Beauty Is Transformative, or, What I Learned From a Recent Zombie Experience

DISCLAIMER: My Twitter followers did not find my tweets about this interesting. HOWEVER, my Facebook pals thought it was hysterical... all that to say, it's kind of a toss-up how you'll feel about this post. You're free to stop reading and I'll forgive you.

Now on to the story...



Two nights ago, I dreamt I was being chased by zombies. Luckily zombies are super slow in more than half the films documenting their existence, so I actually wasn't aware I was being pursued... until I decided to hang out in a dark, Tim Burton-esque meadow. Smart.

Tip for zombie interactions: don't acknowledge them, it only encourages their behavior. Just keep pretending they don't exist.

So I saw a zombie coming up to me. Did I run? Shoot her in the head? Scream for a hero to help me?

No. All my zombie escape training went out the window.

I gave her a makeover.

In dreams, it's amazing how much you can carry without even knowing it. I gave this girl a whole new look -- everything from a blow-out to new makeup.

(The blow-out actually turned her hair pink and then it melted -- I'm not sure we're calling that a success.)

BUT.

She wasn't a zombie anymore!

What does this dream mean? It means that beauty is transformative. That unexpected love can heal what nothing else can help.

Way to go, subconscious!

Now, if I can only figure out why the makeover turned her from zombie into a talking coffee mug...

How to Be an Online Stalker Without Being a Real-Life Creep

Over Labor Day weekend, I was thrilled to play [an often-lost] tour guide to a friend who visited me from Virginia. We went on the Seattle Lust Tour, the Underground Seattle Tour, shopped till I really thought I might drop, wine tasted, visited Lenin and the Fremont Troll, and got caught in a spontaneous dance party in the middle of downtown Seattle one night.

It was great.



But one activity was marred by the Weird.

Megan and I decided that we’d take the ferry out from the Seattle waterfront to Bainbridge Island, so we bought tickets and boarded.

“Do you have a sister named Katie?” Some guy popped into my line of vision, seemingly from nowhere, to ask me this question.

“Yes. Who are you?” I demanded in a pleasant fashion.

“I’m her friend!” he chirped. “Can I take your picture?”

Megan and I looked stupidly at one another, wondering what was happening. We took too long to formulate an answer, however, because he whipped out a professional-looking camera (also the type used by paparazzi and stalkers – zoom lens) and snapped several pictures.

“Thanks! Bye!”

Um.

I spoke to my sister this past weekend to ask her how this buddy knows who I am. She puzzled for a moment, then admitted it was probably through Facebook pictures.

Commence learning moment. Not for people like me who post pictures, but for people like him who act like they KNOW PEOPLE they’ve NEVER MET because they’ve MEMORIZED PICTURES OF STRANGERS.

It doesn’t go over well.

Moral of the story is, if you’re going to do this -- and I’ve heard quite a few people do… I have no personal experience as I’m too busy living a life of glamour and excitement – make sure you stay anchored to reality enough to remember with whom you’ve actually had conversations, and with whom you’ve only imagined entire conversations/friendships/relationships/movies.

One Year

Today is the anniversary of something terrible. But, for me, it's also the anniversary of something good. One year ago today, I clicked "Publish Post" on my first Too Pretty for This blog post.

I don't think I would've started this blog on September 11 if it hadn't been for Christopher Penn and his Twitter challenge (you can read about it in my first post). I would've started it eventually, because I knew I needed it.

"Kairos" can be defined as the right word at the right moment.

I needed the right words in those moments a year ago. I had left a job I was good at and enjoyed (for reasons I won't go into). I was reeling from shattered relationships that were important to me. I was a writer who didn't write.

And for goodness' sake, I had swine flu and was in quarantine.

It was important to state with some sort of action that I was more than my circumstances, so I started Too Pretty for This. I never expected people -- you -- to connect to what I was saying, to email me during my extended blog absences, and to share your own stories with me.

It's amazing what happens in a year.

Wine tasting happens in a year... Sorry, most recent photo I have.
Also: I am bad at captions.

So although today is a sad day, for me it has a twinge of the beautiful, too. Thank you for a year of caring about why we are Too Pretty for This.