I find myself alone this weekend, seeing that Steve’s parents came to pick Gabriel up this morning and spirited him away to Hemet for the next couple of days. Steve, as usual, is gone to cover a race, this time in Philly. So I’m home, alone, with a sprained lumbar muscle. What kind of trouble can I get myself into do you think?
Well, I’ve finally lost it. I’m about to air my deepest, darkest, most annoyingly embarassing secret… I have a crush on Keanu Reeves. I haven’t the foggiest idea when it started, or how, but alas, there it is. My friend Bonnie tells me that it’s normal… she used to fantasize about bumping into Ringo Starr in an elevator, and carrying on a conversation with him. She also tells me that it’s because I’m bored and need an escapist fantasy… something to pull me out of the mundane that is my life. I’ve no doubt that’s true.
During my first year of college my sister had a similar thing going on with George Harrison during a particular trying time of her first marriage. Copious amounts of cheap wine was consumed while listening to old Beatles and George Harrison albums. She took it as a divine sign that she had received an invitation to the Hare Krishna temple for Sunday feast and dragged me along with her. Funny thing is, I got sucked in, hook, line and sinker, and on the eve of my eighteenth birthday, left home with my record albums, make-up and clothes to move into the temple ashram. This was, of course, while my parents were conveniently away on a Hawaiian vacation.
During my time there, my sister reconsidered this whole Hare Krishna business, left her husband, donned a pair of fushia lycra pants, went discoing and found herself a real live fixation instead of an imaginary one. She stopped going to the temple and couldn’t figure out what it was that kept me there. I eventually left, almost half a year later, of my own accord… but not after causing much grief and angst within the family (my mom was ready to consult the Yellow Pages for a deprogrammer… hahahha… now that’s funny!). I left the temple, but kept the nose ring, at least for a while. This was before facial piercings on white people was considered “normal”, and my mom, never one to keep an opinion to herself, told me I looked like a pig that was about to be led to the market for sale and slaughter. I finally took it out, figuring I’d never find a boyfriend if I kept it in, and a boyfriend was mostly what I wanted out of life. I was an eighteen year old virgin. That had to be fixed.
So… back from my tangent to Keanu… I think I feel a sort of kinship with him, I suppose. Though he, I’m sure (and unlike myself), has no shortage of people vying for his attention, he seems to be a self-inflicted loner. I’ve been one for most of my life, and although it was not my intention to be this way, that is pretty much the long and short of it. Why? Well, mostly my choice in companions, I suppose, and the fact that I lack the social graces required of someone with an active social life (I think the BS gene skipped me, and though that has a potentially negative aspect, I am for the most part grateful for it). However, how I managed to pick a mate that is forever absent, both physically (a whole lot) and emotionally (more so), I can not say. My greatest joy and companion remains my son, who will someday grow up and move on with the rest of his life, and I will need to contend with what is left of mine. I wasn’t asking for a whole lot out of a mate… or perhaps I was hoping for the impossible. Respect. Love. Affection. Cooperation. Mutual spiritual growth. A sort of communion of the body and soul.
Instead, I have a husband who largely leaves me to my own devices, because I’m not sure he really knows (or cares to know) what else to do with me. It’s a good thing my libido sucks, because I would certainly have the time and opportunity to become a floosy. It’s a good thing that my retail therapy issues have largely been curbed, because we’d have even less money than we do, and an apartment-ful of useless shit to prove it. Nope… I prefer to a) pour my heart and soul into my art (call it art therapy) or b) delve into a book (call it escapism). As the third option, if I had a motorcycle, and I could actually shift it out of first gear AND not drop it, I’d probably be out riding.
Okay… back from my second tangent to Keanu… I marvel at how someone such as he can be alone. Heck, if I could find someone willing to hang out with me, how is it possible that he has not? Is it that he’s made some poor choices in mates? Is it that he has a huge bundle of baggage that no self-respecting, sane, person is willing to tackle (so he’s left with just the nut-jobs who turn his life into a living hell)? Does he have some annoying or gross habits that no one is willing to put up with? Is he a lousy lover? I suppose, collectively or separately, I could have qualified for any one of these points at some point in my life… but not now.
And so finally… yesterday was Keanu’s 42nd birthday. Happy birthday, Mr. Reeves… soulful wishes that you will find what your heart most desires this coming year.