January Nelson

In this installment of Brokelandia, the Brokelyn crew takes us into the intimidating, nebulous world of bikram yoga.

Waiting until you’ve hidden all of the good DVDs in the collection for yourself and then breaking the news before they have a chance to raid the apartment.

Since I’m from Southern California, I would love to give the impression that I spent my youth as a surfer chick/mermaid who lived in the ocean and went to clambakes in the summertime, but I’d be lying. The truth is that I HATE the beach.

Do I text you? Do I DM you? Do I tweet @ you? Do I DARE call you? You’ve called me a few times in the past and I remember feeling so shocked and delighted when I saw your name on the screen. I thought to myself, “This man has balls! He must really like me!”

I want to make this dude into my boyfriend. I want to “wife” him up, as they say in 2012. I want to be his plus one. And you know what? I think I actually have a good chance of making it happen. I have a good feeling about this.

We’ve hung out a grand total of five times, only one of which ended in casual second base, and every time he leaves, I’m like “He’s so lame! Now I must text him immediately to tell him what a great time I had!”

Something shifted and all of a sudden there were no more potential + 1’s. It’s been two years now and I feel like I’m experiencing some kind of amnesia. I’m forgetting how I ever was with someone.

I can’t go out. I don’t want to go out. Oh God, why did I get myself into this? How am I going to do this tonight? Jesus, what if my ex-boyfriend is there? I’m screwed.