What the hell is this?

I Can't Stand [Meeting] You is a collection of all the ridiculous things I've written to and about drummer and composer Stewart Copeland.

I actually did meet him for about five crazy seconds in 2007, again for a few exciting moments in August 2009, and my most recent (and most thrilling!) encounter took place in October 2009, where I proved myself capable of being, yet again, a total dork in the man's presence.

I can't believe what I get up to. And neither should you.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Dear Stewart @copelandmusic,


So, I was wondering... is it weird to write these letters? Is someone close to you saying, "Dude. That chick with the blog is strange?" (Do you allow your friends to call you "dude"?) Are you thinking that (not the dude part)? I'm just asking; I don't really expect an answer.

Something weird happened to me the other day, and a couple of friends were advising me to think one way about it, but in my heart and in my head (the important part? Or do I have that backward?) I decided that I was just going to believe what I wanted to believe based on the information I had, and stop questioning it.

Maybe it's not a great thing to be believing in, and maybe I'll be disappointed in the end, but at least right now, I'm open, and convex about it.

That last part means nothing to anybody but me, and that's fine.

So, last night I had a dream. I woke up at 2 a.m. and I had been dreaming about being at a party at someone's house. I don't really recall who the other guests were... there were people milling about but not too many. It wasn't a loud or crazy party, just people sitting and standing around, having conversations. You were there, as well as a friend of mine from high school (and now Facebook). Her name is Deb, and she's lovely. She's the piccolo player who, when I was a freshman and she was a junior or senior, took me under her wing in band. You and Deb were sitting, facing each other, in the living room. You were on a white couch and she was seated in a chair by you, and the two of you were talking, talking, talking. I was hovering, I guess, and annoying you, maybe, because after a while, you said to me, "Hey, Irene. Why don't you go and get us all some cake?"

I went into the kitchen, and stood at the counter and cut up some pieces of really pretty tiramisu for the three of us. And then I woke up.

I stayed up for about an hour and a half, and ended up shoe shopping (I need some new black pumps). I didn't buy anything, I guess I'm feeling very indecisive about shoes right now.

Anyway, the dream was fun, though, next time, maybe Deb can get the cake.

Love you,

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