When You're Strange

Inside the Queer Lounge


It's the Sundance Film Festival and I am to promote the movie, "When You're Strange." Not only do I know nothing of The Doors other than the fact that Jim Morrison has died, but I'm supposed to be telling people the specifics of the documentary and openly discuss the controversial issues of the late 60's. I do some quick research on youtube.com to update my "Door IQ." I'm quickly reminded what a troubled and derranged individual Mr. Morrison is.

I bundle up like an eskimo and sweat in the car while driving to Park City. Upon arrival, I notice that I must park over a mile away from where I'm working. I put posters, tape, buttons, postcards, staple gun, hot tea, camera, cell phone and the idea of a desk job in my bag and start hoofing it up to the Main Street area. When I arrive, I'm sweaty, yet strangely frozen. A wonderful sensation. The crowds are absolutely insane and I immediately feel underdressed. Apparently I forgot my fur coat and Chanel sunglasses which cover my entire face so that nobody can see that I'm a celebrity. Nothing says "sundance!" like high heels on icy streets.

So there I am, for five days....freezing, handing out crap and pretending that I think Jim Morrison is hot. I am informed that if I get tired, I can hang out in the "Queer Lounge." I snub the idea at first, but as soon as my toes are numb, I look into it. The heavy doors are ornate and intricate. Upon entering, I am instantly greeted and directed upstairs. To my surprise, there is free coffee, tea, cookies and pomegranate juice. The decor is like I imagine the playboy mansion to be. (Not that I sit around imagining what that looks like, but if I did, it'd be the Queer Lounge.) I sip a hot beverage and mingle a bit. Those cookies were great, too. "These queers know what's up," I thought. After the refreshment, I head back out into the cold. The crowds are even crazier now. I over hear someone mention it's because Johnny Dep is in the area. Not only did I find Pirates of the Caribbean to not be the least bit amusing, but I'm also running late for an appointment. I hurry along to meet others.

I met quite a few celebrities this year. I guess they were all excited about the movie or something. Therefore, giving me an opportunity to feel important. (I thoroughly enjoyed it when my husband personally asked Paris Hilton if she could tell us who the most overrated celebrity at the festival is. She giggled and said she'd 'tell us later.' She's so smart.) I suppose the only person I'd ever really be star struck over is Paul Newman. And, well, he's dead.

I headed over to the premiere of the movie. There were hundreds of people and I was allowed all sorts of VIP access. Not knowing who they were, I met the remaining band members from The Doors and took their pictures with the free items I gave them. When it was time for the movie to start, I was offered a ticket. Yes, a ticket that thousands (not hundreds) of people try to get. I politely turned it down and drove home.

Just in case you forgot what a psycho Jim Morrison is, too:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7ZucE_olEs&feature=PlayList&p=6457CA4831D81225&playnext=1&index=7

In a Hurry

Some time ago, a friend of mine made a comment to me. It was a beautiful Sunday and I was fulfilling my usual Sunday morning routine of cutting out coupons from the newspaper. My friend, Leo, called to “check in” with me as usual on this day. “What you up to?” he asked through nibbles of Atkins peanut butter cups. “Just cutting out coupons,” I responded flatly. Then came the comment…”Sometimes I think you’re just in a hurry to get old,” he said. I could picture him sitting on his couch surrounded by his dogs, patting each one on the head with approval. That’s when it hit me, I AM in a hurry to get old. Nothing says comfort to me like a cat in my lap while wearing a thick pair of warm socks.

A few months ago, my husband and I attended a meeting at a senior citizen center. As we exited our meeting and stepped into the main area, I peaked into the dance hall. I watched with envy as adorable couples held each other close and shuffled to the brassy tones of the live jazz band. Each pair of lovers looked content, as if they were satisfied with life.

I can’t seem to help it. I love watching “feel good” movies, baking bread, researching ancestors, wearing clothes for comfort instead of style, playing card games, going to bed early in the winter, putting a jigsaw puzzle together, writing to loved ones on paper and relaxing in lawn chairs. I drink tea each morning, read cookbooks and get bent out of shape when I don’t have Kleenex in my car.

On my 2nd, 29th Birthday last month (wink wink), I shared my feelings with my husband. His response? “I wouldn’t be in a hurry to get old if I was you,” he said bluntly. “Oh? Why not?” I asked. His reply was to the point and the conversation came to a total end; “What are you going to live off of?” Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought that far. So until then, I’ll just keep enjoying fast food napkins in my glove compartment instead of Kleenex in my back window.

Rosie and the Incredible Live Animal

*Rosie was a regular. Tall and slender, her costume jewelry dangled when she walked. Her fur coats looked as if she was enveloped in luxury. The click-clack of her heels allowed us all to know that she was near. Her make-up reminded me of the oil paintings that my brother would paint with his steady hand. I would sit and watch him paint, making sure he got it in just the right places. Rosie had one goal and one goal only; fool everyone into thinking she was younger.

On this particular day, Rosie was in need of a Massage Therapy Session not just for her physical well-being, but also for her mental state as well. All that shopping off QVC was just exhausting. As usual, she laid on the massage table face down first. I worked on her aging body quite frequently and knew the secrets that her fur coats were covering up. She was definitely in her 70's. In all my massage sessions, I end with working on the neck while my client is laying face up. Rosie laid face up and closed her eyes. Her false eyelashes rested against her tightened skin. Her long, platinum blonde hair softly hung about her shoulders. I sat on my rolling stool and massaged her shoulders. My mind was cleared and I pushed all judgments aside. "We all have our insecurities," I thought. "I'm sure Rosie has so much to tell me, now here she is, allowing me to make her feel better. What a wonderful opportunity and what great people my clients are." I continued to rub her tight neck and lose myself into my thoughts. I closed my eyes and let my fingers tell me what to do. I rolled my chair towards my aromatherapy oils. Wait. My chair is....stuck? I quickly looked down. Is that? "My hell," I thought, "There's a dead animal in the wheels of my stool!" I glanced at Rosie only to see a peaceful look on her relaxed face and only a few strands of hair left on her head. Her hair crown had fallen to its fateful death and I had rolled over it. I cradled her neck with one hand and begin yanking the animal free with the other. She was none the wiser while I rubbed and yanked. Rubbed and yanked. My wheel had gotten strands wrapped around it. Eventually, the polyester mass was pulled free and I was left wondering what to do with it. "Should I put it back on her head and pretend I'm giving a scalp massage? No, too obvious." I opted to delicately lay "it" on her clothes. I finished the session and went out front in the lobby to wait. As soon as I heard the click-clack of a great Nordstrom find and the jingle-jangle of QVC, I sat up straight and prepared myself for whatever constructive criticism I was to receive.

"That was fantastic!" she whispered in a breathy tone. Rosie placed her gratuity and payment on the front counter and click-clacked her way out the door. In the back of her head was the largest snarl that I have ever seen in my entire life.

*name has been changed

Why am I blogging?

I am blogging because my computer crashed and lost all of my precious, important, earth shattering thoughts.