12.01.2007

Where I'm supposed to be

I knew that my last week in LA before the start of the Spice Girls tour would be busy. Seriously, though, half of my memories of that week don't even make sense.

I hung out one night with Ray, Matt, and Geoff. Ray ordered me a manhattan with Southern Comfort and he set a precedent for the week when few nights later I gave my mother, who was visiting, her second official hangover of her entire life. Drinking manhattans with Southern Comfort. Thanks for that idea, Ray. 

I remember apologizing to Matt for canceling on him twice that week. Between leaving town in a few days and my mom visiting, my brain was full up on what needed to get done. Matt asked what Mary Ann was doing all day while I worked and I told him that she had borrowed Geoff's car, a convertible Mustang with racing stripes, and was driving from Inglewood to Santa Monica.

"You let your Ohio mom drive that around the hood?" Matt hooted. "You might as well have painted a target on her."

"Okay," I said. "Let's agree that you're not going to say that ever again because it sounds scary and you're talking about my MOM."

I ate good food with my mom and walked around Griffith Park with her in the morning. I pointed out that it was the end of November, sunny and warm and I was wearing a tank top. Even if I miss all the seasons, and I'm not sure yet that I do, but I easily feel happier when the sky is light. So what if I had my heart broken not so long ago and am still picking up its sore little pieces? It's not all bad.

Now I'm in Canada. It's snowing. And it actually feels like Christmas. The Christmas trees make more sense here than they do in Los Angeles.

A few days ago, in LA, I tried to go to a movie but was stopped. The entrance to the theater was blocked by a thousand people in summer clothes waiting for a Christmas tree lighting and for the Goo Goo Dolls singer to stop reading the teleprompter script and start singing.

Really? I stood and watched for a minute. This is happening?

Here in Vancouver, I sit in Alli Jones' yellow and turquoise kitchen and drink wine. She sips tea and we wrap scarves around our necks and laugh, remembering Olympia, Seattle, Ecuador together. I wear a wool coat and scoop up snow outside the hotel and throw a snowball. And it feels like I'm right where I should be.

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