I'm not a sleepstalker, I swear
I dreamed last night that I had a huge group of close friends, about 30 of us aged everywhere from 15 to 40, and we lived in a city with a big skyscrapery downtown. One of the guys about my age knew Milo, and invited him to spend several days roaming around the city with us. I was the only female over 20 who was jazzed when he accepted, and it ended up that of all the people who wanted to meet him, I was the only one he really seemed to want to talk to. I may have just been a welcome change from the squeeing high-schoolers (who I think were modeled on two girls I met at WizardWorld). We would go out and get food, see sights, talk about random stuff, etc. The paparazzi were strangely absent the whole time. My husband knew all the details and was completely cool with it; I presume the same went for Hayden but it never came up.
The problem was that people kept twitting us for flirting, which we weren't even thinking of and which we both kept denying (backed up by my husband, who'd presumably gone with us to some places). Milo kept saying that we should just do whatever we felt like doing, because people were going to have their opinions no matter what we said or did, and if we stopped hanging out then they'd feel vindicated and get nastier. Having gone through some similar things myself, and knowing he had too, I agreed. But it just kept getting worse, until finally one of the women in the group took me aside and said something like, "Finish this sentence. Trying to date a famous and attached person is..."
"Not something I'm doing," I said. But she pointed out that it didn't matter, because the court of public opinion would decide in the end. It was different from the couple-rumors I'd been embroiled in before, because people weren't going to care about the truth. I could keep hanging out with him at the rate I'd been doing, sure, but I'd have to be prepared for snarky press at my door and a total loss of anonymity. It might not happen, but it was more likely than not. And I had to admit she was right. If I didn't want celebrity, I couldn't be friends with one.
So on his last day in the city, I stayed home. A bunch of the guys came and got me about an hour before Milo was supposed to leave for the airport, and we got there as people were taking pictures with him. He gave me this funny look, like he was trying to figure out what had happened, and then asked if I wanted a picture. The woman who'd given me the talk was there, and she gave me a Look; and I said I'd take a picture with him if she was in it with us. Apparently that was the right answer because I woke up.
I'm not usually this philosophical in my sleep, or this bittersweet. In life, though, this is exactly what I have a history of doing: becoming friends with guys I like, just to be around them. And, true to form, the rumors have only ever flown when I'm not trying to get a guy friend to notice that I'm a girl. I actually made myself stay awake and review the plot of the dream so that I'd remember it, something I haven't done in quite a while. It's kind of sad to think that, out of all the crazy-ass explosions of color and mayhem my sleeping brain throws around, this is the stuff that messes me up the most.
The problem was that people kept twitting us for flirting, which we weren't even thinking of and which we both kept denying (backed up by my husband, who'd presumably gone with us to some places). Milo kept saying that we should just do whatever we felt like doing, because people were going to have their opinions no matter what we said or did, and if we stopped hanging out then they'd feel vindicated and get nastier. Having gone through some similar things myself, and knowing he had too, I agreed. But it just kept getting worse, until finally one of the women in the group took me aside and said something like, "Finish this sentence. Trying to date a famous and attached person is..."
"Not something I'm doing," I said. But she pointed out that it didn't matter, because the court of public opinion would decide in the end. It was different from the couple-rumors I'd been embroiled in before, because people weren't going to care about the truth. I could keep hanging out with him at the rate I'd been doing, sure, but I'd have to be prepared for snarky press at my door and a total loss of anonymity. It might not happen, but it was more likely than not. And I had to admit she was right. If I didn't want celebrity, I couldn't be friends with one.
So on his last day in the city, I stayed home. A bunch of the guys came and got me about an hour before Milo was supposed to leave for the airport, and we got there as people were taking pictures with him. He gave me this funny look, like he was trying to figure out what had happened, and then asked if I wanted a picture. The woman who'd given me the talk was there, and she gave me a Look; and I said I'd take a picture with him if she was in it with us. Apparently that was the right answer because I woke up.
I'm not usually this philosophical in my sleep, or this bittersweet. In life, though, this is exactly what I have a history of doing: becoming friends with guys I like, just to be around them. And, true to form, the rumors have only ever flown when I'm not trying to get a guy friend to notice that I'm a girl. I actually made myself stay awake and review the plot of the dream so that I'd remember it, something I haven't done in quite a while. It's kind of sad to think that, out of all the crazy-ass explosions of color and mayhem my sleeping brain throws around, this is the stuff that messes me up the most.