Adventure's of Poisse Girl

Just for those whom read this blog and not my adoption blog. News, yes I said it ...News!

We have been asked to travel to Kyrgyzstan to meet the child our agency proposes us to adopt.We will be leaving within the next 30 days for a short 2-5 days trip.

I can't say more... other than we are pins and needles! I'll say more as soon as I can.

So, after years of being held back from concerts and shows due to a nasty case of adult onset agoraphobia... which I am getting over. I have seen the sexiest most rockin man alive...LIVE!

Yes! I finally did it. I bought tickets to see Mr. Henry Garfield otherwise known as Henry Rollins, AKA bad ass mother fu*ker from Black Flag & Rollins Band, AKA writer, poet, documentary maker, intellectual, spoken word star.

The show was 3 hours non stop intellectual mind fu*k and laughter. He was as candid and engaging, as I thought he would be. He reminded me how I have been keeping myself ignorant in order to avoid becoming a member of the ever growing terrorized population. The more I pretend to be a boring house wife with no interest in current events... the safer I thought I would be from the so called terror. I was living in denial, hoping the world would go back to the way it was in the 50s. Outside of the poignant subjects of his show I noticed something else that intrigued me...the audience.

The O2 Indigo (the venue) was filled with different types of people. Some of the audience members included (but not limited to)

New punk fans (under 35s), long hair Metal  Heads (complete with metalica t-shirt), Old punk fans (over 35's), Punk Sell-outs (complete with bad tie and cheap suit), bored brokers (what the??? no, I don't know they were there - and yes they looked clearly lost), journalists and a few people that looked like Chris and I "non descriptive Mr. & Mrs. Jones out for a night on the town".

Of course I couldn't help myself from tying to justify my ex-punkhood. I tried to show off my tiny tattoos, and talk loudly about obscure punk groups from the 70s. All to no avail, I looked boring and lost among the true punkers. I felt like the ultimate sell out. I sold my kool-aid coloured hair for 100£ professional moderated colour and cut, my chains for a diamond ring, my Doc Martins for Chanel mules, my US carrier pack for a Ferragamo hand bag and my black nail polish for a French Manicure.

What a sell out!

Interesting little turns lately... worthy of a 1-900-psychic phone line.

You know those silly housewives, paid too much to tell you over the phone,"I see someone from your past coming back into your life... blah blah blah" Well that, in sorts, is what is happening. Twice this month I have been contacted by men from my past. The first was a boy from jr. high in Oklahoma. He claimed to have 1."thought of me at least every month since I disappeared" (I was 15 then - how creepy is that) 2."Had been scouring the Internet and paid money to find me" . (not so creepy - I have done this, but still I'm hypocrite-ing it today)

When I admitted that I couldn't remember him, he stopped sending me emails. Funny huh? Do you think I hurt his stalker feelings? Or was I truly the "Jessica" he was looking for?

The second was far less forgetful. An old boyfriend, one of my top 10 most memorable people, sent me a "Do you remember me" message on my live journal! Ahhh! the good old days of what was going to be a very short career of college. It's nice to hear from old friends. They seem to be popping up everywhere now that the Internet is accessible to everyone and their senile grandmothers. But thank God for the Internet. What would I do without it.

But all of these old friends and flames got me thinking... what happened to Jason, my first husband? Well, I went into creepy-Internet-stalker mode and found him after about 2 hours of  web search. He's not married but has a kid. From the looks of the photos, a girl. Local obituaries state his father may have passed away in 2004 - I really liked him so that's a bit sad. He still drinks (proof in recent colour photographs thanks to the Internet). He didn't get fat, per say, but has a healthy beer gut and slowly expanding double chin.

I was tempted for about 2.8 seconds to send him a "hey what's up" email but then voted not to. I left him, and badly I might add. The next time I saw him was a few years later and I brushed him off with a "restraining order" threat. So I figured, he's probably better off not knowing that I am still alive. Also, I couldn't think of what to say after "what's up" besides "You ruined my view on men!" and "I can never enjoy a good buzz & it's all your fault!"

Then that exact thought got me thinking once more... how many people are better off not knowing if I am still alive or not? I'm known to run off without a trace, leaving people behind is as easy as taking out the trash. I know, I suck. But how about those that my absence is for the better? I just automatically assumed that I never really made a dent anywhere in the world, so why would anyone miss me? After all I was quite the bitch. (One must admit what is so obviously true) My guess is that there is a, not so, fine line between first impressions and lasting impressions. Blind as a bat, I have yet to see how either can be made by choice.

It's all a matter of Karma. At least, that is what I think today.

If dreams can come true then nightmares can too. Ok so I am exaggerating a lot but hey ! it's makes for a great starting line. 2 weeks with the in laws isn't flowers and pie but it's not bad either. Though I have clearly had enough for a long time. There were a few worthy kodak moments and I got my golf on a bit too. I like to golf... me and my tattoos and jeans stick out like a sore thumb at the club house but what can I say... WASP but not WASP enough.

Now I know only my mother really reads this blog but I like to think that someone else out there is reading this little journal of a desperate housewife.

Just for a little adoption info. All is well and going well. Some good news will be here soon... promise. In the meantime here are some photos of our vacation in St. Lunaire.

Ok. So we all know that what England is REALLY known for... Big Ben and Rain! Both currently in London - neither known for their "good timing"! There was, for a week, some sunshine worthy of Texas springtime. And admittedly, I was out of my mind with "happiness"...a word that has yet to be regularly linked with "London".

Yet I found a moment to laugh tonight - no I am not talking about Ashley Simpson's new song - but the actual difference between English Real World and English Fantasy World!!!

All day long, I have been stuck indoors due to constant pouring rain and subjected to the mocking voices of the television and radio "publicity" or "commercial" world trying to sell me SUNSCREEN!!!!!!! (4 times an hour all day even at midnight - the hour I wrote this post)

My God! revelation! Now I know why the English are not quite as depressed as the rest of us.... they are still in denial!