Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

A Dream With Daryl Hannah and The Doors

I remember my dreams so vividly sometimes -- the best is when someone wakes me up while I'm deep asleep and still dreaming, then I can recall every detail as if I was just there in that other reality. When I'm well rested my dreams are malleable, I'm aware at a distance that what is happening is a dream and with some effort I can control them from within. When I'm tired, like I was last night (and still am this morning) they feel more real to me.

I'm in a kind of LA version of the Chelsea Hotel. It's famous but not upscale, kind of like a more run down funkier version of the Chateau Marmont. I've been sharing a room with Daryl Hannah and another person, the other person switches between a guy and an old friend of mine from high school, Corey Hubbell.

I'm packing, hurrying because my Mom and Beau are going to be here any minute and will expect me to be ready. Whatever isn't packed by then will have to be left behind. I'm kind of panicked about this as usual.

Meanwhile Daryl is asking for advice about her hair. She wants to color it and asks me what drug store brand colorant she should buy. Surprised that someone as wealthy and famous as she must be is so uneducated about hair coloring I say, "Daryl, your hair is so pretty the way it is. You're worth a fortune as an actress and part of your appeal is your gorgeous, long, blonde hair. You're probably just a heartbeat away from the movie that will turn your whole career around and make you a multimillion dollar a picture actress, don't mess this up by ruining your hair. You have to be really careful. Home coloring is a tricky thing at best and for blondes it's the worst. The chemicals are really harsh on the hair, they can strip it and make it really dry, and with blonde you can end up with a bad orange shade. You're so much better off going to a salon."

While we're talking I'm packing. I'm almost done which is a huge relief so there are mostly just these weird old mementos of some former tenant to sort through. There's an old A line bra/girdle thing and some dresses. Daryl and I take turns trying them on. There's one that I want that she tries on after I take it off and I'm hoping she won't want it.
She's worrying about this upcoming semi-blind date that she has. "Some friends of mine set me up on this date with my boss. It's kind of a three part thing so I need three different outfits and I just don't have the money to buy new things. At home I just mostly wear shorts and tee-shirts so I have to figure something out." While she looks at the old ripped up bra girdle thing I pick up this old envelope with unused tickets inside a card. They're tickets to a Doors concert, how cool.

The rooms are really small and the walls are thin. The guy in the next room cranks up his guitar and starts playing some reggae/rock that I really like but my room mates don't and are bothered by the volume. A few minutes later a young guy and his girlfriend come to our open door and are looking for someone. Suddenly the electric guitar stops and this tough looking hard living British looking rocker guy comes out of the room next door and says, "Hey, I think you want me man."

Well, that's about it. I'm tired and hot and bleary eyed but I have to go to my Mother's to deal with a mix of her old crap and my old crap and greedy self serving Rosa who always has her beady eyes on the prize. We'll be deciding what to keep and what to throw away with Rosa carefully examining everything with an eye for it's resale value. Even if I do give her something, which I always do and probably will today, she's never grateful, never says thank you, not even to my Mom. I so don't want to move my things from storage over to my Mother's house because it doesn't feel safe there for a whole stolen truckload of reasons, chief among them is the fact that Rosa lives there. Okay, big sigh, here I go.

I hope you guys are having a happier day than I am.


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