Indiana Johansson and the Apartment of Doom

 

Yesterday I had to call a few churches in Argentina to try to track down all of the records of the sacraments I've had in the Catholic Church.

One of the churches I contacted was the one where I had my first confirmation.  No matter how hard I've tried, I remember nothing about my confirmation, except that I was excited over the fact that we could pick new names for ourselves if we wanted to.  Oh, and that I picked my mom's best friend to be my Godmother. 

Picking a childhood friend of my mother's seemed like a sure thing at the time.  Someone who had always been close to my mom, someone who had always "been there" for her, someone my mother was thrilled about.  Unfortunately, and because I was merely a child, I never suspected this woman had a lover in the U.S. (she was married). 

This man turned out to be my future step-father, making it so my mother and her friend never spoke again.  Too bad, as this woman was keeping all of our family history in the form of photographs, and an "alleged" fire in her home burned them all to non-existence, thus erasing whatever little memories I had of my life until age 15.  The one I remember the most is a photo of my dad and I kissing, which is my greatest loss. 

Going back to the phone call I made, I couldn't believe how excited I got when the lady in the Church's office found my records.  Since it was an event I had no memory of, it felt so strange.  I kept repeating my name and asking her if she was looking at the same name I was saying.  All I could think was "I was there, in that place and time!".

I have not a single clue why that thought was/is so prominent, but it does give more fuel to the notion I've had lately to go back to Argentina to do some exploring.  There is so much I don't remember, and I dream of being places I used to frequent.  I really would like to go to our old apartment, to see how it feels now that I've grown in length.  How much smaller it will seem?  But mostly, is it still as intimidating as it is in my dreams?

G

Dancing with the loons

 

I love the nightlife, I got to Boogie, on the disco 'round...

 

I haven't been dancing in so long I've probably forgotten how.  I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I LOVE to dance.  I dance until I sweat and all my makeup comes off.  It's really lovely...

 

But regardless of how I look, because by then everyone is drunk already, I really, truly love to dance.  If there is music I have to move, I can't sit still. 

 

Yet I don't know why dancing is restricted to nightclubs only.  I think there should be dancing everywhere.  Or a lot of places.  Like if you went to eat lunch somewhere and you had to either wait for a table, or while you wait for your food, you could go and dance in a special area.  There should definitely be a dance area in any type of doctor's office, as that's where the waiting could be eternal, right?  What about in hospitals?  If the noise is bothersome, then they should allow people to bring their iPods and dance away, which would be a hoot, because everyone would be dancing to a different tune.  And that would be fun.  Especially for those in the mental ward.

 

G

A horribly bitchy post

 

Our last night in Colorado we went out with a group of friends for dinner. 

 

Fortunately for me, I was next to this guy who seemingly spins around his own orbit.  Not only that, but he used the "quote" fingers so much I was on the verge of a panic attack.  Nobody could talk about anything without him having been there/done that and told all about it, having a better story (ok, kind of like me), but the dinner went down to a basic silence where everyone else just shut up and let him talk.  Yes, I shut up too.

 

Never mind the fact that this guy watched the whole "Dancing with the stars" series (he excitedly told the table who had actually won the the whole thing) and that he ate bull testicles without knowing,   Actually, he did find out after trying the first one, but then kept on eating them and complaining. 

 

I don't know, a square in a hole?  I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I found him so annoying, yet he's probably the one guy who would jump in a lake if I was drowning.  And to save me, not to push my head under, which would then leave me indebted to him for life and I would learn to like him and have to defend him the rest of my days to those other shallow people like me.

 

Ah, the complexities of us.  It's not life that's complicated.  Life is easy, you are born, grow, and then die.  We complicate it in between just so we have something to do.  I mean, if this guy hadn't annoyed me so much, I would have one less entry on my journal...

 

G

It's over... I think

 

I think I broke up with George Clooney.

 

I was reading some stuff online and...  wait.  I need to back up.  A friend of mine told me a story about this awful woman and how she hooked up w/George which made it more awful because she was so awful and well... George seemingly doesn't discriminate a whole lot.

 

Ok, so back to my reading.  Being non-discriminate is usually a wonderful thing. But in this case, when you read that GC (allegedly) boinked Roseanne Barr (way back when) in addition to Ms. Awful, you realize that sometimes some people shouldn't have taken the seat on that bus to begin with.  Not at the beginning of the ride, not now, not later.

 

Following all this trash that now clouded my brain (which is an excellent way to escape the reality of Evil Step Brother) I went to sleep.

 

That night a George dream came again.  But this time it was horrible.  He had like 3 or 4 strippers there and although I don't even remember what was going on, I was clearly not as happy as I had been in previous George dreams.  At one point he said something completely inappropriate in front of my daughter, and the whole thing culminated with me screaming at him at the doorway (I was leaving).  I called him a sweaty, greasy-faced drunk that was nothing but a bore who just sat around drinking for fun and I left.

 

He hasn't visited me since.  Regardless, I'm staying away from any of the smut articles that claim he's gay.  I just don't really want to have that dream...

G

And NO I'm not a drama queen

THIS WAS WRITTEN ON FEB. 27TH

Today we left Colorado to go back to L.A.

 

I was pissed off.  This time because although our plan had been to pack everything up yesterday, get up this morning, have a last day of skiing w/the kids, and then jumping in the van to leave in our under-ski-clothes (very comfy) for the 14 hour drive.

 

But no.  Just as we get up (I knew it) my husband decided we should probably NOT ski and just leave (as usual).  Since I got my first pair of great ski boots only yesterday, I was soooo looking forward to using them for longer than just a couple of runs which were ruined by my low blood pressure (another day's story).

 

I was all kinds of pissed off.  Stomped around, huffed, puffed, grunted, stomped some more and reduced all communication to one syllable sentences.  Pissed.

 

We checked out, returned the rentals, dropped off some things, bought something to cover up the bags, and then decided to quickly get a sandwich while waiting to meet our friend Marty to say thank you and goodbye.

 

We sat down and Marty showed up.  Among other things, he brought up the fact that it was a beautiful day of skiing (of course) so my cranium just cracked in half and fire shot up to the sky (reference to Bill Cosby?).  Of course all were subjected to my sad story which, according to me, borderlined on some sort of spousal mental/emotional abuse and which Marty had to agree with me on.  Obviously.

 

By the grace of Love and God and all wonderful things in the world, the conversation changed to a different topic, fortunately for my husband.  One which at some point prompted my husband to respond to Marty's "you're a lucky guy to have her" by saying something like "she's definitely the one thing in my life I've been lucky with".  It took sooo much for me not to jump on his lap and kiss him until he couldn't breathe, or to cry, or both.

 

Those moments are funny, the ones that make you fall in love all over again.  I see why I'm with him, why we're married and why I couldn't live without him.  He is not what I had previously envisioned  for a husband (I wanted a brunette, or at least a tall one), but then again, I've never been right.

 

Andso right it is.  My family as it stands now is the most perfect thing I couldn't even have imagined, because it's real.  There is so much love, so much richness in the rapport we have when we're together.  It's what's in between when we're standing face to face that is impenetrable, direct and infinite.

 

Tonight I feel so incredibly fortunate.  If I never say this again, allow me for once to say that I have found the source and the taste of happiness.  It is small and hard to find because it's so obvious, like looking for your glasses when they're on top of your head.  Like craving to touch something soft, when our own skin is right there.  It's finding warmth within your own breath.  Loving what I have, having what I love, what I always wanted.  Love.

 

Ultimately, that's what we all want, right?

G