some stories are so funny; we laugh until we cry and some stories are so sad we cry before we finish, but all stories need to be told...

Thursday, December 2, 2010

it was me, only it wasn't

last night i dreamed i was a hooker.
that's not right- i wasn't a hooker.  i was me- not this me now, the younger me- the me that i always think i am and then end up surprised and a bit startled at my own reflection. usually after a glance in the mirror, i am forced to take digital pictures of myself so that i can better see what the world sees, which isn't really possible is it? to see what others see? we can only see what we see never what others perceive us to be- and now that i think about it - hallelujah- and praise be.

back to the dream
which was brief
i was dressed, um, wow, now that i look back- i was dressed WHORISHLY- with those cool boots that are in style now (not uggs- god, don't get me started there- i am now compelled to interject- whose idea was it that ANYONE can wear uggs and that whilst wearing them 'tis best to accent them with spandex leggings- what IS this world coming to?).  i was wearing those adorable/sexy ankle boots with the super cool wedge heel and mine didn't have zippers or velcro- they were amazingly cool slip-ons. with the boots i was wearing a short skirt and a fabulouso 3/4 sleeve jacket. walking through union square park, i was pulling a stylish expensive small suitcase when the incident occurred.
a young mexican dude - with his hair swooped into a fauxhawk-and sporting a white t-shirt and jeans. and - wait a minute - oh gross. as i sit here and delve into my subconscious it is all becoming clear: i know who the mexican dude is- it is the boyman painting the halls in our building.  i think i just threw up a little.first because- no offense meant here, but i'm not super into wee spanish men and second because i'm pretty sure i am old enough to be his mother.
so boymanmexicanpainter was sitting on a curb in union square park- he had one arm casually across his lap and he threw one arm into the air as he looked at me and shouted "twenty eight dollars!"
to which i responded with that snotty laugh thing "pffyeah- twenty eight thousand just to talk to me"- i was looking good and feeling better.
that's when the cop put the cuffs on my wrist and arrested me for soliciting.
i woke up thinking: "twenty eight dollars, i wonder what that means."

and now? the food part of the blog
shea & i are off to the city in a bit- to the library and then to whole foods to get some root vegetables for roasting; we are having friends this weekend and will be making a roasted veggie and white bechamel lasagna, a green salad with red onions, pears and a simple olive oil & balsamic vinegar dressing and sly will make FOCACCIA (aaahh- do you want to come over).

1 comment:

  1. 28 dollars. Hmm. That's twice as much as 14 dollars...

    Nah. I got nothing.

    On a side note, I know exactly what you're talking about, squaring the image one has of one's self with the one seen in the mirror/by other people. :-) I'm always shocked -- when did I get wrinkles?!