Amber is getting married and in celebration is riding around town on a school bus full of her bridesmaids, all of whom are dressed up in white with fancy headpieces on. Amber's dad is driving the bus and I'm trying to catch it in town but I keep getting to the wrong spot or missing it. Finally I am just standing near a curb next to a parking lot and the bus comes to a stop beside me. I can't figure out how to get in and won't go around to the other side, so Amber's dad does a huge U-turn in the middle of the street so that I can get into the bus without having to step into the street.
Once I'm on, the atmosphere is a little uncomfortable but celebratory. Amber seems excited at what's happening, but I can't recall who she's marrying or who any of these dozens of bridesmaids on the bus are.
Showing posts with label Amber. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amber. Show all posts
10.30.2013
10.15.2013
Who likes to rock the party?
Jemaine Clement is on the couch adjacent to the one I'm on. He's sitting next to Amber and I can't tell if she's putting the moves on him or what. No, I don't think so. I don't think anyone is putting the moves on him so I start to think about why I've never put the moves on him, since we've known each other for so long. I want to ask him why we've never hooked up but my boyfriend is sitting right next to me, and so I figure that's a little rude.
Jemaine is dressed in a bright yellow jacket sort of thing and a neckerchief, which combine to sound stupid but to look totally smashing with his messed, dark hair and dark glasses.
Jemaine is dressed in a bright yellow jacket sort of thing and a neckerchief, which combine to sound stupid but to look totally smashing with his messed, dark hair and dark glasses.
4.12.2008
Your guess is as good as mine
1.
It's New Year's Eve. I don't know this just yet, but it will become apparent in just a bit. There are people everywhere. I'm not sure where I am and I don't really recognize any of the people around me. Some dark-haired dude I've never seen before comes up and starts cutting my hair with very large, very frightening shears. He is cutting in such a way that I am afraid he's going to slice me open. I tell him to be careful, and I close my eyes tight in fear. Suddenly he kisses me square on the lips and I open my eyes and realize it's because it's midnight on New Year's Eve. Everyone starts cheering and celebrating and I realize that he has cut my hair into a ridiculously short bob*. This distresses me a great deal, as I'm quite attached to my long hair and I tend to look weird with short hair. I freak out and leave the place.
Outside, it's dark, and there are people perched next to cars, poised to take photographs of the people who come out of the building. Like paparazzi. I cover my face and lament that I will look so lame in the photographs thanks to my short hair.
2.
Amber is sitting at a table full of girls I don't know. They are all dressed in mid-'80s garb — acid-washed balloon overall shorts sets, for god's sake — and all of them clearly think they're onto a trend. Amber's wearing more jewelry than I have ever seen, and I note to myself that I have got to borrow her awesome dangly fuschia gem drop earrings. She's also wearing a hot pink cat broach, and a yellow dog broach (I did have one of these when I was a kid), as well as layers of necklaces and bangles on her arms. Her hair is cut short again.
Several of the girls at the table look uncomfortable. I don't know if they all know each other or not. I call out one of the girls for wearing all that '80s crap and not even liking it. She stands up to confront me and ends up being 9 feet tall.
* Yet another dream for which I pulled content from that day's events. My friend Ashley just got her hair cut really short and told me about it over e-mail yesterday at work.
It's New Year's Eve. I don't know this just yet, but it will become apparent in just a bit. There are people everywhere. I'm not sure where I am and I don't really recognize any of the people around me. Some dark-haired dude I've never seen before comes up and starts cutting my hair with very large, very frightening shears. He is cutting in such a way that I am afraid he's going to slice me open. I tell him to be careful, and I close my eyes tight in fear. Suddenly he kisses me square on the lips and I open my eyes and realize it's because it's midnight on New Year's Eve. Everyone starts cheering and celebrating and I realize that he has cut my hair into a ridiculously short bob*. This distresses me a great deal, as I'm quite attached to my long hair and I tend to look weird with short hair. I freak out and leave the place.
Outside, it's dark, and there are people perched next to cars, poised to take photographs of the people who come out of the building. Like paparazzi. I cover my face and lament that I will look so lame in the photographs thanks to my short hair.
2.
Amber is sitting at a table full of girls I don't know. They are all dressed in mid-'80s garb — acid-washed balloon overall shorts sets, for god's sake — and all of them clearly think they're onto a trend. Amber's wearing more jewelry than I have ever seen, and I note to myself that I have got to borrow her awesome dangly fuschia gem drop earrings. She's also wearing a hot pink cat broach, and a yellow dog broach (I did have one of these when I was a kid), as well as layers of necklaces and bangles on her arms. Her hair is cut short again.
Several of the girls at the table look uncomfortable. I don't know if they all know each other or not. I call out one of the girls for wearing all that '80s crap and not even liking it. She stands up to confront me and ends up being 9 feet tall.
*
3.27.2008
My name is Lindsey, and I have an inferiority complex
I am at Amber's place, only it's unlike any actual place she's ever lived in. It's more like a dorm or compound of sorts, where lots of people live crammed into a small space. There's sleeping bags and living accoutrement everywhere. I make my way to a small space behind a curtain — a dressing area perhaps — and hey, there's Chan Marshall (Cat Power), wearing all black. She sees me take a pair of green striped workout pants from my bag, and she gestures to them as if she recognizes them. I tell her they're my ex's.
A flicker of recognition passes over her face. "You're Lindsey," she says, as I realize she somehow knows Phil. She has some kind of muddled nearly British accent, which is weird, because she really doesn't.
"Who do you love now?" she asks me. A hundred thoughts flash through my head, but I tell her that I can't possibly get into that. It's too complicated.
The group — Chan, Amber, and a couple of unidentifiable people my brain sorta made up — heads out for a night on the town. I shove some piece of important paper into my back pocket, throw my purse over my shoulder, and hurry out the door. I feel rushed and unsure. We walk a few blocks (it feels like we are in the city, presumably New York, but what part, I have no idea; later it feels like we're back on Long Island) and get to this outdoor concert space where, apparently, Led Zeppelin is playing. We can't actually see the band, but we can hear them and we can see the lights reflecting off the partial walls around us. Wow, they sound just like they do on the albums I have. Hmm.
The concert venue is oddly shaped — there are big rectangular slabs of slate interrupting the flow of the place. I feel like I need to draw exactly what it looked like to accurately describe it. It doesn't really seem like a music venue at all, but more like a public park art sculpture. Occasionally, and to our subdued amusement, we will see the guitar player — Jimmy Page, presumably — walk on the slate walls for an extended length of time, and the round a corner out of our sight. Ordinarily, people walking on walls would creep me out, but it was a rock show, so it was awesome.
I realize that I don't think I locked my car. I just imagine random passersby trying the handle and being delighted when it opens. I fumble around in my enormous and noisy purse for my keys, and manage to accidentally dislodge the important paper in my back pocket. I quickly hit the lock button on my remote, in the hopes that I'm still within remote range. And then I see the piece of paper skitter along the ground toward a giant fountain. I run away from the group, which has more or less been ignoring me anyway (we don't know each other very well) and chase the piece of paper. Every time I grab at it, it lunges toward the fountain a little quicker. I just know the damn thing is going to end up in the fountain and I'm going to lose whatever essential info was on it. I can feel people watching me and silently judging my stupid ass. I make one final leap and nearly go careening into the fountain, but I catch myself and the note, and for one triumphant second, I don't care what people think.
But then I come back to reality and realize that I am a mess. I feel frazzled and disorganized and uncool and frumpy and unattractive and unworthy of hanging out with these new people (this is a feeling I often have in real life, yay). So I take off walking around this harbor/marina-type thing, gazing off into the misty distance, at the boats and the gulls and the ropes. It's beautiful, and I just sort of take it all in. I feel someone behind me, and turn to see it's Amber, who's come to check on me. She's following close behind me, mimicking my steps, trying to make me laugh.
A flicker of recognition passes over her face. "You're Lindsey," she says, as I realize she somehow knows Phil. She has some kind of muddled nearly British accent, which is weird, because she really doesn't.
"Who do you love now?" she asks me. A hundred thoughts flash through my head, but I tell her that I can't possibly get into that. It's too complicated.
The group — Chan, Amber, and a couple of unidentifiable people my brain sorta made up — heads out for a night on the town. I shove some piece of important paper into my back pocket, throw my purse over my shoulder, and hurry out the door. I feel rushed and unsure. We walk a few blocks (it feels like we are in the city, presumably New York, but what part, I have no idea; later it feels like we're back on Long Island) and get to this outdoor concert space where, apparently, Led Zeppelin is playing. We can't actually see the band, but we can hear them and we can see the lights reflecting off the partial walls around us. Wow, they sound just like they do on the albums I have. Hmm.
The concert venue is oddly shaped — there are big rectangular slabs of slate interrupting the flow of the place. I feel like I need to draw exactly what it looked like to accurately describe it. It doesn't really seem like a music venue at all, but more like a public park art sculpture. Occasionally, and to our subdued amusement, we will see the guitar player — Jimmy Page, presumably — walk on the slate walls for an extended length of time, and the round a corner out of our sight. Ordinarily, people walking on walls would creep me out, but it was a rock show, so it was awesome.
I realize that I don't think I locked my car. I just imagine random passersby trying the handle and being delighted when it opens. I fumble around in my enormous and noisy purse for my keys, and manage to accidentally dislodge the important paper in my back pocket. I quickly hit the lock button on my remote, in the hopes that I'm still within remote range. And then I see the piece of paper skitter along the ground toward a giant fountain. I run away from the group, which has more or less been ignoring me anyway (we don't know each other very well) and chase the piece of paper. Every time I grab at it, it lunges toward the fountain a little quicker. I just know the damn thing is going to end up in the fountain and I'm going to lose whatever essential info was on it. I can feel people watching me and silently judging my stupid ass. I make one final leap and nearly go careening into the fountain, but I catch myself and the note, and for one triumphant second, I don't care what people think.
But then I come back to reality and realize that I am a mess. I feel frazzled and disorganized and uncool and frumpy and unattractive and unworthy of hanging out with these new people (this is a feeling I often have in real life, yay). So I take off walking around this harbor/marina-type thing, gazing off into the misty distance, at the boats and the gulls and the ropes. It's beautiful, and I just sort of take it all in. I feel someone behind me, and turn to see it's Amber, who's come to check on me. She's following close behind me, mimicking my steps, trying to make me laugh.
2.14.2008
Space cadet
Amber and I are in a space shuttle. It's weird, because it's just a giant, open, cylindrical space lined with padding and wires and other spacey things. We're not strapped in. We're just kind of hanging out. And whoever is driving the space shuttle — later I'll see that it's one of our photo editors — is having trouble getting the thing into space.
We'll feel a rumble and then see from the tiny windows that we've got liftoff, and we'll see the earth beneath us begin to rotate (I doubt this is how actual shuttles lift off) only to, a few seconds later, find ourselves on the ground, outside the shuttle, waiting on the technicians to fix whatever problem we're having.
At one point, we're sitting near train tracks and I start telling Amber all about how Regina Spektor read a short story written by one of my other friends, and how she loved it, and halfway through, I realize I'm telling Amber her own story and I feel so embarrassed and ashamed.
I look over and see the aforementioned photo editor tossing big crates around outside the cockpit in order to solve whatever takeoff problems we're having.
Then we're back on the shuttle. I have some vague memory of us storing food in a tiny fridge even though none of the other passengers thought to bring anything. I feel slightly gluttonous because of it.
We have liftoff again. It occurs to me that we are probably going to die on this shuttle, and I suddenly want very much to be off the shuttle or to wake up (I realize I'm dreaming, but it doesn't go lucid on me because I can't control anything). Once again, the ground outside starts spinning around us as we rise toward the sky. I imagine with horror of what it must be like to be in a shuttle explosion. One minute things are fine, and the next ... what? Does everything just get white hot and you stop existing? Death makes no sense to me, even in my dreams.
I wince as we meet the horizon and rise up through the atmosphere. Out the window there is blackness and stars. And then everything kind of happens in a montage — as I'm standing there, looking out the window and thinking about the relative pointlessness of space travel, I see what human space traveling has wrought on the galaxy (I see giant oil rig things on distant planets; it's unclear if it's Earthlings who struck out to look for oil, or if it's just the technology we shared with other cultures in the galaxy). And while it's really freaking cool seeing all that crap, I feel that at any minute the whole thing's going to explode and I'm going to die.
We'll feel a rumble and then see from the tiny windows that we've got liftoff, and we'll see the earth beneath us begin to rotate (I doubt this is how actual shuttles lift off) only to, a few seconds later, find ourselves on the ground, outside the shuttle, waiting on the technicians to fix whatever problem we're having.
At one point, we're sitting near train tracks and I start telling Amber all about how Regina Spektor read a short story written by one of my other friends, and how she loved it, and halfway through, I realize I'm telling Amber her own story and I feel so embarrassed and ashamed.
I look over and see the aforementioned photo editor tossing big crates around outside the cockpit in order to solve whatever takeoff problems we're having.
Then we're back on the shuttle. I have some vague memory of us storing food in a tiny fridge even though none of the other passengers thought to bring anything. I feel slightly gluttonous because of it.
We have liftoff again. It occurs to me that we are probably going to die on this shuttle, and I suddenly want very much to be off the shuttle or to wake up (I realize I'm dreaming, but it doesn't go lucid on me because I can't control anything). Once again, the ground outside starts spinning around us as we rise toward the sky. I imagine with horror of what it must be like to be in a shuttle explosion. One minute things are fine, and the next ... what? Does everything just get white hot and you stop existing? Death makes no sense to me, even in my dreams.
I wince as we meet the horizon and rise up through the atmosphere. Out the window there is blackness and stars. And then everything kind of happens in a montage — as I'm standing there, looking out the window and thinking about the relative pointlessness of space travel, I see what human space traveling has wrought on the galaxy (I see giant oil rig things on distant planets; it's unclear if it's Earthlings who struck out to look for oil, or if it's just the technology we shared with other cultures in the galaxy). And while it's really freaking cool seeing all that crap, I feel that at any minute the whole thing's going to explode and I'm going to die.
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