Cats

Last night, as J and I were listening to Cats as we worked on our projects (it literally was a working weekend, as you will see in a later post), I was wondering what so enthralled me by the soundtrack when I was a small child. Because I was enthralled, and I've heard it probably about 50 times. The whole sountrack.

(By the way "Magical Mister Mistoffelees" was then my favorite. Mostly because our neighbor had the same issue: They thought their cat was Mr. Whiskers, when in fact she was Mrs. Whiskers, and they ended up with kittens.)

"Jellicle songs for Jellicle cats" echoed through the house as we cut and ironed.

Over and over again, the line repeated, as if it were on "endless loop" setting. I wondered if there was a Jellicle song mentioned in the chorus for each Jellicle cat. Then I started trying to count how many cats that would be...and decided that it would have to be more cats than even a cat lady could handle.

Never having seen the production, and having not thought about the musical in years, I peppered J with questions about the history of the musical:

Me: When was this written?
J. I dunno. Are you thinking that piano sounds awfully synthesized?"
Me: Yep.
J: Funny, I was just thinking that, too.

Me: Is there a man who is a cat herder and who introduces all the cats one by one as they come on stage?
J: I think there's a narrator cat.

Me: Are there speaking parts in between all the songs?
J: I don't know.

Me: What would it be like to dress up as a cat in full makeup and dance about in song? I'm so glad I'm not on Broadway.

After one particularly odd song/poem:

Me: I think whoever wrote this was inebriated. Or was on some sort of illegal drug-induced haze. Either that, or they had small children.

J: /surprised, laughing/ What?

Me: Why else would you (a) write so many poems about fantastical cats [you can tell I'm not much of a feline-lover] and (b) why would you set them to sometimes creepy music? How could you possibly conceive of the notion that combining a bunch of poems about the cats, and write hissing, scratching, stalking music and have adults dress up as felines and prance about is a good idea?

And, as an afterthought, why would it be a best-selling show?!?

Guess I'm going to have to go see it to find out.

Chicken Hickeys

On Thursday, I did the Thing You Should Never Do: I went to the grocery store hungry.

As a direct result of this mistake, I bought not one, but two rotisserie chickens for my dinner. Two. Whole. Chickens. Buh-GAWK!?! (insert bug-eyed chicken here)

I can barely eat a quarter of a chicken in one meal, much less two whole ones!! (In my defense, I was competing in Iron Chef and was planning on making a chicken soup...but still...that's a lot of chicken.)

I was texting a friend to tell him about it, bemoaning my mental insistence that two chickens in the hand is better than one in the proverbial bush, and I typed, "I bought two chickens for my dinner tonight."

At least, that's what I thought I was typing. Auto-correct jumped in, and for some reason inserted "hickeys" where "chicken" should have been.

Awkward.

So it read: "I got two hickeys for my dinner tonight."

Oops.

But because I'm resourceful, I managed to not dwell on the possible embarrassment; instead, I made a joke about how I was going to have chicken hickeys, and it's kind of become a thing. Kind of like "just fine" when someone asks you, "How do you feel about that?" (It's an inside family joke...sorry for those of you who aren't familiar.) So instead of "Beef: it's what's for dinner" it's now, "Are you having chicken hickeys?"

So: Here is the recipe for chicken hickeys:

3 oz Tribe hummus (classic) or make-your-own
1 handful Stacy's multi-grain pita chips
1 handful of spinach
1/2 yellow or orange bell pepper
1/3 cucumber, sliced/diced in quarters
3 oz chicken bits

Prep time: 2 minutes
Bake time: 0 minutes

Take a pita chip and thinly coat it with hummus. Put 2 or 3 leaves of spinach on the hummus to make sure the spinach sticks. Put chicken bits on the spinach. Put a quarter of the cucumber on top of the spinach. Put a thin slice of bell pepper on top of that. Then pop the whole thing in your mouth. It's a beautifully addicting flavor burst.

I have a feeling if they made pita chips in the same shape as those Tostitos Scoopers that these would become a regular thing at cocktail parties. In fact, I have a dream that one day, Chicken Hickeys will make it in print somewhere as a bona fide menu item. They're that good.

Holly Days

 First there was drama.

Then there was Thanksgiving: (J&J&J&D)
Which, by the way, would not have been complete without the Olympia contingent - we had a very tasty turkey, courtesy of J&J, and yummy pie and beets and pickles, thanks to J&D. Wow. Yummy! It was fun - we got so wrapped up in playing Pandemic that we forgot to make mashed potatoes. And gravy. And a lot of other things. It was a great time.

Then there were the obligatory holiday parties to go to. I only took "pre" pictures of one of them though:

Then I flew to LA to meet the board and eat dinner at Morton's. For reasons which I won't get into, I had to use my free night at the Omni the night prior to the board dinner. I had never stayed at the Omni in LA before, though I had stayed several times at the Omni in San Francisco and it is a gem.

Not only did I get a free night, but I got upgraded to a suite. ^.^ Lucky girl, yes! There were TWO bathrooms, etc. I took a ridiculous amount of pictures but will just share the ones that emphasize the awesomeness that was my suite. Too bad I was there for all of ten hours. :(

This is the view from my window. LA at Christmas -- no snow, but they do like their tinsel and twinkle lights.

The next day was the board meeting at Morton's. It was work stuff so I will mostly leave it at work except to say that we played Pink Elephant (which is basically a bunch of boxes that all look alike and you pick one and use the same rules as for White Elephant only they all look the same...but at the end there were gift cards inside, each for a varying amount. I was pleased that I got one of two $50 denominations. I considered it a "win." What was not a win was that night, when I stayed at the Jonathan Club. I walked in my room and immediately thought of the accommodations at Alcatraz. (The JC really is not like Alcatraz, but in comparison to the Omni, it really did seem like it. The bed had a headboard and creaked horridly, the walls weren't very soundproof, the tile in the bathroom looked it was from the 1950s, and I woke up hurting all over the next morning from the quality of the bed. Next time, I'm staying somewhere else. I don't care if it is only two blocks from work. However! They did have a really cool electric train setup, as well as a ginormous Christmas tree.

Then I flew to Austin. I convinced my sister to let me do her makeup. :) Her husband of course says she looks much better without it. And she of course is gorgeous. But I was very proud of myself, because I did a very good job blending.

She worked in the kitchen all day on Christmas Eve to make a very special dinner: roast goose. It was the first time I had ever had the pleasure of tasting goose. She made tiramisu as well, and I helped by making rolls and mashed potatoes. It was, as I would say, delicious.

Here we are, opening presents. :) Look at cute little IGPM's face...he loved his Bumblebee transofrmer I got him so much. And K loved the Pollypocket I got her, too. And...I did not get Wolf Hall for M.

I have already chronicled some of our verbal escapades on Facebook. (more's the pity.) But I'll re-chronicle here:

Christmas morning breakfast conversation:
Me: (eats French toast, thinking about stocking stuffings)
K: (out of of the blue) Not very many people in TX voted for Obama. But lots of people in IL voted for Obama.
IGPM: HUNDREDS of people in CA voted for Obama.
K: Not HUNDREDS. Only 55. A half dollar plus a nickel.
Me: tries really hard not to laugh

(At least she knows how many electoral votes CA has!)

Christmas afternoon:
IGPM: let's have a marshmallow gun war so I can hit you in the bum.
Me: well, that doesn't sound like a very good incentive, does it? I don't want to be hit in the bum.
W (I's mom): if you hit her in the bum, she might hit you back.
IGPM: (very nonchalantly): Ooooh. That would be exciting.

...later...

K: I don't want to eat these beans.
W: you've been eating these beans your whole life. Eat up! Besides, if you eat them your tummy will be happy because you will be giving it protein.
IGPM (under his breath): I seriously doubt it.
K: HEY, I! You quoted Mom!! That's mom's line!
W: (surprised) you're right. He did quote my line!

Highlights of the trip include a pre-stocking-opening snuggle with K & IGPM; marshmallow gun wars, the salted caramel shake at the "Elf" quote-along we went to at the Draft House, lots and lots of yummy food, and time with both K & IGPM. I spent lots of time in the kitchen with W and A, too. We had fun doing Advent and singing songs and hunting for treats, and I definitely got my trash kicked at MarioKart Wii, but I did improve a bit by the time my visit was over.

K took several movies of me. IGPM drew a Christmas tree with me. He thoughtfully looked at my tree and said, "Auntie, do people ever make fun of your drawings?"

"Yes, they do," I said. I could tell he was sincere, and that he was really just curious. Maybe I gave off an insecure vibe or something...I don't know. But ever since my little sister accused me of trying to make "everything ugly on purpose" I have had a bit of an issue with my drawing skills -- or lack thereof. Besides, this Christmas tree actually looked pretty good.

He put his little hand on my arm and looked at me in the eyes and said, sweetly, "I would never do that."

I hugged him and peeled him a clemmie. I have such a nice family. :) :)

MLK - SFO

For MLK, I treated myself to a trip to SF to meet my new niece. I saw her in her "witching hour" as her mama calls it -- that aching time for infants when they transition from daytime sleep to nighttime sleep (I kind of thought that there was no such thing as nighttime sleep after the weekend was over...but I did not mind at all, as NMK-foos is so cute.) Then I went to bed and, unlike her parents, was mostly undisturbed until the next morning. (I did offer to take a shift, as Any Reasonable Auntie would do, but my offer was declined.)

I got to hold her for the first time on Saturday morning. I ate most of T's home-made yogurt (a neighbor had made it for her...and normally I would have been sensitive to a mother of a newborn and let her have all of such a lovely treat, but as NMK is sensitive to dairy, I got the benefit of being first on the scene and so devoured it.)

Then I went to lunch with my friend D. He provided me with A Culinary Experience - I had never before had oyster, or lobster. Here is the "before" (what you can't see are the short ribs and the popcorn leg popper things that we also ate.) It doth look lovely, no? There was shrimp, and sashimi (tuna and salmon [I let him eat all the salmon; as, dear readers, you know how I feel about it]), and crab legs, and oysters, and half a lobster, and five sauces. L-R: oyster, creamy, cocktail, sweet and sour, soy.

An hour later (I eat slow; D eats fast; together, we eat too much--hence the "it hurts so bad but it tasted so good" grimace on his face), this is what remained (see middle).

And above, left: Here are our plates, to show we didn't just throw it all on the floor:

And here's another pic of NMK to round things out:

All in all, it was a very satisfactory visit. NMK seems to enjoy Fleetwood Mac a lot and seems equally comfortable in pink and in frogs. (This seems like a very important life skill that her Auntie M has yet to master. And no, I am not being facetious!)

I consider it a miracle that my arms didn't give out. I was worried that she might be so heavy that I wouldn't be able to hold her for long stretches. She is a little girl yet, though, so I was able to hold her and sing to her and smile at her and my arms held up like champions. Now all I have to do is keep my bicep strength up with her growth...

Backronyms and Dysphemisms

My brother's wife just had a beautiful baby. Their first. (I know she's beautiful because I was a Lucky Auntie and got to go visit her last weekend...)

They are both crazy in love with their baby. (As is fitting, right, correct, and expected.)

As you know, nicknames run rampant in our family. My brother decided to add the diminunitive "foos" to his baby's name. "Beautiful M-foos," he'd say, while raptly looking at her little Yoda face scrunch and squirm and "o" beautifully in her sleep. "Pretty M-foos," he'd say as he held her in his arms. "Mad M-foos," he'd say when he was changing her diaper and she was screaming.

I was helping put together the baby stroller when it occurred to me that maybe "foos" was an acronym. This occurred to me because J and I have a mutual friend who is always trying to come up with the very best acronym for a particular nonsense: fufb. "found under fried bread", for example.

"Foos...foos..." my brain niggled at it for a minute. What could it stand for?

Aha! I triumphantly looked at N and proclaimed: "First of our...spawn!"

It seemed he was taken aback a bit. His beautiful M-foos, reduced to...spawn?!?!??!?!

Then he told me about backronyms. I figured this in concept, of course, but didn't know there was an actual name for it. (Linguists, feel free to cringe here. I know I did.)

Backronym AND dysphemism, all in one: FTW!

Closer I Am To Fine

this is me
feeling like my heart's in a blender
watching the sun set on a midwinter day
attempting to fit life's pieces in a puzzle box.

I'll get there, one day. Closer to fine. I just have a lot of things to figure out between now and then. Every decision I make today impacts decisions down the line. Many little decisions add up to big decisions over a few years. I want this year's decisions be decisive. I want to act, not dither. I want to be bold and ask for what I want. I'm going to act to deserve what I ask for. And when I get it, I'm going to accept it and be grateful. And that will bring me...closer to fine.

First Time Non-Traditional Christmas Carols

Here is my recollection of the first time I heard three non-carol, non-traditional Christmas songs. Funny how some songs, you just remember the first time, always. Kind of like some people--you remember exactly how you met them. Others seem to just kind of appear out of nowhere into the fabric of your life.
 

5. "Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth" by David Bowie & Bing Crosby. I first heard this just last year. I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. N showed it to me. Seriously?!? David Bowie singing a Christmas song? With a straight face, and maybe with a little meaning, due to his son.
 
4."Christmas Shoes" by...I don't know. I always think of this as the "Oh no! Not the shoe song again!" song. I first heard it in 2002, when I was living with Jennster. The first time you hear it, it kind of tugs on your heartstrings a little, but every time thereafter it seems like a Kenny G/Kenny Loggins mishmash of ultimate cheese that turns out a little more moldy/smelly than you wanted it to be. I think the message is good, but one where a little goes a long way.

3. "Last Christmas" by Wham!, I was sixteen. I was in my room, laying on my bed, thinking teenage thoughts. I remember when I heard it the first time, I thought the song was sooooo hilarious. It was an awesome combination of petulant, feeling-sorry-for-myself, and hopeful-just the right mix to perfectly appeal to a teenager. Now the song just makes me a little sad.

 2. Betelehemu - BYU Men's Chorus. I don't remember when this began to be a staple in the house, but I remember the first time I really paid attention to it. I was about fifteen. I remember thinking that the soloist had the second most beautiful high man's voice I'd ever heard (the first belonging to the person who sings the solo in "Lechaim" in the soundtrack of Fiddler on the Roof). Now the most beautiful high voice belonging to a man is a tossup between a Korean guy and a Japanese guy. Ask me if you want details. Every year I drag this one out for about a week and listen to it nonstop. It's really different to listen to different versions of it, too...but this is the one I heard first, and I love it best.

1. "All I Want For Christmas" by Mariah Carey.  I was trying on jeans at the brand new Gap in the Riverwoods mall. I think I was about...hmmm...fourteen or fifteen at the time. At the time I remember being slightly perplexed at the number on the inside tag of my jeans. (I was even more perplexed when, ten years later, I tried on jeans at a different Gap...I was the same size, and the size on the jeans was half the number it was back then!) After that, I heard it everywhere. Everywhere. At the time I didn't really get the song...I mean, I liked that it was bouncy and stuff, but the idea of wanting one person for Christmas when you could have, say, a cell phone, or a bass guitar, or any other thing a girl that age could possible dream of. Dreaming for boys for Christmas was just not on my radar back then.

streaks

On Wednesday night I put some bones in to make broth with. On Thursday night I made soup. I was chopping up some onion and after only two cuts my eyes started watering. I didn't even dice the onions at all - just sliced them into huge chunks, and my eyes were streaming by the time I was through.

I'd forgotten that I'd put on mascara at work. I'm so used to not wearing makeup that this business of wearing it has led to a few embarrassing situations - in my book, far more embarrassing than not wearing it.

Anyway, I was feeling kind of sad anyway, so it seemed perfect that I should have the excuse of the onion to cry.

TANGENT: Two weeks ago I cut onion on purpose so I could have an excuse to cry. I guess if you see me in the store toting a bag of onions, it's a pretty safe bet I'm going to be an epic mess of misery in the very near future and I might need you to grab me and give me some sound advice and make me put the onions down.

I went to the store, intent on zooming in and out. (I'd used all the onion, but I guess the good news is that I didn't have "onion" on my list - though in retrospect, I probably should have put it there...) Normally I don't even pay attention to anything except the produce when I'm in the store and I don't expect people to pay attention to me either, but this time, I'd been in the store for all of two minutes before I started getting looks. I was in "groc mode" and didn't want to bother to interpret, but after a few more minutes of more looks I put my hand on my face and realized that there was a trail of grime on my cheek.

Great. I had no idea how I looked - no clue if there were two blackish brown streaks down my cheeks or if all I could feel was residue and I was really fine. I swiped at my face, and sure enough, little bits of black came off on my fingertips. I cleaned up as best I could, forgetting (of course) that there actually was a compact in my purse...and after that I looked down at myself. I suddenly had this nightmare that I'd left the house undressed. Or at least, seriously underdressed. I guess that's the good thing about winter in the NW - you don't have to worry if you put on clothes or not, because it's so cold you'd immediately notice if it weren't the case. But I panic easily sometimes when I'm already in a self-conscious situation, which of course makes the situation even worse.

In one of my all-time favorite anime series, the girl's mentor (because of course her mother passed away when she was very young, as happens to almost all anime characters) was teaching her about applying makeup. She said makeup is like armor - if you're wearing it, you can't cry or the mask will be cracked and they (the enemy) will know that you are weak. Seems like an anti-protection, like...why put something on your face if it's a giveaway that something is wrong and you can't control it?

Beware of makeup. Beware of makeup streaking. Beware of venturing out into the world with makeup streaks you didn't know you had. Beware of strong onions.

sad rain

the rain's comin' down
all around this place
it's so cold and wet
on my tired, worn face

and i'm wondering
if it's all worthwhile
if i'll ever find
comfort in my style

and my eyes are closed
and i hear the drum
of the drops all round
steady as they come

i breathe in the damp
there's no lightning flash
as the world moves on
cars make puddles splash

and i wonder if
it'll ever stop
will it cover me
little drop by drop

will my tears blend in
'til I wash away
does the sun exist?
no, dear - not today.

Southern Utah

There are a few things about Southern Utah you might not know. Chances are if you are reading this blog you know them, but I'll share anyway.

1.There's a mini monsoon season every year; usually it's a week and a half the back half of August, but this year some of it came a little early. It rains some places, hard, and not in other places. (See left.)

2. There are lots of sheep here. I was surprised how big they were. Look at the size of that thing's head! I was surprised to glance out the window and bam: SHEEP FACE, right in my face. (Okay, a few feet of air and some glass and some metal separated us, but I think that is the closest I had ever been to that many sheep.) Except maybe last year at the Puyallup fair, but most of those were lambs. By the way, people who take care of sheep dominate Southern Utah. Sheep peeps rock. (I come from a long line of sheep peeps.On both sides. And yet I don't like mutton...)

3. If you drive down the road, the scenery changes. If you start near Salt Lake, and go south for a couple hours, you see what's left. And then if you drive for another little while ("How long is a little whiiiiiile?") you see something like what's  right.

4. And then the scenery really changes a couple hours after that - from regular colored mountains to red plateaus and piles of rock. Southern Utah is like a geological paradise. Maybe that's why my grandpa, who grew up in the area, decided to pursue geology as a course of study and then, later, his career.

5. And this is a beautiful, typical Southern Utah in August cloud. Look at the height,  the variation of color...it's "It Looked Like Spilt Milk" at its finest. It was a lot more impressive in person, I assure you - but I couldn't resist sharing it just to preserve the memory.

This Week

This week I:

1. Made my first cold call.
2. Bought a pair of Frye boots.
3. Went on a 9 mile bike ride
4. Moved several boxes.
5. Lived with a married couple who were not related to me.
6. Received word that I got my first deal. (Not as a result of a cold call, though.)
7. Admitted to myself that I have a crush on basically all of the security guards at work. But I have a soft spot for one in particular. Even if he does call me ma'am.
8. Ate Turkish bbq
9. Survived longest, most humid bus ride of my life (most of it without a seat)
10. Bought a ticket for a 6:30 am flight (For work. You all know I would never ever do such a thing to myself voluntarily.)

SOTW: Tim Easton's Next To You and Taio Cruz' Break Your Heart.

Looking For An Orange

I want a bright orange relationship.

Orange people are high-impact. They're smart, dedicated, sweet as the juice, with just enough tangy imperfection to make them the citrus they are. They come with a lot of relationship vitamins that keep things going smoothly. They grab your attention--mostly on the first or second time you talk to them. They wake you up, mentally, and when you wear them, you get looked at lots more often because it's the perfect shade for you (even though, chances are, you never would have tried it on in the store on first glance). They're interesting and interested. They talk and they listen. They wait and they push.

After being in a bright orange relationship, you never want to go back to pastels. Or dabble in earth tones. Or set yourself up with the high-maintenance jewel tones. You just want an orange.

Orange is a little intimidating because it doesn't go with everything, and not everybody likes it. It's eye catching and no-nonsense. There's no mistaking it; no other word for it, no substitutes, no rhymes. Orange is orange: necessary and unique.

There aren't very many oranges. They're few and far between. They don't apologize for who they are and they won't change to yellow or red if you ask them. Not that I ever would...because then I would no longer have an orange...and that's what I want. A bright orange relationship.

Dreamscape

Just now I had a dream. (Keep in mind as you read this that it is 3:45am and I am not wearing glasses.This has not been edited.)

I had a deream that I was going somewhere. Eitiher LA or Seattle, I think. I decided to go last minute, and I was going to fly. (Must have been LA. I was going for an escape. I needed to get away from my situation as soon as possible. So wearing my trusty yoga pants and my in-n-out t-shirt, I went and got in my trusty car and drove to the airport (where, by the way, in the way that only dreams work, my car magically parked itself and disappeared). I got out, and I realized I had no luggage. I decided this was fine because I was, after all, just going for a weekend, and even though I didn't have all my medicine or a change of clothes or PJs or anything, I thought, I'm just going for a bit, somehow I'll be fine, and proceeded to get on the escalator.

Of course there was no security, so I went up the escalator and past the peple who help you board flights, and I didn't even sit down before I decided it was a mistake. The whole thing. I needed medicine, and I needed other stuff. Throughout my walk through the airport it had been niggling in the back of my mind that this was a stupid idea, but I over-rode it until after. I sat down and hadn't even put on my seat belt when for some reason I stood up and exited the plane, somehow intent on getting my luggage with my medicine in it.

I got off the plane. I was just going to go to the hotel and get my bag. It was already packed, because I had stayed the previous night at a cheap hotel. [Why hadn't I brought it with me?] So I left the plane, to get a drink, and then I decided, no, it's not worth going back, you don't have time before the flight leaves, so I headed back toward the tarmac. I had been on a small plane - the kind that only has three seats to a row - and as I trotted down the ramp toward the plane, I saw it take off, without me. I yelled angril at the traffic controller, Hey! I need to be on that plane! Are you going to stop it?

He started talking into his walke talkie and gestured to me that they would turn the plane around. I said, sir, I need my medicine, it's in the bag in the hotel that's attached to the airport. He just looked at me consideringly and asked me if I thought that I could be back in time...was it worth their while to turn the plane around for me. I assured him I would be back, even as I saw the plan start to slowly circle back around the windy U-turn path it would need to take to turn around and approach the gate again, and I immediately ran up the ramp to go to the hotel and get my bag.I wasn't sure if there was medicine in my bag, but I knew there was some in my car, so as long as I could get to my car, I'd be fine.

The hotel lobby was swanky. I went up to the front desk and said look, I need my bag, but I don't hav ea room key. (I was in yoga pants. Where would I have put the key?) and he just looked at me and said okay, we'll give you a key, but we only do this four times for customers. I said, okay, fine, and got my key and ran for the elevator. It was gold inside, with lit buttons in that goldy orange yellow hue backlit - you know the kind I mean. Anyway I was so exited that I didn't even push a button, and somehow five other people got off, at 9, 44, 63, and 83. I was on floor 84B. There were two towers to the hotel, apparently, and I was in B. I was so impatient to get off the elevator that I almost got off on 63 and 83, but restrained myself, in that jokey self-deprecating way I have. (i was defending my jumpiness to my elevator neighbors.) I rushed in and grabbed my trusty black travel bag, and then got in the elevator, where I was conveniently alone (no stops on the way down to hinder me from making my plane as it turned around expressly for me). I pushed the buttons, which had changed slightly. 84, and then there was a button that was kind of like a volume control button on a TV remote  A was up, and B was down. but they were on the same button. I was having trouble just getting the "B" pushed. I got in the elevator and wanted to go to the lobby, and sure enough the elevator started moving, but it went down to floor 9. I wanted to go to 84b though! So I carefully re-touched the butttons and waited....nothing happened except the elevator went up and down a little, like it was burping.

Now in a panic, sure that I was going to miss my plane, I started pushing buttons like crazy, to no avail. I was stuck. Precious seconds ticked by, then minutes. I lunged out of the hotel lobby when finally arrived, and then started running for dear life for the gate, knowing in my heart that the plane was gone and they turned it around for nothing and every single one of the people on the plane would have been angry because even though the plane tecnically left me early (the stated departure time had not yet passed, and why would they leave knowing that one of the people wasn't on the plane, who had checked in and sat down?)

I was utterly dejected. I missed my flight, and I had tried so hard to escape.

Then I woke up. I felt sticky icky inside.
And I thought. And I thought some more.
And I realized it wasn't morning. And I realized I had a gigantic headache. And I realized that my dream made no sense.

First, I wasn't even clear where I was "escaping" to.
Second, my car magically disappeared, and turned into a hotel.
Third, I was so intent on my medicine in my bag that I left the plane....only I hadn't brought a bag with me in the car.
Fourth, I hadn't stayed in a hotel. I had just gotten in the car, parked, had my car magically whisked away by the parking elves (no, there was not valet parking), and had run inside.

So. I left the plane, and I had no money, no medicine, and no bag. Maybe I did this because I knew in my heart that without at least money and medicine, this escape would be deemed by any judge to be poorly executed and  impossible to achieve.  But something told me that this was the last plane to Glory, and that I was "reasonably there." And I left it for a nonexistent bag that was in a nonexistent hotel room. This thought was utterly horrifying. And I was so disgusted with myself that I had left my house totally unprepared. It made me think of the ten virgins parable. And it made me wonder, am I doing something in my life that I need to change so that I don't miss my escape plane from this existence? I don't want to miss my plane over, literally, a figment of my imagination.

So now I know: dreams make no sense. It was a failed dream escape. LA is definitely not my glory. And I still have that blasted headache, and I'm still mad that I left the plane for such a ruse. I don't think I would have enjoyed my trip much, even if I'd stayed on the plane. I think it turned out better that I missed it.

The weird thing, I know this dream was brought on by some holiday ticket trauma - I have to change my Chreetmat tickets after having bought them and I am nervous that I won't be able to in time (work peeps are holding up the decision. Yes, I had asked for time off, but for some reason they decided to tack on a holiday party the week before christmas...). And also the bed I am sleeping in makes me sleep more lightly and I have had weird dreams all week. But none that were as crazy as this.

Imagine missing your escape plane for a nonexistent bag! Although I don't know what I was escaping from, and I didn't have a plan for what I was going to do (except visit Kimmy and Marti). I think whatever I was going to do, luggage wasn't needed. I think that where I am going is back to sleep. I'm not leaving my bed, and I'm certainly not going to the airport. So I think I"ll just try to catch the train to sleep glory again and call what happened a dreamscape.