1. Been an illegal alien 2. Given birth, sans drugs, in less than 3 hours 3. Attended a "naked party" 4. Married a guy I met in a Lambada bar (well, doesn't that explain a lot?) 5. Had a modeling contract 6. Had premonitions 7. Gotten drunk on Dom Perinion 8. Taken ski lessons in the Alps from a guy named Jacques 9. Dated someone who ended up making porn movies 10. Had dinner at the Reform Club in London
This is not going to be well written 'cause I'm tired and not that interested at the moment and just need to plow through it. Read or run, your choice.
2. The Girl. Pretty self-explanatory.
3. and 9. I was a theatre major. Yes, yes, you don't need to say it. So, anyway, I guess we felt the need to do daring and theatrical crap, like halfway through a party declaring that we should all be naked. What can I say? Well, a lot, but I'll limit it to this, directed at all you academics out there: Don't ask students to housesit for you. Especially if you teach theatre. Need I even say this? Just don't. And several of my friends and acquaintances ended up making porn because as we know, that's such a career starter for the earnest actor/actress!
Everything else happened while I lived in London, which came about thusly: I was about to graduate and I was having an existential crisis.
(Sidetrack. Today at work--me to the Chica: "I'm having an existential crisis!" Chica to me: "When are you not? Is it a crisis if it's continuous?" Me: "Uh, probably not. It would be chronic. A chronic crisis? A chronis?" Chica: "That doesn't sound good." Me: "You're right. Sounds like an intestinal disease.")
So I decided to take a year off and go to London--do the 6 month student work permit thing, etc. I started saving and planning with a friend, Jennifer, to go. Jennifer ended up bailing on me, so I started planning with another friend, Maureen. Maureen bailed on me. Fuck it, I said, I'll go alone. Which doesn't seem like much now, but to 21-year old me, that was kinda a big deal. On the plane to London, I was feeling pretty freaked out--I'd sold everything I owned to make enough for the ticket there, the work permit, and $500, which was the minimum you had to have with you for British immigration to let you in (barely). I wish, I thought, that I knew I was doing the right thing. I heard two other American girls my age in front of me, and sort of listening in, I gathered they were on the same program I was. At some point, one of them fell asleep, and the other one and I started chatting. She introduced herself. Seems her name was Jennifer. I would run into her and her friend, Maureen, several times while in London.
And, blah blah blah, I spent 2 years in London on a 6-month work permit. I ended up working for an American woman who worked with international students. As part of that, we did a lot of social crap, and one of the highlights was dinner at the Reform Club (of "Around the World in 80 Days" fame). Very stuffy and elitist, but looks good on paper.
I also overstayed my visa. Hence the illegal alien part. I did it for love (rolls eyes) for the Ex, whom I met one night at a Lambada bar off Oxford Street--the only time I'd been out with friends from my other job at the time--a wine bar in the City. Where the customers didn't tip but did buy us drinks, including Dom Perinion, on several occassions. Memo to all who aim to (at)tend bar internationally: Australians, Yorkshire lasses, and Welshman can drink. You will not be able to keep up and retain your dignity at the same time.
At one point, the Ex and several friends and I took a ski trip to the Alps. And since I had never been skiing, I needed a lesson. And it was the French Alps. Everyone was named Jacques.
The Ex also managed a bar in a popular locale and got to know several interesting people, one of whom ran a PR firm and asked us to do some modeling for some project of hers. A few of the other people involved were professionals, and this one girl--who ended up on Neighbors, actually--took me to her agency afterward and they offered me a contract. At which point, Iiiiiiiii...FREAKED OUT and ran away from success as fast as I could. Cause hey, that's what I did in my 20s. Go, me. In retrospect, though--whatever.
Which brings us to 6. Hmm. Here's the thing. I dream a lot. A lot. Vividly, lucidly, frequently. And occassionally, things I dream end up happening. Short list:
- I dream that I am unintentionally pregnant. All I know is that the father is named (Ex's name) and has dark hair (as does Ex). The Boy was, in fact, unplanned as the result of NFP and the effects of jet-lag. However, I had this dream 10 years before his birth. When I dreamt it, I was a virgin and didn't know anyone of Ex's name or description.
- On the road trip back from Spring Break at a roommate's family's house, I fall asleep and dream that I'm having a heart attack. When we walk in the door back at our house, we find out that my roommate's mother has called. While we were traveling home, her father died of sudden, unexpected heart failure.
- I dream I am in the local university library and that I am freaking out because a flood is coming. A few days later, a freak flood occurs. Most of the books in the university library (along with a swathe of the town) are destroyed.
- I am living in London and freaking out because my life is falling apart. I needed support and had none--it was all 4000 miles away and I couldn't get to it. I get a letter from the Chica, who was freaked out because she'd dreamed about me; a dream in which she'd found me sitting in a hallway, staring at her miserably, but no matter how much she begged me to tell her what was wrong, I wouldn't talk.
- I dreamed pretty much all of the Ex's affair, including several odd and disturbing details that I won't go into.
- While in London, I spent an entire day doing that "Weird, I thought I just saw so-and-so from high school" thing. Except when I talked to my mom a week later, she told me this person had been found dead the week before.
Pretty mundane, really, but there you have it.
Go home now!