Before I go any further, no I was NOT accidentally kicked in the head by a Shetland pony at my 12th birthday party. If that were the case, I would wear an oversized hat everywhere - - especially if Matthew Morrison was anywhere near me.
If that passage confuses you, go see THE LIGHT IN THE PIAZZA on tour or watch the 1962 movie version starring (get this combo) Olivia de Havilland and George Hamilton, or... hey, here's a thought, READ THE BOOK written by Elizabeth Spencer.
After seeing the musical, the movie and reading the book, you're still going to be a little weirded out by this story of a girl kicked in the head by a horse who moves to Italy and scores a hot Italian boyfriend who has no idea that the 26 year old woman he's humping has the mental capacity of our current Commander in Chief!
In THE LIGHT IN THE PIAZZA, the character of Margaret Johnson says...
"No one with a dream should come to Italy, no matter how dead and buried you think it is. Italy. This is where Italy will get you."
Last Saturday night I realized that my life proves Elizabeth Spencer wrong.
Not that she gives a flying fuck what a bald fag with a blog thinks, but I'm puttin' it out there!
Last Saturday at my father's birthday party, he mentioned in one of his speeches to the crowed that he and his wife (my stepmother) could tell you every little detail about the night they met - - where they were, what they did and how it ended - - except they weren't sure of the exact date.
How do you NOT KNOW something like this?!?!? I keep a calendar of which guys named "Trick" I slept with on what day, just in case a miracle occurs and a man actually does want to buy the cow after he's drank his free milk.
I just realized that in that analogy, I'm a "cow."
It's hard to get laid when you refer to yourself as a COW, just so's you know!
My father and stepmother can narrow it down to a two week window of time, because when they met, I was out of the country on a class trip through Europe...
...and you guessed it, we spent a few days in Florence.
Florence is where THE LIGHT IN THE PIAZZA takes place.
Before I left for that two week trip, my relationship with my father was incredible. After he separated from my mother, we had changed from "father/son" to "friends" almost overnight. Soon after I returned from Europe and my father met his new wife- to- be, he tried to reverse the process.
It didn't work.
For example, after all the nights I had spent as his "friend," convincing him that we should leave the bar before "last call" since it was a school night and 7th grade math was kicking my ass, it was difficult for my father to tell me that I had a 10:00 p.m. curfew
It was sort of like those areas in parking lots where you can easily drive through in one direction, but if you back up, metal spikes slice your tires. Our relationship exploded.
I guess in the back of my mind, I knew that my father and I wouldn't stay "bachelor buddies" for the rest of our lives, but when I went to Italy, I didn't find a dream that was "dead and buried" as Ms. Spencer says; I left a dream.
After he found his second wife, my father drifted further and further out of my life. A lot of that damage has been repaired now, but I live so far away that we will never, ever have the close friendship that we had for those few years between his marriages.
I do care about my stepmother, but I don't care for her. My father is in love with her and she makes him very happy, so I am happy that she is with him because of that. But as I told her a few years ago when she drunkenly asked me why I hated her so much...
"You took my father away from me."____
Epilogue: I did learn one interesting fact about my stepmother that slightly redeemed her in my eyes.
The night she met my father, she handed him her phone number on a Monopoly "Chance" card.
That move is either super smooth or incredibly cheesy - - or both. Probably both. Which is why I like it.
P.S. Does anyone have any old Monopoly game sets they don't use anymore?