I love my Scott so much. I am so unbelievably lucky to have him. We get on each other's nerves sometimes, stupid little unimportant things make us bicker and hurt each other's feelings, but the bigger picture is that I adore him and thank God that we found each other. In my dreams last night I remember coming home with him to this house I often dream I live in. It's incredibly haunted and confusing, but at least in the first part of the dream I remember being so happy to be with Scott. I told him that it felt like we were living together.
All I wanted to do was get to the bath so we could take a long hot sexy bath together but things kept getting in my way. Scott went down the hall to the bathroom, and while he was waiting for me, I was talking to the nanny who was watching Beau and taking care of the house for me. I didn't recognize her so I knew something was off. I checked on Beau and he was happy and fine. I asked him to go help her take the kittens out of the car. Earlier I'd been having trouble parking, and I noticed that all of the kids on this dream street, that is similar to the one I really live on, but different in weird, spooky, crucial ways, had put out pop up tents and had a sleep over in their front yards.
It's funny, I notice how I talk to myself, well, in my mind, in the mornings and I think, oh I'll write that down and share it with my friends, and then I forget what I thought of writing because more things come along and clutter up my mental chalkboard. I'll have perfect sentences that capture exactly what I'm feeling after a good long night of deep dreaming, but then they simply blow away in small puffs of foggy thought. Oh well. Here are some snips of thought.
When I came in to the office this morning I saw a piece of paper on the table with Beau's writing that says, "Pokemon Sucks." "You dare malk (I think that must be mock) Pokemon? I'LL GET PIKACHU ON YOUR ASS!" I'm thinking Beau was messing around in some BBS again and copied down his conversation. He does this when he doesn't understand something, or he's proud of some exchange he had, so he can show it to me later. It turns out Beau just liked this and copied it from a new cartoon called Welcome to Eltingville.
Beau's picture was in the LA Times charity supplement yesterday. If you want to see it look for a magazine insert with a picture of Laura Bush on the cover with Maryvale across the top. The picture of Beau is the one I took of Beau in Mexico wearing the hat and holding the Pet's.com puppet. I took out the original background and put the ocean behind him. It's so cute but because I'm lame at using Photoshop it came out too low res and doesn't look crispy and bright like all of the other pictures. I give you my resolution to learn how to use Photoshop fully by this time next year.
My Mom's wanting to buy space and include a photo of us, in the Maryvale charity supplement in the Times every year, is an example of her sweet side. She feels close to this charity because of me. Maryvale is the Los Angeles Orphanage and Mom thinks of me as an orphan because she adopted me. Or more accurately, because I was an orphan before she adopted me, she feels tenderly towards other children in similar situations. On the other hand, (there always has to be an other hand with Mom though, doesn't there), when I told her that I want to adopt a little girl from China, or maybe an older mixed race child from here, my Mom said she would call her attorney and make sure that bastard child doesn't take a dime of her money away from her precious grandson. He's not even related to her by blood, why accept him as her own, but no one else I might adopt? God her thinking is twisted. I love her so much, but she's so messed up, so stuck in the forties.
Saturday was the one year anniversary of my Father's death. I hadn't memorized the date, perhaps because it was too traumatic, or maybe just because I'm bad at remembering anything numeric. I'll go visit him with Beau this week and take flowers. If I were Latin I would have been certain to be there on the anniversary. Their cultures are so much richer than ours in that respect. Rosa said they go every day for forty days after someone has been buried. Is that true? I wish someone would do that for me when I die. My Mom won't ever go see my Dad's grave, it's too painful for her. She's never visited her parents. I like going, I like graveyards.
I loved the documentary on HBO's America Undercover series last night, The Young and the Dead, about Hollywood Forever, the revitalized cemetery in Hollywood. I wrote about it in my journal a week or so ago. I kept thinking that anyone who watched Six feet Under would see a likeness to David in the handsome Tyler Cassity. Scott didn't agree, but when Tyler squinted his eyes, I thought Michael C. Hall, who plays David, must have been studying this man to be so like him. These people made me like them so much I wanted to go work for them. I wonder if lots of people showed up today just to say hello. If you aren't gone to the biographies in the Forever Network, please go see them, they're so moving and interesting.
Here's a girly question, when I was taking birth control pills, I got dark discolored patches of tan skin on my face, if I use a fade cream, will that fade it out permanently, or will the darkened pigment keep coming back? I figured someone must know this here.
Okay well I'm off to buy some Co2 for Beau's paintball gun, and some Snapple, gotta have Snapple.