I slept in this morning, not because I was tired, but because I was having the most vivid, move-like dream I’ve had since, oh, last week. Also, I was this close to making out with Jamie Kennedy in said dream. That’s enough to keep a girl in bed for awhile. Literally.
Yep, shoes. I know, right? Julie doesn’t give a crap about shoes – normally. But the other day, as I was forcing my mother to look at shoes at Kohl’s (she’s only bitched about needing new “church shoes” for oh, seventeen and a half years now), I saw The Pair.
A covetous feeling such as I’ve not felt since perhaps first grade overwhelmed me, and I’m almost ashamed to admit that these shoes so infiltrated my brain that they, too, were part of last night’s movie-dream.
But ohmygawd, they are cute! (And completely and totally impractical!) In fact, were I to purchase these heels, I’d almost certainly NEVER wear them, ever! I would have absolutely no occasion to strap these beasts to my big ol’ bony feet and prance (read: stumble) about town. (I’m also fairly sure that I’m just genetically incapable of wearing high-heeled shoes anyway). But ohhhhhhh. They’re preeeeeeetty.
Anyway. I digress. Here’s what little I remember from the plot from last night (this morning?):
I was somehow involved in the fashion world (stop laughing!). I wasn’t a model, but I think I did… I don’t know? Something to do with writing, perhaps. Or laying out catalogues? Actually, now that I think about it, my brain was really just ripping off The Devil Wears Prada and Ugly Betty.
So for some reason I’m at a fashion show. The dress I’m wearing is really cute, though. It’s red. It has a black tulle lining that peaks out from under the skirt. Really, I look like a 50s housewife. Also, the area in which the fashion show is being held looks suspiciously like the gate area of an airport terminal. Yup, I’m pretty sure that I had a connecting flight out of DFW at that spot once, in Real Life.
But I am nervous! For some reason, I have been asked to fill in at the fashion show. I think that is why I’m wearing the Cute Dress. I am very scared, because I have to wear high heels, and I can’t walk in high heels without looking like I’m walking in high heels. Also, I fear that I will fall. These fears are exponentially increased when I see the shoes I’m supposed to wear: it’s The Pair I mentioned earlier (though, really? Those blue shoes with that red dress? Uck).
But a fellow Fashion Industry Worker, played by Mr. Jamie Kennedy, comes to my rescue. He is some sort of Hot Shot Guy, much higher up the food chain than I, but is also a Nice Hot Shot Guy who deigns to speak with the peons of the magazine or whatever for which we both work. Together, we decide that if only I can get someone to escort me up the runway, I won’t fall down and ruin the show. But who will do it? He certainly can’t! He’s too Big and Important to do such a thing, and it makes perfect sense that he would…
…come up with a RIDICULOUS disguise! Suddenly he transforms himself into some sort of foreign “model,” complete with RIDICULOUS made-up accent so that he can walk with me without being found out for who he truly is.
Soon, it is my turn. I stand, my ankles made of all kinds of rubber (I mean, really? I’m not great on stilettos in Real Life, but I don’t wooble-like-a-weeble when I try to stand…but oh wait – who is there to catch me in this dream? Never mind). Then, one of those Weird Dream Things happens where there is some sort of implied intimacy that, unfortunately, cannot be recovered in the retelling of the dream; one of those near-miss sort of things: oooh we almost touched! or oooh we almost had our tongues down each other’s throat! or ooooh I’m pretty sure we weren’t wearing pants!. I once had a dream where the same thing happened with Val Kilmer (yeah. Eh. But I was also, like, 16) in the back of a limo.
Ahem. Anyway. Jamie Kennedy-as-Foreign-Model takes my hand and leads me through a tangle of chairs (again, this was pretty much an airport gate area) to a larger, more open area where I was supposed to just stand and look at the audience on my own. Oh, and also? In addition to Cute Dress and The Shoes, I’m wearing some sort of purse circa Claire’s-in-1994 that is very small, but with a long strap that is worn across one’s body. It is also red. Um, ew. I walk away from Mr. Kennedy (with the crowd whispering to themselves: Who is this hot foreign man we’ve never seen before?) and…
…I promptly fall down. Theatrically, really. I follow this graceful move up with a ta-da sort of bow and wave to the audience, then I run off the stage, presumably into Jamie Kennedy’s arms…
…but I WOULDN’T KNOW BECAUSE, damn it, Ma! I’m up! I’m up!
I tried to “go back” to the dream, but I could not. Alas.