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Tuesday, Mar. 29, 2005 / 7:12 p.m. ~Twenty Years Ago/I Want More~ I swear, I just said this, aloud, "What happened? I'm online again!" I think I walked in to check email, and there was something from Reunion.com, and once again I was almost intrigued enough about who the five people are who've searched for me, almost, to purchase a subscription. Not quite. But I did stop to upload my college yearbook photo, and I cropped myself out of the photo of Moby and me, the recent one, and posted that as the 'now' photo. You know, 'then' and 'now'. And I listed myself in the dating list. So, any schmo who's coughed up the bucks, and wants to find me, can, and can see that I'm incredibly single and not looking to change that, but I'm still hot, and I don't look like all the other forty-four year old women we went to school with, the ones I saw at the reunion this past summer. Women who actually don't look so bad, so, well, I'm talking out my ass again, but I ended up stuck here, so might as well write a little something something to commemorate the day. It's Norm Chomsky's birthday, and she hasn't upchucked once. My fifteen year old girl is so sweet, I love her muchly. I sang her the birthday song, and scooped her up in the air, and hugged her tight, and kissed her lots, and told her I love her (yawn, the usual), and I wish we had cake, because I love cake, but no, we don't. Today also marks the twenty year anniversary of my embarkation, no, wait, that's not a word, and it's Bertolli, not Bertholli, by the by, to Europe. Catch that? Twenty years ago today I flew off to Brussels for high adventure. From there to Bruges by train, day trip stuff, and frites avec mayonnaise in the town square, a walk along medieval canals, and much picture taking, and a train trip back, and then off to Paris, and on Easter weekend it was stupid crowded, so I ended up at a room-finding service in the Gare de Lyon, and sharing a room with two cousins from the states... With whom I went sightseeing, l'Arc de Triomphe, Tour Eiffel, Notre Dame, le Louvre, yada yada, and the Champs Elysees, natch, and these were kids compared to my 23 soon to be 24, and I turned 24 the day I took the train to Verona, sitting amongst couples of a certain age, all discussing the state of education and such, and I was lost, despite my grasp of the language which I soon learned was of the suckage variety. They 'oh la la la la la'ed a lot, and offered me food, some which I took, and I'm sure I told them it was my birthday, but honestly I do not remember. And in Verona my aunt bitched because she thought I was a day late, and I stayed with my uncle, and he had marble floors, but everyone in Italy seems to, and he showed me which spoon I could use to stir my coffee, and how to wash it and dry it immediately after, because it was silver, and for a man living alone he was appropriately persnickety. His wife, the aunt, lived on a separate floor in their building. Ah, Vicenza, Venezia, Roma, Firenze, Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo, back to Verona, back to Brussels and home. And I think I ate all my Belgian chocolates in the hotel room that last night. I gained weight. I didn't bathe so much - not a big fan of the shared bathrooms, especially not with strangers. I got home and took the best shower ever, after which my water heater promptly burst, and leaked all into the apartment downstairs. I shopped for croissants, stared endlessly at American currency, and realized I'd not forgotten how to shift gears in my three month old car, which was now four months old. I was in Europe for one month, and I turned twenty-four there, and I had an affair with an Italian man, and I thought I was in love with him, came home and bought his cologne at Neiman Marcus, just so I could smell him whenever I wanted. My boyfriend had had an affair as well, the night before my return, and to him it was sex, but he knew I'd fallen in love, or thought I had. He spent two years with his affair, moving in with her, and I never saw mine again. But we remained friends, the boyfriend and I, until he married several years ago. She knew how much I meant to him and rather forbade him to see me. And so it goes. I have pictures of all of this, not the affair, but some he took of me, and they're quite lovely, the lot of them. I have prints and slides, and I used to look at them often, but it's been years, and I won't start back in now. Not feeling nostalgic, not really, just noting a milestone, as people my age do, we note the milestones. If we can remember them. I'm considering going to Bike Night this week, just for a burger really, but because I dig the atmosphere so greatly. It wouldn't seem too purposeful, now would it? After all, he said we'd never see each other again, and it was so matter of fact I do believe it, John, I do believe him. And as my friend says, maybe it was because he knew I didn't think enough of the kiss. But no, because he said it before that, and again after, and before he said he wanted another kiss. We should have kissed more, then I'd know more how to proceed. I think a burger is in order though, they do have the best, so everyone says, this pub. It's "Gilmore Girls"/"Amazing Race" night, and I mean to read more of my book I'm reading, and watch my "Guiding Light"s on tape, but as I felt this morning, so intensely, early, and then it came and went and I was low and then high again, and all kinds of in the middle... I'm excited. I just feel excited, and about absolutely nothing in particular. It just feels like certain things that were holding me back are finally OVER, and I am free to move on and forward and it's spring and I want to ride motorcycles with strangers, and hang with a gang of Harley riders, and get tattooed more, and find some cool new job, and a new car, and never look back on so very many things. But, to bring it back around, that trip to Europe, in my twenty-fourth year, twenty years ago, was monumental, and pivotal, and I changed in so many ways. I went on my own, I may have stayed with my uncle, but only for a few days, and I was on my own the whole rest of the month, and I had so many adventures, and I saw Charles and Diana on the spur of the moment, and he was shorter, so much shorter than she was, and I bought sweaters on the streets of Firenze when I was cold, and I craned my neck to see the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel, and to stare at the statue of David, and I walked along the Seine in Paris, and spent hours in the Louvre, and marveled at the stained glass during the performance of Vivaldi's "Quattro Stagioni" in that church, oh, I always forget the name... Saint Chappelle, oh, so very beautiful. Ah, well, memory fades a bit in twenty years, but it was a grand time, and my point is this: 44 does not mean dead. And I don't NEED a man in my life, though I'd love to have one for sex and companionship. I have adventures left in me, and I had one recently, and I will again, and maybe this is how it feels, this is the excitement, is realizing it's there, there are possibilities, and it's all up to me, really. Right place, right time, and I can put myself anywhere I want, to please myself, and there is no telling what will happen. More. I want more. Cost of the War in Iraq
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