circle of heavies. None. “We bumped into each other at the coffeehouse on...eh. Literally.” Everyone laughed. He continues, “She is…” I add, “A writer. I write a blog called “A Day in a Life (maybe)”. Just released a book this spring with the same title. Working on a few scripts as well”. I was trying to convince them that I am somebody. But the sad part they were just intrigued with me and it was me who was convincing me that I had worth. One of them, the youngest (and obviously the hippest) of the group, cheerfully says, “I heard about your vlog. It is kinda becoming a hit”. Kinda? That is it. You heard of my vlog. Then I add, “Yes I get to add to the de-civilization of true written words. Excuse me.” I act like I see someone I know and scatter to the open bar. Not enough in me to drown my thoughts. I order another liquid concoction and another and slam it down. That is better. I think. OMGah did I just snub George Clooney. I look over to see if he is anywhere to be found. But I don’t see him. I grab a pink champagne off a table. What? It was there. Possession is nine-tenths. “You need company”, a deep voice breaks the pop music blare. I turn to see Kyle. Great. Looking deliciously gorgeous in his dark suit and the olive shirt color (he is not afraid to dress well…but he has a woman so that is probably why he always does dress well come to think about it…ok focus January) just makes his hazel eyes dreamier. The next event that is about to happen I am not responsible for. I don’t know if it was the chemistry mixture that was in me or an act of desperation. But I did it anyways. And that is my disclamer. I didn’t care. And I kinda fell into it. Sorta. I stumbled to kinda run away and Kyle caught me so I would not fall flat on my face (what is with falling today) and I kinda in the act kissed him. It wasn’t just any kiss. It was the fireworks and Beethoven playing in the background kinda kiss. I think it lasted a minute or so. But surprisingly he kissed back. It would have been so embarrassing had it been solo all the way. Then a squeaky voice, “There you are”. I pull away and there is the girl he was with in NYC. All I see is legs. Now I am tall too but I am still envious of women with nice long legs cause mine are so soccer play-ish looking. What a dress I must add. Makes mine look like a cheap JC Penny’s clearance has been. I take a deep breath and try to play it off by introducing myself. “Hi. I’m January Lane.”, I coyly say. “I know. I am a great fan of yours. Kyle introduced me to your blog and I have been hooked every since. I wait every week for a new entry. Kyle won’t read it by the way. “, she gasps. “Really. Why not?”, I ask. I am curious. “Oh no. I am not going to read details about your life. I rather ask. Especially since Katy said I was in them.”, he nervously answers. “Oh yea. Thanks for the complement that I look like a cut-out hottie. That made my week. And oh by the way we are not dating.”, she adds. She giggles. “Oh that explains.”, adds Kyle. He laughs. I chuckle through my teeth. “We are brother and sister. Not going to happen no matter how hot I am.”, she jokes. Just like that she wiped out my fears and brought some back. OMGah I just kissed him and he is available. Both feelings canceling each other out. At that moment, think I just sobered up. Like my chemical excuse dissipated in thin air. See this is where forbidden love sounds so much better right now. She leans over and whispers, “You got my approval.” And then she winks at me. In perfect movie magic timing Ohio Jo comes over. “I found you.”, she says. I didn’t want to be found. I wanted to hide. Hide for making a fool out of myself completely. If I could just make a mad dash pass my friends, the bodyguards, the flashing lights and swarm of fans in barriers I might be able to breathe a little. At that instant, everything went black and then back to full focus in again with me in Kyle’s arms. “You alright?, he asks. “I’m just fine.”, I say. But was I just that. Was I fine with this all? Does it all end here? Or is it a beginning?

Going Back to Cali (Take 3)

2010-08-31T08:29:00.000-07:00

Imagine if you will five girls and a guy (sounds like a show title doesn’t it) standing in a luxury overdone glossy hotel (Beverly Hills Hotel by the way) bathroom putting on the last details to look fab for an event that will only last an hour or so. Now that you have the picture in your head of me on the left then Ohio Jo, Georgia, Mel, Dale, Tasha, and Mr. Antoni a little detail on my close up from head to toe. I decided to wear my hair natural curly looking instead of blow drying and flat ironing it to death tonight. Of course the dress is gorgeous and it looks smashing on me. I don’t care if I sound arrogant. I need a little ego boast in my life right now (I worried about washboard abs earlier for no reason). What about the shoes you say? The shoes are unimportant to me I can take any shoe and make it look good. It is the dress (and great pedicure) that does it all. I normally kick off the heels somewhere through anyways with the height abundance and all. I am in LA I am going to have some fun with it. Mr. Antoni can’t (more like won’t) stop talking and talking. I try to tune him out until he pats my shoulder and goes, “I still can’t believe you got to met George.” He said his name like he is the “only” George of importance in the world…like he is a king or something. Then Ohio Jo chimes in, “Oh you are just jealous that you couldn’t try to seduce him with your new ‘A collection’.” He them battles back “Which A are we talking about?”. She smirks, “You know which one.”. “Oh no honey he would have to pay for that.”, he answers. Then he laughs an annoying laugh. Then GA interrupts (for once I approve), “Quit acting like you are queer. I know better.” “So if he would be willing to pay I might be willing. I can have a guy crush if I want.”, he sharply states. To add to the punch line, “Speaking of queer, I ran into Kyle too at the shop”, I said frightfully. And in true nonchalant Georgia fashion, she answers, “Oh really. I know he is going to the party too.” In a millisecond a lump formed in my throat and dropped to my stomach and knotted. “OMGah no. I can’t go.”, I cry. I drop my blush brush on the counter and bolt to the kitchen for some water. Any water. Just something. Ohio Jo runs behind me and she yells, “You are going. You are not going to continue to try to duck him just because he has a girlfriend.” She yanks me to the door and grabs her purse and my purse. “Come on. Plus you look too hot to stay at home.”, she adds. Everyone gathers their things. I wanted to scream and cry and pout and hide in my bed. But Jo was right I bought this dress (it is the unreleased Tory Burch “Simca” dress…did I mention that I love it) that fits perfect and I am wearing it. I will just have to come up with a plan if I see him. One by one (with Jo pulling me) we nosily (chatter is a beautiful distraction at this time) leave the room and venture out to A-list world.

Going Back to Cali (Take 2)

2010-08-31T08:22:00.000-07:00

Tory Burch 'Simca' Lamé
Trim Double Crepe Dress - Nordstrom

Even in my quasi-glamorous existence I know that I will never be part of the A-list league. I am always one cool point (or grade) away from it all. While I clicked away on my Mac, I started to wander (it truly does go on a trip). And you know what happens when my mind wanders. Danger! Danger! Questions popped up like “Why do I put myself through so much scrutiny?” and “Why do I want washboard abs?” (don’t ask me where that one crept up from). I look around the semi-busy coffeehouse and hunch my shoulders and I continue to scuff down a chai tea (fat full) and this lovely lemon poppy scone. Darn well knowing I have a party to go to and that I brought a dress (it is the unreleased Tory Burch “Simca” dress…just love it) one size too small on purpose I still do it. Then a rush of guilt consumes me about what went in and I wished I had paid more attention to the fitness article that I read earlier. And in my panic of "oh no I am going to have to sacrifice the rest of the meal plans for today for the big night tonight" I see a glimpse of a guy that looks like George Clooney (I hate when my mind plays tricks on me). I put my chai and scone down and act like I am busy typing something with true words as the guy enters the shop. I peak to get one more glance of him. Oh wait…it is George Clooney. OMGah! Double OMGah! “Act natural January”. Repeat. Repeat again. I slip out my phone and text my “friend” group (gotta love categories) of the GC (better than GQ) alert. It kinda went like “OMGah George Clooney here”. In my excitement there was a sense of shamefulness. It is pretty sad that the highlight of my day is to text my friends of a sighting in LA (if I kept this up I wouldn’t have time for a life). I feel somewhat guilty now. I feel like a paparazzi. Now I want to go up to him and apologize. Tell him that I should have kept him as my mental token instead of sharing him virtually. Then my phone goes off. My wonderful unique ringer of Katy Perry’s “California Gurls” rocks out and all eyes on me of course. It is kinda a known un-rule rule to have your phone on silent in this coffeehouse. So you guessed it outcast again. But anyways the text said, “I want pictures”. Thanks Ohio Jo for that request. I am not about to do that among this crowd. While I am texting her back explaining the situation, in a deep voice, “You need some company?” I look up to see in the sunny haze…GC…but then his face fades into Kyle’s. What is in this chai? OMGah (double). It is Kyle. GC is still at the counter waiting on his to go order. I look at Kyle and then I look back at GC then at Kyle hoping that they were switched. No magic happening here. My heart starts pounding like a Mexican jumping bean. What is he doing here? Why is he ruining my GC moment? In a jitter jolt I shove and grab everything into my arms and in a fumbling grace rush out of the shop almost knocking GC down in the process. Beautiful kid. “You will probably never work in this town again”, I thought aloud. I made sure I hid my face so he wouldn’t see me. He was a complete gentleman. He asked if I was alright and made sure I was alright and then wished me a good day and went about his day in some kind of hybrid looking car (he is eco-friendly too…sigh). While most women dream of this encounter more gracefully I have to say ladies it was worth the embarrassment. I still want to know why Kyle is here in LA for. In the background, I hear, “January. What’s up?”. That voice is all too familiar. I slip around the corner so Kyle doesn’t see me and blend in with the crowd (for once).

Going Back to Cali (Take 1)

2010-08-16T11:42:00.000-07:00

I will be in LA for a few weeks so I figured I would make the best of it. One for the party as the plus one of Georgia (who would have figured that) and two to go on some meetings that T set up for me. Of course T added a bonus to it all: I have to do this silly vlog thing for my blog now. I slowly walk over to the wonderful (oh so wonderful) gift that T sent me. A darn flip camera (again...gave the other one to Ohio Jo). Why couldn't it be something useful for a girl? You know? I don't know whether to hit record or throw it out the window. But of course I have to play the game the way she wants me to cause she gets ten percent of what I do. So ten percent is what she will get. In a palm sweating moment, I flick the cam on and say “hello world” not knowing who is watching let alone why they are watching me. Echoing in my mind is "I am just a writer with a few thoughts here and there but is it necessary to say it to a camera". I take a deep breath (more like a sigh) and ramble on about me and what the blog and the newly released book are all about. Great, I am now an ad man. So much for being a writer. I walk away from the camera to my lush master bedroom suite and lay lump staring at the ceiling but not really. My mind invades my peace. I keep wondering who is "she". That girl that was with Kyle. Why am I always second best in the love game? I want to cry but I can’t. So I jump up and walk to the window hoping for something to make me smile. Hello California! At least you never let me down. I think Cali will be good for me. Get me away from all the distractions in the city…just for a little while. At least it should be interesting no matter what happens.

Falling Un-Gracefully

2010-07-28T17:58:00.001-07:00

There has to be a trick to it all. To not get hurt. Or to not subject myself to situations that will harm my best interests (me, myself, and I). Can you love and hate someone at the same time? Can that person be you? It has been a week since the “incident” as Georgia has termed it to the others in the circle. I hover over my chai tea while Ohio Jo, Carmeleon, Georgia and a few others that I don’t know hang out at our regular coffee shop. All I can take from the bits of the conversation is that Antoni is a fashion designer male diva in training and Max is ink and metal girl to the core. They are a nice difference to the usual people that Georgia and Carmeleon drag around with them…they actually have personality. In my haze, I happen to over hear Antoni talk about getting an invite to the event of the summer. Certain details that stood out were A-list, LA, George Clooney. You know the good stuff. He said he wanted to take Georgia as his plus one. When he said that Max didn’t look too happy about it. Then you know those cheesy movie moments that only happen in a movie happened. Georgia says, “Why don’t you make JL your plus one instead?”. I looked up to affirm what I heard by the expression on everyone’s face. Yup she said that. Antoni snobbishly answers, “But girl she is just a writer. No offense January.”. “None taken”, I said. The truth was I was offended by just being a writer. What does that mean? Because I am not a hyphenate (writer-actor-producer-whatever else) like Georgia that I am not good enough for glamour and glitz. Do I have to go do a Spike Lee or Edward Burns or Woody Allen to be respected even among a two-bit fashion design student that happens to sleep with an executive of the Disney Broadway Production Division? As I stare at my distorted reflection in the cup, Georgia lays a verbal lashing on Mr. Antoni to remind him that he is who he is because of her network and that she is no one’s plus one. She continued to let him know that she has an invite already (not really but I have no doubt she will get one in time) and that I will be her plus one instead then. Basically she said thanks but no thanks you nobody cause I have my own nobody. Gotta love the rankings of the entertainment world. I started off “just being a writer” to a “plus one” to the party of the year. Things might be looking up for me yet.

Grounded

2010-07-21T16:56:00.000-07:00

A little R&R is good after months on the road. I lounge in and out of my visually stimulating and junk food coma. I play Guitar Hero (for the rock star in all of us) then watch some TV and then pass out and then read some chapters from this “Twilight” series that everyone harps on me about. A little knock on the door interrupts my bliss. I open the door and it is Georgia (awww heck). She rambles on as she gently pushes her way into my pad. She says she helping me get out and about. I guess she thinks she owes me for being a friend at the hotel a month or so ago. But instead of saying that or something else that would be positive she says,“ Being mad at the world isn’t cute on women and we need to go shopping to cure it all“. So I agree to her madness and head out. We spend and spend and spend (with my money of course). Georgia loves every minute of it. We couldn’t just stay in Soho we had to also catch a limo taxi to Midtown so we can visit every top list boutique from Vogue & Elle. And with each swipe I grew angry. I lost track of how many bags we (more like she) had. All I could do was think that at least it is 80 something degrees out instead of the scorcher it has been lately. Just when I thought we were hailing a taxi back to my place Georgia starts looking at some fancy kitchenware in this overly priced breakable item shop. There is nothing that interests me so I just meander around looking busy. In my usual clumsy perfection I bump into this guy. I look up to recognize to my relief that it is Kyle. Then not to my relief (or approval) this hot magazine cut out turns to him and shows him some fancy dishes. Kyle starts gesturing as though he was going to introduce me to her or her to me or whatever. I don’t know what came over me but I panic inside and dash out the store to the street. To make it worse a rush of dizziness and nausea radiates from head to toe. I lose all sense (common, hearing, etc.) and just by instinct hail a cab. Swarms of thoughts ram into my mind and heart. Wondering “why?”. Too many “whys” to decipher literally. I thought we had something going good…for a little while that is. As I look out the window of the kamikaze machine and see the every changing city, I realize that I cannot roll away from every punch that comes flying my way. Quite frankly there is just too much at times. How does one stay grounded without falling?