dream incubation...

No, really.

I just read about this not 8 hours ago before trying (in vain) to get to sleep after an uneventful weekend. Supposedly, one can "incubate" a dream.

There are worksheets designed to help with just this activity. The idea is that you fill out questionnaires about the state of things in your life. Things like work issues, relationship issues, health issues. The act of writing these things down apparently helps your subconcious, which rules supreme in the dreaming world, attune to these things and help solve them.

Well, I'll be slathered in bacon grease and twice baked.

I know it sounds as if I'm just about to make some pithy remark and swoop low on the radar and lampoon it, but guess what?

I'm not.

That's right, the newest adventure is exploring my dreams, with the use of the internet, a dream dictionary someone gave me once (provided that I find it), and my sister's book "The Everything Dream Book". Yesterday evening I had a very srange dream that I was a maid in someone's house a la Gosford Park. I was dressed in a 1930's era maid's outfit, and my hair was even marcelled (which is a style which can be viewed by clicking on the header of this post). I was apparently in charge of setting up the toiletries for about 9 men. Said toiletries (specific for shaving) included a cell phone, a vase of flowers, including lilies and carnations, and this apple cider under chin wax stuff. Before anyone goes screaming anacronism or apple cider wax - remember this is a dream. I recall feeling completely frustrated because all I had were notes about what to do, as apparently this was my first day as a maid, and I wanted to make a good impression. And they were all to get ready in these tiny sinks all in a row, which were made of black onyx or something, which showed every water stain, and which I didn't know if I should worry about.

Weird.

the hills are browning...

Which means summer is making it's bright and cheery face known in Northern California. Which means it's hot. Which means all the beautiful vibrant color is quickly fading from the once verdant hills, fire season approaches, and it's hot.

I hate hot weather.

I once lived in Las Vegas for a little more than a year, and got the singular experience of a summer where I was glad, Glad, GLAD when it was under 105 degrees. Needless to say it skewed my poor California sensibilities. Granted, I had about 80 more pounds of insulating fat, but I lament the poor dead brain cells of anyone who chooses to live in such a wasteland. No no no, it isn't that I think Nevada is inferior, nor anyone who chooses the air conditioned way, I just think the relentless sun and pollution and lights have permanently injured the poor little neurons.

Did I mention that I hate hot weather?

Fortunately, it really only lasts two months here, and one can go spend some time in San Francisco to cool down, and it rarely reaches anywhere above 90. Give me the lovely summers in Seattle or Ireland, which, from my handy dandy browser window, is a comfy 57 degrees at this posting, with a light rain.

Fog, drizzle, overcast. Keep me pale and keep me OUT OF THE DAMN SUN!

the follicle chronicles...

Or perhaps, more appropriately, the "I wish my damn hair would grow faster" chronicles. I know, I wouldn't have to bleach it every two weeks if it weren't growing. My insane wish for immediate gratification has left me an empty feeling filled only with the thin gruel of forced patience. Not only was I stupid enough to chop four inches of my precious and damaged tresses three months ago, but then I compouned this sin with getting it professionally fixed, and giving the stylist her head when fixing it. It ended up shorter than when I was trying to look like a boy five years ago. Now when I curl it I get tons of "My god, you look just like Marilyn" comments. And I still can't get my damn hair to DO anything.

So not only do I love being blonde (I get so much attention!), but there's the dividing line between attention and keeping the hair healthy. Do I keep the hair champagne blonde (even though both loves of my life really would raher I be brunette again?) or cut it all off again and let the gray fly? I am SO not ready to look anything close to my real age.

Though today is a co-worker's birthday, and she proudly and loudly admits her age. Susan Sarandon shall be my role model for aging gracefully. That chick is sexy as hell...

So I'll just keep on pulling a my hair, wishing it would grow...

black coffee...

I know it's been said before, but coffee IS the nectar of life. Never mind ambrosia, never mind golden apples, give me the scalded blood of the bean and I'm SUCH a happy camper. I'm on my fourth cup and can't believe that it's only 9:25. I know, no one with high blood pressure should have anything remotely resembling a stimulant, but I cannot live without my daily ration of pure dark richness. Of course, I can't abide the tast of black, so I load it up with powdered whitener and tons of equal, and have been called a hedonist for my trouble. I don't care!

there are few enough simple pleasures in which we indulge. I'm cutting down smoking, given up sugar, and denied myself the pleasures of pasta, bread, and french fries - so why shouldn't I avail myself of the buzz? I don't even drink that much.

Huzzah for vice!

the value of mindless...

.... Mindless music, mindless attitude, mindless people, mindless activity. I'm trying to make my brain turn off for just one eensy second, and it won't. I'm cursed with the ability to be ever mindful off everything I can possibly contain around me. Which currently means ONE thing, which is bugging me to know end, like a rather large wasp buzzing around my head, attracted to my perfume and readying her stinger to take me down the allergic reaction path of destruction. I feel flawed today. Deeply flawed. I also need a whole pack of cigarettes.

damn damn damn

Just called a friend, and HE got calls, but i didn't, which means, of course, that I'm not cast. In either one. I'm bummed today.

call me already!

I'm not a patient person. Not one bit. Two days is just enough time to decide on a freakin' cast list, as far as I'm concerned. If it were me directing (and no offense to this director, for he is a wonderful and lovely person) I would've had it done on the very night, and called each and every one of the damn Aldonza's, and told all of us if we were cast or not, and exactly why.

But then, that's me. I can decide on things quickly. I'm not always correct in my decisions, but at least I commit to one direction and take it as far as I can go. I'm just frustrated with waiting.

And for political reasons, since I'm a designer on all three shows, I can't just call and say - "Hey, you love me. why aren't you casting me in the lead??" Because I'm enough of a diva already.

I hate waiting.

there's just no delicate way...

...to put this. No possible way to sugarcoat or otherwise be poitically correct or save any face whatsoever. I choked last night. My friends are the most wonderful people in the world, and told me I didn't suck too badly (actually they didn't even say that). I was called back for a big juicy role, and it was 11:15 when I had to hit an Ab. This, for the less musicially inclined, is above the staff, and fairly near the top range note for a soprano. While I am technically a soprano, this doesn't mean that a full day of work, much emotional turmoil over the weekend, and nerves won't sabotage even the most seasoned of performers. I'm not even close to seasoned when it comes to singing. I feel like I choked.

I felt like I was going to hurl the entire time we were sitting there waiting our turn. By "we" I mean the 11 other women called back for my same part. Eleven! All of which had widely varying looks and ages (one was older than fifty!, but fortunately not a very good actress). Twelve women with good voices and presence, but not so much the acting prowess. They were lovely in that they gave me every opportunity to shine when it came to reading sides (scenes with two or more people). I rocked there. But that damn Ab.

The audition process sucks. I'm indelicate today and I don't care.