Or Luke Because Mr. Wilson Could Be More Christian-y
I’m not saying I did magic mushrooms and I’m not saying I didn’t, but let’s just say someone was lying on the floor in front of my fireplace on New Year’s Day talking to her Higher Self — though, you could take out the “Higher” bit and replace it with simply “high.”
Though her Self swore that, “These mushrooms aren’t even working,” there was a remarkable amount of giggling and making up of feel-good stories. Out loud. By herself.
If this story did take place — which I’m totally denying for legal reasons — the protagonist (me) may have also been chatting with her Inner Higher Self Mini-Me Life Coach.
Anna’s Inner Higher Self Mini-Me Life Coach is an imaginary person who looks and sounds remarkably like — me! But the “me” when I was six years old, who had side pigtails and was much wiser.
Side note: Anna is not sure why she is referring to herself in third person except for the fact that there are so many of her selves “in here” that it just seems right.
So, anyway, all these Selves were having conversations about life and existentialism and whatever else you talk about while lying on the floor in front of the fireplace for four hours.
But the most important conversation — clearly, since all of my Selves remember it — went something like this:
Me: Mini Me?
Me: How are we gonna marry Gerry? Actually, you’re underage. How am I gonna marry Gerry?
Mini: You won’t.
Me (giggles): Don’t be so brutal. Let’s play the “let’s pretend” game. Wanna?
Mini: How old are you?
Me (turns away from an invisible person, looks deeply into the gas flames. Exhales.): Thirty-five.
Mini (rolls eyes)
AJ Interjection: Kinda odd that I knew Mini rolled her eyes given that I was looking at the fire, y’all! #deepspiritualshit
Me: What? (Pause) Okay, I’m 42. (Pause) Fine! I’m 47. And yes, I know, my eggs are cracked and dry.
Mini: You’re 46 until May, and you need to stop this crazy obsession.
AJ Interjection: I’m only 46? How about that!
Me: But I added Luke as an alternate. Ok, here’s how it’ll play out. I write a screenplay —
Mini (interrupting): You already did. Where is it? Rhetorical. It’s on the shelf because it sucks.
Me: So, anywayyyyy, I write a screenplay that doesn’t suck and stars Gerry or Luke and, of course, me!
(Mini has gone back to colouring. Don’t worry, I hadn’t noticed the crayons earlier, either.)
Me (continuing): It’s about a woman in an ongoing midlife crisis who writes a screenplay in order to meet the celebrity guy she’s had a crush on forever. (Or his alternate who she’s only had a crush on for a few years.)
Mini: Been done a hundred times. Boring.
Me: Wait, there’s more. In the main screen play, the protagonist — me — writes some other screenplay story, which I haven’t figured out yet, but anyway, in the main story, the woman — me — decides to volunteer for this charity that the celebrity, Gerry — or Luke — supports because there’s going to be some big gala where she’ll get to meet him.
Me (giggles, pushes onward): Hold on, there’s a twist! Ok, so the guy who runs this big charity is the celebrity’s BFF and, of course, knows what’s going on with the woman’s true intentions. Sooooo. So, the BFF tells Gerry (or Luke). And guess what happens next? Nope! The two BFFs decide to disguise Gerry into an ugly dude and put him on the crew with the woman — me! — to see what she’s really like.
Mini: You’ve watched too many made-for-TV Disney movies with your BFF. You know that, right?
Me: And they keep pumping them out, don’t they? Ha! Back to the story. All kinds of delays and challenges happen that test the woman and reveal her true colours, which are quirky but oh-so-adorably appealing, and she confides in Ugly Gerry about her feelings for the real Gerry — who is Ugly Gerry! — because she’s totally her weirdo real self with Ugly Gerry and even talks about her chin hair and all those good things.
Mini: And Ugly Gerry falls for her.
Me: Yes! Isn’t that wonderful! (claps rapidly, giggles)
Mini: Does she fall for Ugly Gerry?
Me: Haha, I’ve sucked you in! Mwahahaha. You’ll have to watch the movie to find out.
Mini: And how do you get this movie produced and starring this Gerry or Luke celebrity?
Me: Details. Details. Oh! Maybe, a producer reads this blog and calls me up to make the movie.
Mini (stops colouring, cocks head, looks at me with raised eyebrows)
Me: It could happen.
Meanwhile, the real me, the “Seated Self” ME, watches all of this in amusement.
The only problem with the validity of this scenery is that God — Universe / Highest Self / Law of Attraction — is confused because now I’m not sure if I want Gerry or Luke.
Let’s compare the important things:
- Luke has a bit more chest hair than Gerry. I like chest hair.
Though, hello! Rogaine! Ok, so that one’s a wash. But wait! If I Rogaine Gerry’s chest, then I can’t lay on his chest or I may grow a beard on that side of my face. And a chin hair is bad enough, people! Luke: +1
- Luke is from Texas and Gerry is from Scotland.
There’s about a 96.8% chance that Luke is a God-loving (quirky) actor. I love God! (And quirky.) But I also love a Scottish accent. Hmm. Luke: +1. Gerry: +1
- Luke is currently single, and Gerry is back and forth with the tall, skinny brunette.
I’m not a slim, tall, young, world-class volleyball player (Luke’s last GF) or a rich, famous, talented, gorgeous actress (Luke falls in love with all his beautiful co-stars), but I am funny. Gerry? Well, he has unfinished relationship business. That’s a no-go zone for me. Luke: +1
Results: Anna’s cray-cray score: +3
What have we re-learned?
- Minus 20 something Calgary weather has caused cabin fever creativity.
- All the Annas are still vain and nuts. But they — we — make life fun!
Quit my prosperous real estate day job to become a starving writer and dating coach, y’all! (Sigh. Check.)
p.s. Where did Luke come from? Well, I met him on the beach in Santa Monica years ago, and he was super nice and a decent boyfriend. He wasn’t my boyfriend. No, he was The Star Volleyball Player’s boyfriend. And he was decent because he didn’t flirt with me at all — and I was better looking back then — but he did try to set me up with his buddy, which I thought was sweet.
Shhh, no comments from the peanut gallery. Leave me to my fantasies: they provide comic relief and good writing material!
Feel free to support a starving artist by donating or buying my memoir! And leave a review for crying out loud! Namaste.