فيزا
We are still here in my living room, of course, and of course I'm still sandwiched by Stone, who's not wearing any pants under his Paula Abdul tshirt (pass me the term Bessie, but EW) and Frank, who's still wearing his police uniform, much to Stone's horror and confusion ... and of course, the air still smells like pure awkwardness in there. Not mine, as I'm enjoying my coffee and the shitshow happening in front of my eyes, but definitely Frank's and Stone's, although in very different terms: Frank looks rather okay, just a little bit diseased by the fact that my best friend's 'fiancé' is wearing nothing but a Paula Abdul t-shirt and his scrotum in front of him. But he's a proctologist at heart, and if he's staying calm and poised in this, and he ain't even laughing anymore, it's because he must be a urologist at heart too. Those Kinneys can do everything and be everyone they wanna be, at any given time, they can even pretend they have a degree in medicine when it looks good on them... and as a failed doctor myself, and as a Chaka Khan at heart (I'm every woman, it's all in me!) I'm in total awe of them. I could never be such a natural. Stone, on his side, is the one who's having it worse in this entire situation: he's the only one who doesn't happen to know what's going on, he's the only one who's looking back and forth in search of an answer to all of his questions and worries, a part of me still believes he thinks we're just about to be deported to the nearest prison... and what sucks in this, is that Frank and I aren't doing anything to comfort him and prove him wrong. But can you blame us? Man ain't wearing any underwear, getting anywhere close to him is a little bit of a liability, and I don't want to see any more of Stone than I've already seen. And trust me, what I haven't seen so far, it's only because he's doing everything he can to keep his peepee hidden... but he isn't always succeeding. But I'm successfully focusing on his Paula Abdul tshirt to avoid eye contact with his balls, and I'm thinking about how unfair life is: my father in law could've been a plastic surgeon and done my nose à la Paula Abdul for free, but he had to be a proctologist... and this means that I'll really have to spend 8.5k on that ethnic rhinoplasty. Bessie could've been here and taken a look at Stone's balls, taking one for the team much to Frank and I's relief... but she's probably shagging Cuntrell now, so this means that I gotta keep pushing her out of his arms, and into Stone's as my standard demeanour. Now that I'm no longer Sean's girlfriend, and that consequentially I'm no longer on the road with the band, I don't have to worry about the Cunt calling me fat and ugly as 'revenge' for my Cupid antics anymore. Or maybe do I gotta? He has my number ... and the last time he hit me up, he told me that Sean and Bess were fucking, and I fucking believed him because he was sounding a little bit too sincere, and a little bit like he was getting his ass probed himself. Yikes. Better mind my business yet settle Bessie's more carefully this time.
'Seriously now, what's the police doing here? Sir, don't get me wrong, but I'm genuinely confused'. Stone breaks the silence, and as I thought he would've, sooner or later, he asks for an explanation for why I have the police over at my place. I get him, it must feel really awkward to be in presence of a man wearing a police uniform that's basically looking at you funny, yet not interrogating you nor using physical coercion on you anymore... and he naturally wants to know what the heck is going on here. Like, why is the police here to begin with? Who called it on us? What for ? And why aren't they loading us on their car and dragging us to the nearest prison just yet? The answer is simple: the police is my family, this policeman over here covers me up for working illegally everyday of his life, he covers me up when I steal stuff from modelling backstages, he escorts me when creeps like Mark Lanegan follow me on my way home, too... but Stone doesn't know it yet, and to be frank (no pun intended, although I wish I were Frank Kinney), I don't know when I'll quit my prankster element and tell him the truth as it is. Aka that 'the police' that's freaking the living hell out of him is my ex boyfriend's dad, my adoptive US dad, my personal security guard, my proctologist, my best dude friend in all of Seattle too, one not to worry about... and he's here because he wanted to spend some time with me ('cause he luuurves me!) before heading over to his place and spending the rest of the night with his actual family. Which consists in my mother in law that I still haven't met, but whose wedding anniversary ring I've helped to choose, my sister in law whose only thing I know about is that she's getting married next spring (I don't even know her name, but Sean once invited me to her wedding, I've already bought her a present, hence I hope I'll attend the special event), and two, beautiful German Shepherds that my ex boyfriend considers as his whole babies. They could've been my babies too, if we only were still together... but we're not anymore, and it means that unless I run into Frank taking 'em on a walk to the park, I'll never meet them. I'll never give them the nail trim I promised Sean I would've given them. I'll never have the chance to introduce them to Cock Soup. And I'll never get to find out if they too would be jealous of their imaginary, human sister Syria like my squawking bubba is. Stone is all worried that we may as well be dragged in prison in no time, with no prior contradictory and with no option to choose a lawyer beforehand (that'd be his father, because he told me his father is a lawyer and I think I might hire him for green card'ing purposes) ... but on my side, I'm way more worried that this gotta be the definitive end of my ex boyfriend and I together. The end of all hopes and sweet, little resolutions we'd made for ourselves. I would've liked to spend Christmas with his family and finally get to meet them as we'd planned before we split up. I would've liked to take him back home with me for New Year's, and introduce him to my own family. My mom, my dad, my farm animals, my two own German shepherds... and my still unborn sibling, aka his future brother or sister in law. I would've liked to set something up so that our families would've met, and so that our babas would've become besties, too. That would've been incredibly sweet... but reasonably, what chances of getting back together in time before festive season do we have? Little to none. I know it, and it hurts... but I just need to learn to deal with it, resize my ambitions for my own good, and I'll be fine. It can't rain forever, even if you live in Seattle and it's always chucking it down over here. If I try to stand above, I'm sure I will succeed... I mean, Seattle has an elevation of just 53 metres, and the place I come from has an elevation of 735. My resilience was written in the desert sand, wasn't it ? Not really... but it's written on my broken ribs to conceal my surgery scar, and that's a testament of my resilience in itself.
