Blogging Like A Boss...

Not really though. For you see blogosphere, I've done it again. I've fallen behind on reading through the blogs of everyone I follow (you beautiful people, you) and once again, I'm at that terrible 1 month mark of missing out on random tidbits of information and great stories. By now, I think it's more than one month though. Oops...

I started typing up a whole spiel on why I get backed up on posts but I don't think I need to recount it here. It's simple. I work a lot. Also the letters "q," "a," and "z" are broken on my keypad from a wine spill from over a year ago. You wouldn't think these letters would be so important to use but "a" is in pretty much every word ever. Stopping to hit the "a" button on my on-screen keyboard is a nuisance that I've been putting up with for over a year now. Somehow I've been making it work, but I suspect that this weekend when I get paid is when it is time to finally address this problem and take my computer into the repair shop. Which I've been avoiding because they might keep it for DAYS and leave me high and dry without my writing resource.

Ugh, I sound like such a nerd here. Time to be a grown-up now and take care of important adult matters.

In the meantime, here's a fun question and answer session with me. I promise it isn't one of those terrible ones you find online where they ask you like 12 times if you have gone skinny dipping before and if you like the last person who texted you. BARF. This is mostly just a favorites list. Nothing too revealing...or is it?

Name: Heather

Where you’re from: STL, or Saint Louis if you didn't get what those initials meant. When I tell people where I'm from, the response is mixed. Most people can totally hear my Midwestern accent (it's something to do with how the vowels are lower than the consonants) and get it. A bunch of people have no idea where that is and mistake it for being in the Iowa region. Still some people say I look like I'm from New York (it must be all the black I wear that does it) and even more people don't think I'm even from America period.

Welp, I was raised in STL, land of Anheuser Busch, toasted ravioli, and where estate homes are regularly built in areas that contain Section 8 housing across the street.

Sexuality: Straight. With some celebrity girlcrushes (cough, cough, Eva Green, cough, cough).

Sex: Female.

Age: 20-something. I think I mentioned my age somewhere here before.

Biggest Passion: Writing. Writing is the torch that guides my soul to the places where it needs to be and where it shouldn't be. Writing is my best friend and biggest nemesis. Writing is the one area in life where I feel both highly talented and highly terrible all at once. It makes me feel completely at home and happy and just on the cloud 9 of producing incredible content. This is most evident when I'm writing dialogue between people. Then it can turn on me to produce an article so heart-wrenchingly awful I feel like I have no voice period or at least that voice is getting stupid on me and I don't want to look at it ever again. This is most evident when I write about something romantic.

Still my biggest passion though, no matter how many times it gets rejected or published. I do it for myself and that's reason enough.

Biggest turn on: I have many and the vast majority of them involve clothing. A crisp ironed men's shirt with pressed trousers and shined shoes will be the death of me. Menswear in general is my Achilles Heel...when worn on the right kind of guy. I'm also big on corsets, elbow-length gloves, stockings, and heels (for me, not him). Like a dominatrix without the whip and gag ball.

Single/Taken: Single, but seeing the world at large. Also, definitely not on board with getting married or having children anytime ever.

I will be that token awesome single girl at all of my friends' weddings, giving a meaningful toast, shouting out "awwww yeah this is my jam!" to the opening chords of KC and the Sunshine Band's "Get Down Tonight," having a drinking contest somewhere at the bar with the single bridesmaids who have all become my new BFFs, doing inappropriate dances with the groomsmen on the dance floor that will undoubtedly be the focus of that poor wedding video, having another drinking contest at the bar (this time with myself), several phone numbers from guys I will not remember in the morning, and going home in a taxi with one of my shoes missing.

Rad.

Biggest dream: I have a bunch and they range from semi-realistic to not even in a million years is that shiz going down. I'd like to have at least one book published by the time I'm 25. I'd like to travel through Europe and eventually settle down in London to work at an ad agency, surrounded by gorgeously accented British guys. Though I will also settle for working with Scottish, Aussie, or Kiwi guys as well. I'd like to time travel back to the 1920s and be a teenager then during the Prohibition Era. I want to create a series for HBO about a modern day royal family. I want to write a book based off of an idea I'm working with that would definitely get me in a lot of trouble to write about. I want to be in a commercial with the Pillsbury Doughboy. I want to create a non-profit organization for children. I want to pay off my entire Sallie Mae debt by the time I'm 30. I want to create a stock portfolio for myself and invest regularly. I'd like to be front row at an Arcade Fire concert and at a live taping for Katt Williams and his stand-up. I want to DJ with Paul van Dyk at Ibiza and also want to be the face for Lancome.

From this list, I know what's attainable and what isn't. And honestly I think the time travel '20s one has some real potential to occur.

Favorite colour: Ivory. I'm so white my favorite color is an off-white version of white.

Favorite drink: Sex on the Beach. It's really cliche and girltastic but they put cherries in it and it's pink so...

Favorite type of music: Film scores, '80s dance, and British pop stars.

Favorite band: Arcade Fire.

Favorite singer: Liv Kristine. She's the lead singer from Leaves Eyes and has the voice of an angel. The first time I heard her, she nearly put me in a trance. Liv's voice is glorious- I cannot stress it enough.

Favorite tv show: Sex and the City. This show is pure comfort food to me.

Favorite actor: I'm a big fan of the raw rage and insanity that Klaus Kinski brings to the screen. I've been into Kinski since high school and it isn't easy to compare him to other people. I will also see pretty much anything with Viggo Mortensen, Jon Hamm, and Robert Downey Jr. in it.

Favorite actress: I really, really love Marion Cotillard. I think she's just smashing.

Favorite movie: Edward Scissorhands.

Favorite books: The Great Gatsby and Franny and Zooey are the two books I have a hard time envisioning not having read in my lifetime.

Something random: I am extremely talented at gift wrapping. I take it quite seriously when picking out wrapping for presents.

Love to you all,
Heather

Dreamscape Reality

In the midst of the sudden rush of all good things occurring in my life, my mind and subconscious have been acting up. Namely the subconscious.

I've often considered keeping a dream journal and in the past, did have a small book where I wrote the more significant ones in. Depending on where I am in life, my dreams will occasionally light the darker days with pleasant thoughts and dampen my better ones with sadder dreams. When I was working at the former job, I used to dream myself away to a better place in the evenings. Places with fields and the sun and the nice breeze. Which I suppose isn't truly any more different from where I currently live, but y'know, it was. I was different there, filled with more peace and serenity than I ever could be in reality.

The last two nights have presented me with bizarre dreams that I literally could not wake up out of soon enough. Even when I did wake up, I would slip back into the dreams, picking right back up where I left off. Ever notice how that only happens with shitty dreams and never the good ones? Yeah, me too.

Below are my dreams with some analysis included. I analyze my own dreams actively, as I am too broke to afford the viewpoint of a psychologist.

Dream 1

I'm in a subway train, sitting down wearing a white dress. I'm alone and the entire car I'm sitting in is empty. Even though I'm alone, somebody whispers in my ear. The voice tells me that my ex-bf is on the subway too, several cars up. I stand up and walk unsteadily at first to open the door to go to the next car. The subway is moving very fast and I'm having trouble keeping my balance. I get confident and walk faster, and the doors to the next cars get harder and heavier to open. I keep telling myself that this is stupid and to stop trying because reaching him isn't going to do or change anything. I finally get to his car and after throwing the heaviest door yet aside, stumble into a car filled with people I know with him at the center of the subway car space. He smiles at me and I smile back, ecstatic as usual to see him, "You're here!" Then I pretty much jump his bones in the middle of the car (nothing graphic, just some making out) in front of everyone.

Cut to a moment later on when we are both in a car together. He's driving and I'm telling him to take me to Beverly Hills so I can meet up with a friend there. I tell him thank you and he replies of course. We're both older here (in our 30's I'm guessing) and both well-dressed in very pale colors. The sun is setting and we keep passing skyscrapers. I tell him I don't mean to be a burden and he tells me I'm not and I take his hand while he is driving and feel very sad because I know that those stupid glass walls are once more building up.

***

Analysis: I am thinking too much about my alma mater's impending graduation ceremony this coming weekend. Which he is graduating in. I keep hoping for something to happen, whether I admit it to myself or not. Mostly I just don't want to lose his friendship which over the last year has been something I think has already been lost, if not buried.

I'm just tired. I'm tired of thinking of thinking about him every single day, tired of him popping up on my radar, tired that he comes into my head every night before I go to sleep, tired of wishing that I could share all of my good news with him, tired of having imaginary daydreams, tired of everyone telling me to stop thinking about him, tired of having to sit there and pretend I've moved on and am okay with hearing about him with someone else, tired of trying to connect with other guys and nothing happening because they didn't make me laugh like he did and tired of the fear that I didn't amount to anything more than some silly girl in his eyes.

And tired that he spun our story differently to other people, unbeknownst to me. In his version, I was the problem. Maybe I was. I know for a matter of fact that I was. I know I definitely said some things that were completely inappropriate and had it been the flip side of the coin and I was on the receiving end of the remarks, I would never want to speak to me again. But I said I was sorry. It was an apology I meant. He apologized too. I just never added the underlying part that I would have liked to have tried again. Sometimes I think that maybe time was what was needed, distance, to heal. But then we see each other every so often and it is good for about five minutes before he goes over to flirt with some other girl and I'm left feeling like I need to go flirt with somebody else too to prove that I'm fine with this, I'm good. In the words of one of my favorite movies, Jeux d'enfants (Love Me If You Dare), I'm "game." (Cap Ou Pas Cap)

The most significant part of this dream is that I tell myself to stop it, to let go and quit. This is the first time I've actively told myself when dreaming about him everything everyone else has told me. Even though I don't follow my own advice, I dispense it this time, instead of everyone else doing it for me.

These days I've often found myself wishing for a more private social media outlet to let myself out on as well. I do love having my blog be an open forum to read. It allows me to tell the world things they would never have known about me otherwise because I have a hard time telling people things about me. So naturally even in my dreams, there is a big crowd of people observing my life.

Dream 2

I'm living in my beautiful San Francisco. I'm working for my former employers though, with all of the same girl coworkers I had before. It's not an agency anymore though. I work as a dancer for a diner (part Coyote Ugly with some Sucker Punch mixed in) and we all have to dance for the customers in short skirts and fishnets. And I'm crying because I need to get out of there and can't believe that I'm working for them again and even though I love that city so much, I need to leave it in order to restore my sanity.

***

Analysis: That job from hell I first had upon graduating from college has forever left an imprint on me. It has taught me to be forever cautious and wary of places I work in the future. I will never again work anywhere for the prestige of a "title" if it means compromising my happiness and ethics.

For some time during my job search, when I couldn't find anywhere to hire me, I used to think to myself that this was a sign that I wasn't destined to work for anyone or any company. Perhaps it was an arrow pointing down to me that told me to begin my own business or just freelance for life. That's the beauty of being a starving writer. We are our own bosses in the end.

I absolutely love what I do now, and cannot stress it enough. I am continually being blessed with strong female role models in my life who influence me consistently. With this in mind, I've been spending some considerable time lately redefining the "ideal working situation" in my head. If the recession has taught me anything, it is that some traditions need to be broken, now.

The ideal working world, if run by me, would consist of 4 day workweeks. 30 hours would be considered full-time. Cubicles would be banished. Windows would be a must in every room as well as modern pop art paintings for the walls. The office would pay for lunches for everyone and there would be an endless amount of amusing work desk notes passed out. You would never clock in or out. There would be a paycheck every week. And guys and girls would dress swell with zero jeans included (I believe I would reinforce a dress code above most work priorities...)

Sometimes I wonder if I'm meant to be the change. If the reason why I get put in terrible situations is because I'm meant to learn from it (as it seems I'm always stuck learning some sort of lesson) and take that experience to change things for others. The more I think about it, the more reasonable it gets. Human beings are not designed to sit and numbly type in thousands of numbers for hours on a keypad. It is not fair that in this life it seems there are two groups of people: the haves and have-nots. It is wrong to me that so many people have to overexert themselves on the worst possible, menial tasks simply to make the rent every month whereas others sit around and are so bored with their lives, all they can do is complain.

I'll never forget the situation I was in before because it lasted for 9 months. Know what else takes 9 months? Being pregnant. That job was literally the child I was stuck carrying that I did not want even though it looked like a good idea at first. Those 9 months filled me with so much misery that I'm often so startled looking back on it. I can't believe I did it for that long. There are others who do it longer than me though and in the future, for every step I climb upward, I want to be sure to take others with me. I hope to give many people the opportunity to be happy within their working field, particularly since this field is communications which is one of the most vibrant fields around.

This is slowly beginning to happen, since I've just received the go-ahead at my career (it's not a job anymore, folks) to hire my own interns. I get two for the summer. Seeing as I was just as intern myself not even a year ago, this opportunity to oversee the work of others and mentor them has been gracious and immediate. I knew almost instantly who I wanted to have work for me. It wasn't a matter of picking out friends to goof off with. It was about being able to change someone's world and give them valuable job experience that they could take with them onward and upward wherever they went. I had the ability to help and turn things around, and I did it. I look forward to working with them too, being the boss that having learned from terrible bosses in the past, will not power trip or pull them aside to ridicule them or openly talk down to them or laugh off their concerns. Being firm and fair are the best ways to be a good boss to me, with priorities first mixed with laughter.

The time for the ideal working situation is now.

Cap Ou Pas Cap?

I'm game for it.

Love to you all,
Heather

Ocean of Tears

I remember it like it was yesterday.

You stood in front of me in your beige trench coat and fedora on your head. You carried a worn briefcase in your hand, stubble on your chin, and lines creased underneath your droopy eyelids. You were so beautiful and familiar to me and I knew I adored you.

We are not in a happy place. I know this by the way I carry myself with my arms folded across my chest, wearing this old navy blue velvet dress, retrieved from the recesses of my childhood closet.

Still, I will not allow us to end. I beg, I plead with you as we both stand together, our feet sinking in the sand by the ocean waves. I cannot hear what I've said, the wind rips my words out of my throat and carries them somewhere else.

Those droopy eyes are mourning everything I say and unrelenting to the fat tears rolling down my pale cheeks. Your weathered hand touches my cheek, grazing it softly, only once.

You turn to the ocean, its waves parting in that gray sky. You turn away from me and walk into the ocean, calmly. Steadily. It swallows your legs first.

I scream from my place in the sand and drop to my knees sobbing, "Come back! Come back!" I can hear my voice, at last, a desperate guttural gasp from within. Every independent bone in my body is ashamed of that voice.

You don't, the sea swallows the man of my dreams.

And I wake up, dry in my bed, with the sound of jackhammers outside of my open bedroom window, and my cheeks stained with tears.

My school day was lost that day and your face haunted me all that day.

But I never met you before. I wonder if I ever will again.

Please come back to my dream machine. Please.

Love to you all,
Heather

Dream Dress

*Image courtesy of WeHeartIt.com

**I don't know if I ever state this, but I don't own the images used in this blog. They come courtesy of weheartit, flickr, google, and various photography/celebrity fan sites.

This is my dream dress. Isn't it just marvelous? I've always held a fondness for monarchs in my heart. Though I would not dance with any boy in this dress. A butterfly is fragile, and they would surely break the wings with their clumsy dancing and want to grind up against me.

I've never seen anything quite like it before. If any of you know who the designer is, I would love to get in on that bit of knowledge!

Love to you all,
Heather

Just Dream About/ How I Will Let Go

All of these stills are from An Education, which will be released on DVD in March. I listen to the soundtrack whenever I feel like I want to place myself into the past which is just nearly every other day of my life. Some of the composed pieces are excellent to write along to. I get teary-eyed often while listening. It happens a lot with me and composed music.



I've been having a multitude of strange dreams lately.

Monday- I was in a house with a big window attached and staring out the window into the window of the house directly across from it. In the opposite window a boy who looked very much like my brother who joined the Navy was standing there. I waved to him and he waved back. That was the dream. Somehow, it feels like he reached me in the dream, as a way of saying everything was okay with him. I felt very positive waking up.

Tuesday- I was running in a parking lot of a Target wearing a navy blue ballgown and heels. And laughing. I never laugh in my dreams so this was odd.

Wednesday (today)- To make up for all those happy dreams, I had my requisite sad one. In this dream, Conan O'Brien was going to host SNL (haha, that won't happen) and I was excited to watch it, but kept traveling between my old home state and California. Eventually I wound up in CA and was sitting on a bed in a room I had never been in with a beautiful man I had never met. We kissed for a little bit and I started to cry in the dream because he was just about amazing and in a weird way that I'm sure is not weird to others, I liked having his weight on me. Just doing nothing else, just having his weight on me. Woke up feeling like I wanted to cry.

Writing that last dream wasn't easy. In communications, we call it Social Penetration Theory in which you are like an onion and each layer you peel off reveals more about yourself to someone else. And though it was a very PG-13 dream, I still felt antsy about peeling that sort of layer about myself off...just 'cause it's me.



When people ask me about soulmates and such, I usually reply with some sort of flippant remark that ends with most people laughing. Deep down though, deep down, I do have moments where I sincerely doubt that I could ever meet the guy of my dreams. The idea of remaining in a long-term relationship with one other person does scare me. Who could put up with me for that long? I wonder if somewhere out there, there is a man thinking the exact same thing to himself.



I guess I'll find out one day.



On another, less introspective, note I have dropped my Creative Writing class. The one with the teacher who yelled at me. I feel much better now with that out of the way. It gives me more time to focus on my other projects for my other classes.

I'm rereading Franny and Zooey too. It's just impeccable. Don't you love reading a book where the protagonist and you are on the same level? Mmm, I sure do!

Love to you all,
Heather