What a Dream

Here's my dream from this morning:

The salon required us to attend a "progressive" church service while we were all out of town in a team-building exercise. My company does not offer team-building in the same sense that the corporate world does. We don't get all-expenses paid trips to Miami. More often we get 8 hour meetings in windowless rooms. So, keep dreaming, Robin. But we do have a helluva holiday party. Be really nice to me, and I may let you come with me in December.

Despite the fact that I am extremely NOT Christian, I willingly attended and sat fairly close to the front. The Jesus talk became increasingly annoying, so I spent most of the time people-watching. There were lots of people sitting in the aisles in sleeping bags. This later reminded me of "Love Week," the annual youth group camping trip at my church. We would sleep in cabins for a week, and pray a lot. Oh yeah, and we stole the boys underwear and tie-dyed it. Yeah. We were such good kids. I wonder how many kids lost their virginity at church camp...

The minister took a break, similar to real church when the choir sings by itself, but instead, the lights dimmed, and a jumbo-tron played a Dominos Pizza commercial. At this point I became so disgusted by the deadly combination of commercialism and blind faith that I stormed out, and noted that Jeffrey and Kitt were right there with me. It was so disturbing to see a commercial in church. But I'm almost positive that churches of the future will have some sort of advertising for "donating" companies. Until they invent pay-per-pray.

We met at the bar and drank Sprite. Really, Sprite. Jeffrey had been craving a diet Sprite at work Thursday afternoon. Guess that left an impression.

The dream then devolved into a Post-Apocalyptic Fight Club in the Wizard of Oz goes to San Francisco scene. That one was just too freaky to describe. So I'll stop here.

Star Stomping

I'm so tired, but all is well.

First, I went to Toledo, OH for a visit with the future-mother-and-step-father-in-law. They are a fun couple. Linda took me to H&M, where I spent $130, but got a dress, a coat, matching unmentionables, and two tops. You can't beat it. And I look cute in my new clothes. This is more my kind of store than Urban Outfitters, but H&M won't be in Atlanta until spring, so I really need to take a trip to Lenox soon.

Then I worked for two days.

Then I spent 1.5 days in Hilton Head with my best girlfriend. I got a little sunburned, and we played therapist with each other (that sounds dirty), and ate some seafood. Oh yeah, and some margaritas, beer, wine, and mojitos.

She got stung by a jellyfish. No, I didn't pee on her. More than one person has mentioned that since I started telling the story. Maybe it was on Friends or something? Anyway, the real treatment is to rub wet sand on the sting for a couple of minutes. Then you spray it with vinegar. Nessa was a trooper. She didn't even cry. I would have cried.

And we went star stomping. There were phosphorescent thingys in the tidal puddles on the beach. When you stomped the puddles, they would glow like tiny floating stars. Really. I swear it wasn't the margaritas.

Wedding Music

Thank you Annie!
I've been having a good ole time working on the music for the wedding. Currently listening to "To the Nth Degree" and I forgot how much I loved this song. I figure a song which gloriously spells M-O-R-N-I-N-G-W-O-O-D is in balance because:
Mom wants "Muskrat Love" played at the reception. How long has it been since you heard it? I promise, it's worse than you remember. Especially when you can hear the detail of the "muskrat sounds" that are actually some instrument being played in a stupid way. If anybody knows what this instrument is, I would love to know.

Sensory Memory

This evening I stepped outside onto my too-small deck to enjoy my yard after dark. I stared into the trees, listening to the cicadas (or Jim thought they were tree frogs - I don't know). I remembered that sound, that music, as the indication of my alone time at girl scout camp. We would go to our tents (yes kids, we used to bunk on cots in tents on wooden foundations), and get in our sleeping bags, and the singing insects would be so loud as to drown out the sniffles, snores, etc. of the other girls.
It was at that time I would create stories, imagine worlds, that eventually (years later) would form into writings. Not great ones, but creations that were my own, geeky or not.
So I came inside and jumped on the laptop. silly.

Two Nights Alone

Jim will be leaving town tonight, and I will be alone until Sunday when I travel to Ohio to see his mom - my future mother-in-law, Linda I. There I will overeat, overdrink, and hopefully get enough time alone to read a book. The latter hope will most likely not happen, as she is an energetic (her daughter calls her "bippy") woman. I'll be on personable mode most of the time. But they tend to go to bed early, leaving us a bit of alone time. I'm just looking forward to being somewhere other than Atlanta. And seeing his parents. They are super fun.

Now I have to decide what to do with my two nights alone in Atlanta. Tonight will probably be tv, maybe a recorded movie (I have One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and Dave which are both good movies I've already seen), but not a Netflix movie, because Jim wants to see both of them (An Inconvenient Truth and Black Snake Moan featuring Christina Ricci's boobies). I can't have too much fun tonight as my Friday night bedtime is 10 pm in preparation for my usual 6 am Saturday alarm. ug. At least tomorrow is jeans day at work. I look good in my jeans.

Saturday night is supplying me with many exciting ideas. My first is to have a margarita and IBS-inducing Mexican at El Azteca, then modeling my wedding dress (maybe I should do that before the Mexican) with the correct bra and a key-ute tiara my client let me borrow (what a nice offer by the way - preventing me from spending money on a used tiara which may or may not be cute because it's hard to tell on eBay). It's been too long since I spent quality time with my mama. The only problem is that I will be REALLY tired, and she'll say, "You look tired." Do mothers realize that this is NOT a compliment? Also, I'm never super chatty after a day of work (and 10 hours of chatting). It's easier to spend Saturdays with her if Jim is there to fill in the silence. My days off are much better for me in the visiting department.

My other possibility (or probability, actually) is that I will pick up a bottle of wine and some yummy, superbad takeout and hide in my house with The Cutest Dog in the World. Maybe I'll do pay-per-view.

If I write tomorrow night, just assume that said bottle of wine is on its way to empty.