Vintage Sophie

Recently, I was thinking about how much the internet has changed over the last few years. Before blogging, before I had ever even read a blog, I used Livejournal, and my musings would only be shared with a select number of people who I pre-selected. Mostly they were my sister’s friends, strangely enough. For some reason I was embarrassed to share the fact that I posted my thoughts online to my own friends. I thought it was dorky. Well, I still do, but now embrace dorkiness as part of my intrepid and dynamic personality. Plus, there’s millions to be made in blogging, once I figure out how they do that. I have letters in to the Pioneer Woman.

Anyway, I managed to log in to my old livejournal account and read back on the crazy fun stuff I used to write. It’s funny, reading something that you yourself wrote years ago then forgot about. It’s like reading something by an author you’ve never read before but for some reason you understand so well.

I thought I would share some snippets of my old posts…for example, this nugget:

“Last night I dreamt that I was arrested for killing “Robocoon”. I did it in his apartment (which was in a hi-rise building), then tried to flee down a long stairwell, but the cops caught up with me. I knew I was guilty, but they insisted they only wanted to question me and I would later be released once I was cleared. I nervously realised they thought I was a witness to the homicide. I played along and was taken to the “station”, which was actually more like the underground city portrayed in the future part of the movie “12 monkeys”. Then I had to sit out on this long plank-like structure with my arresting officer while we waited for the questioning to begin. He was very friendly and reassuring and gave me advice. Internally I was terrified because I knew I was the murderer. Eventually a robot-like arm appeared, and I was instructed to make my statement towards its built-in camera and microphone. The friendly officer man told me to be completely honest though, because it was equipped with a lie detector as well. It came towards me and I leaned towards it to begin. At this point I woke up in a cold sweat, with that feeling of relief that you get when you wake up from an extremely realistic and frightening dream.”

Or this fascinating gem:

“Last night’s dream feature was being chased around a large heavy metal music festival by a Tyranosaurus Rex. The only thing that seemed to save me and my friends repeatedly was the fact that if you blew a certain type of whistle, everything would turn into slow-motion, which for some reason made it easier to escape. At one point the army showed up to remedy the situation and all of a sudden everyone was trying to save the t-rex from being exterminated.”

There definitely seemed to be a dream theme going on here:

“Last night I dreamt that I was recruited by Stephen and Carissa to work at their record store. It was wierd because there were no records for sale, it was more like hippie cookies and homeopathic remedies and incense and chinese slippers and clothing that Carissa had made/altered/salvaged. But I knew somehow that it was a record store.
Anyway, I think I was working as the cashier or something, and Carissa was getting really mad at me because my attitude was not professional enough towards the customers. I believe that I went to work there as relief for only a couple of shifts a week, but then I overheard her telling someone that I would be running the store 5 days a week, then she would run it for the next 5 days.
I was trying to figure out how I was going to manage my full time day job in Victoria with my now full time evening job in Nanaimo, when Stephen came in in a suit and a briefcase and fired me for eating at the front counter while there were customers in the store.”

I’ve been accused of making this one up, but I swear on my slippers this actually happened:

“As I was exiting Starbucks on my afternoon coffee break, a dishevelled looking man stopped me and said: “PLEASE! Could you tell me which direction I should take? Which way should I walk?”. I looked at hime somewhat incredulously. “I’m a writer” he said…”and I HAVE to make a decision”, as though this was a completely rational explanation. I pointed in the opposite direction I was walking in, and told him “that way…”. He looked, and enquired: “Then which way?”. I surveyed the next block and said: “turn left…NO! turn right.”
His joy was undisguisable. “Thank you,” he said “God has spoken to me through you.” Then he turned and walked the other way. Then he turned right.”

and more…

“I was channel surfing last night after I finished cleaning the oven. I accidentally stopped on a channel on which a new reality tv show was playing: “The search for the next PussyCat Doll”. So these ten girls auditioned and are now competing on television to be a PussyCat Doll. In case you are wondering, a PussyCat doll is a member of a girl group which is somewhat Spice Girl’s-ish but relies much more heavily on sex appeal, and does not focus so much on their individual personalities (there’s no Baby or Posh or Sporty). They sing a particular song called: “Don’t you wish your girlfiend was hot like me”, which has been featured on Heineken beer commercials. They flounce around in skimpy leather clothing. They shimmy. They beckon with sultry, heavily made-up eyes. They do chair dances. Anyway, they are recruiting.
Unfortunately my curiosity was piqued (kinda like when you’re driving and you see roadkill and you don’t want to look because it’s gross and sad but you can’t look away). At one point, the host of the show was giving a pep talk, and stated that “inside every woman there is a PussyCat Doll. You just have to find a way to bring her out and show her to the world” or something along those lines.
If this is true, all I have to say is OH MY GOD GET THE BITCH OUTTA ME!”

And this priceless find, the post that I wrote when I first discovered I liked cooking:

“I have been cooking a lot, in fact I have not bought a single meal that has been cooked by someone else or a factory in two weeks! This is a good thing, satisfying my curious recent obsession with cooking. I have been watching shows on the food network and becoming inspired by the chefs I see there. I now refer to things such as “plating”, “blanching”, and “reductions”.
It’s almost like the artist in me (I know she’s in there, hidden, trying to get out – but incredibly lazy) has found a new creative outlet. Instead of pencils, paper, paints, for some reason I am inspired by food.”

Sigh, the good ol’ days. Really takes me back. Finally, this rather solemn post about my lifelong recurring dream sequence, which I am actually surprised I shared with anyone, and am surprised that I am sharing it again now:

“For as long as I can remember, I have been having a recurring dream about once a month or so. It varies slightly from dream to dream, but the gist of it is: I’m in a house on the beach. Sometimes I am a teenager and I am living with my mom in our waterfront house in Ladysmith that we lived in 6-7 years ago. Sometimes it is a house I don’t recognise, and I am an adult. Sometimes, I am at the top of these bluffs that overlook a beach in Goderich, Ontario, that I used to frequent when I lived there. Sometimes my old dog, Pilot, is there. Anyway, I look out the window towards the ocean and see humongous waves coming towards the shore. They are moving very fast, but are quite far away, so I know that there is some time before they reach the shore. This sight is terrifying to me. I run around in a panic, trying to figure out what can be done to avoid or stop the waves. I know that there is not enough time to run away, as they are huge (think of the tacky CG in “The Day After Tomorrow”). Most of the time I am trying to gather together whoever is around (Mom, Carissa, Dad, Pilot, friends, boyfriend) so that we can group together and perhaps somehow survive the destruction. Sometimes I wake up at this point and am totally freaked out. But most of the time, the waves crash over the house. Amazingly, the house is still there, and I think that everything will be okay. Then I see more of these gargantuan waves looming on the horizon. One after one, they reach the house and it is submerged temporarily, but for some reason is never washed away.
Last night, the house fell apart. I had the ghastly image of people (Mom, Don, Carissa, boyfriend) hanging on to bits and pieces of the house, trying to hold on for dear life, and watching in horror as the next series of waves approached. Then there was other completely random dream stuff, like a huge purple sea monster that I had to defeat in a bloody showdown.
This morning I looked this up in my dream encyclopaedia, and discovered that dreaming about large waves or tsunamis represents feeling a loss of control in your life, or feeling that a recent important decision was unwisely judged. Which leaves me pondering: What’s the difference between when the house stays intact, and when the house breaks?”


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Categories: Ramblings

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2 Comments on “Vintage Sophie”

  1. Colin
    October 29, 2010 at 5:46 pm #

    Either that or your dream is telling you to take up surfing!

  2. MOM
    October 28, 2010 at 11:49 pm #

    The difference between the two is that even though you ‘know’ there is destruction (wrong decision) there are always chances to rebuild or remake the decision. Nothing is ever ‘final’. Your dream is telling you that you cannot control the uncontroable but you can control how you react to it..even in destruction there are pieces that can be picked up and remade into something else.

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