Dreaming of France

Some time ago, I dreamed I traveled to Paris with my high school French class, some time in the winter. We didn't see anything that travelers flock to, but rather wandered around a snowy suburb that didn't look that dissimilar to some of our homes back in the States. I think we visited a gas station.

This morning (I usually remember my morning dreams more clearly) I dreamed that I revisited that suburb of Paris, accompanied this time by characters from Star Trek: The Next Generation. After a few moments, I exclaimed, "I know this place! I've been here before! I... aw, man, it was a dream!" When I woke up, I couldn't shake the feeling that deep down, for some unknown time, a part of me genuinely believed I'd been to Paris in the winter.

And it wasn't until I began writing this post that I realized that I'd had yet another dream featuring people from Star Trek. At least nobody was in their pajamas in this one. But I still want to see that commercial.

*facepalm*

So, a hypothetical question that I posed last November has become less hypothetical.

So, hypothetically, who keeps giving these not-funny, talentless hacks money to make movies?

That really wasn't a hypothetical question, was it?

HYPOTHETICS!

What a weirdo

Five years ago today, I was chatting with some friends after rehearsal, and one guy asked if I planned on going to karaoke the next evening.

"What the hell?" I thought to myself. "He hates karaoke. Why does he even care?" And then I saw the way he was sort of smiling, and it made weird sense. He was flirting with me. And wanted to continue flirting with me.

I almost didn't go, because I'd just picked up Jade Empire, and you know how that is. But I eventually did, because I can't say no to karaoke. And he was there, and we flirted.

And the rest, as they say, is just between us.

Looking Back

Next Thursday, March 11, will mark the fifth anniversary of my divorce.

In the past, I have celebrated this event in different ways. The first year, I brought out my wedding dress, hacked the skirt from a respectable floor-length to somewhere mid-thigh, tried to dye it a pretty green-blue, and went out and got utterly wasted with my closest friends. I don't remember a whole lot of that evening, but I do remember that it was amazingly fun.

The second year, I made my roommate drink a shot with me.

The third and fourth years, I recorded these videos and posted them on YouTube.

So, for year five, what shall I do?

Right now, the only thing I expect to do is to spend 5-7 hours in a car, make myself and my boyfriend a passable supper, and pass out. It's probably time to stop celebrating this thing, I think.

My marriage was a huge mistake, and I never felt so free or so relieved as when I was finally able to end it. And in the past, it has seemed like that end was a good, and right, and proper thing to celebrate. It felt kin to a birthday, in a way. Each year was a new one in my new, happier life.

The problem here is that I think I've been so focused on the way I felt, that I didn't give a whole lot of thought to the way I behaved. And now that I've actually started to think about that, the feelings of freedom and relief don't feel that important anymore. So it's time to grow up.

Here's to you, year five. I'm an adult now.

Ok, so I'm mostly an adult now. You can't grow up completely, can you?

To Elaborate on a Tweet

Yesterday I told Twitter that I'd dreamed that the cast members of each Star Trek series danced in pajamas. It was a delightful dream to wake up remembering, and thinking of it now makes me smile, so I'm going to share it more fully, as much as I can really remember.

More than anything, the overall feeling of the dream was that it was a commercial, done in support of some organization, or cause, or something. And I don't recall clearly certain casts being present (really, all I remember were the original cast, and the Next Generation cast), though the idea of the dream was that it was supposed to be everyone. And for some reason Gates McFadden wasn't in pajamas, but a rather simple and basic black bra and panties set. Patrick Stewart was in red silk, Wil Wheaton was in blue flannel (I think with horses on it). William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy were arm in arm, wearing matching pjs, and singing and dancing. They looked like they were having the most fun with it. Brent Spiner was doing the sprinkler, and George Takei started breakdancing at one point. There were a lot of other people there, but the specifics on what they were wearing and how they were dancing are lost in dreamland.

I woke up wishing I could find it on YouTube. I woke up wanting to support whatever it was that they wanted me to. I woke up wanting to ask Wil Wheaton via Twitter if he owned flannel jammies. I woke up feeling good, and smiley, and I giggle a little whenever I think about it. Like I am now, and have been all through the writing of this.

Where I Belong

I consider myself lucky that one of my earliest jobs was in a field that I absolutely love, that it was a great environment to work in, and that I had awesome bosses. It set the bar pretty high, and the last few jobs I've had have been pretty lackluster, even without the comparison. My dissatisfaction with my current job has me reminiscing about this early work experience, and I really find that I miss it.

Back in the day, I worked as an usher for a large performing arts center. It had only been open a year, and was a renovation of the city's first high school. I worked there for two years or so, commuting back on the weekends when I got into college. I got to the point where I wasn't just an usher, I was also able to house-manage the smaller of the two stages. I helped out on mornings when tickets for highly-anticipated events went on sale. I helped patrons find their seats, and get new seats when they had tickets on the fourth floor (the balcony, which was above the mezzanine - - it was really damn high up) and acrophobia kicked in. I just loved it. Not only was it a performing arts area, but it was also a customer service area.

My bosses were awesome. I'll never forget the one who gave me a great brief on the professors at the college I would soon attend, and later gave me advice I should have listened to. He was fond of calling me "AB" and high-fiving me. I think it amused him that I was so damn short, but it was still fun. He left, and his assistant took over, and she often seemed to have such a great energy, and attitude. These were people that I wanted to work for, and made me want to do well. Those are good feelings for a kid just entering the work force to have, I think.

Out of lingering nostalgia and a few other reasons, I decided to become a fan of the center on Facebook, and yesterday a video was posted of a horde of children streaming into the building to attend a show. I am not a person who is fond of children, but watching the clip made me want to be there so badly.

There's something wonderful about a performing arts center. It's not like retail, or (I imagine) other types of customer service. So often, it seems, shopping is like a chore for people. It's not something they get excited about very frequently (though there are moments, and when they happen, it's kind of awesome in its own way). But with performing arts, the energy can be incredible. For a lot of people, it's a special occasion, and they're happy to be there, and looking forward to the next few hours. I'd give my left arm to be back in that kind of environment.

Somebody's left arm, anyway. No need to go wasting a perfectly good one.

Too Long to Tweet (again again)

From an article titled 9 chic shoe rules:

7. Pair Sky-High Shoes with Tame Hemlines When going for major air, keep your hemlines at an inch above the knee. But when wearing a short skirt or dress, wear a lower heel or flat — it will balance you out and keep you from showing altogether too much leg.

I'm sure I'm missing some fundamental aspect of fashion, but I'm not sure how a shoe can make you show more or less leg while wearing an already short skirt. I'll accept the fact that high-heeled shoes make the leg appear longer (and more shapely), but I really doubt they can make you show "too much" leg when your skirt is already shorty short.

Besides. If you're wearing a short skirt, I'm going to hazard a guess that the intent is to show off the leg anyway, so why not wear high heels to make them look oustanding?

Expressions

Someone I love passed away last night.

She'd been battling cancer for nearly four years, and it felt like a weird little fight to someone who wasn't always in the know. She was a tough, determined, awesome woman, and when she was diagnosed, she had the attitude that she would beat it no matter what. Or at least fight it. And she did. With the usual round of treatments, we were told that she beat it and was doing well. Then, months later, we were told that she'd collapsed, and they found a tumor in her head. But we were told that she pretty much beat that, too.

We weren't really well informed about what was going on, how she was doing. For the most part, we assumed that no news was good news, and she looked like she was doing well enough the few times that we were able to see her. We went to her retirement party just last spring, and while she looked older than her mere 64 and didn't quite have the same vitality we used to see in her, her hair was growing back, and she was still the same person we love so much.

When my boyfriend went home over the New Year, he spoke with some of her former colleagues. I don't know if they specifically spoke of her, but again - we assumed that no news was good news.

Yesterday, after I got home from work, my boyfriend asked me if I was familiar with what Hospice Care was. When I told him my knowledge was pretty vague, he informed me that she had been placed in hospice care the night before, and she was essentially being made comfortable. He found out through a group dedicated to her memory on Facebook, which at the time had only about 30 members. Twenty-four hours later, there are 375 members. There is a long line of wall posts from people writing about their memories of her. We were informed, via the group, that she'd passed away at about 10pm that night.

It feels strange to me now, and it did at the time, too, but when I found out that she was in hospice, and had gotten my first good cry out, I turned to Twitter next. I had to say something, and 140 characters seemed about enough for a simple cry of grief and pain. I was hurting (I'm still hurting) and there was the compulsion to express it to the void of the internet. Not because I felt that any of my followers needed to know, not because I wanted expressions of sympathy, but because my Twitter account, as much as this blog, as much as any other of the online spaces I frequent, has become a voice for me. It is as much a voice for me as the one with which I speak to a stranger on the street.

I wish I could go to her funeral, but I don't think things will work out. Knowing that hurts as much as knowing that there is now a world without her. She was a teacher, and a beloved mentor to so many people. She touched my life more profoundly and positively than even some of my own family members were never able to do. My grandfather, who was present in my life up until a few short years ago, died last September, and it didn't affect me nearly as much as her loss.

Work tomorrow will be difficult for me. I was glad to have today off through a natural course of events. But sometimes I still just want to cry and cry. But this post is just one more expression of grief and loss for me, and I'm glad to have made it.