I’m at something that is a cross between a dinner party and a class. It’s hosted at the apartment of a large brunette woman (not a familiar face in real life), who is something between a teacher, a friend, a musician, a psychologist, and a psychiatrist in research.
I’ve dreamt about her and her apartment before, in the same situation: being invited to her apartment for a weird dinner. Weird because I can’t really relax there. I feel judged, and I don’t trust her. But it’s a beautiful apartment. She has a bathroom, somehow it’s prominent because of the bathtub. I sneak away to use it and everyone listens really carefully, which I find just weird and irritating.
I visit the apartment at least twice or three times in this dream, for separate dreams. The first set is that I visit but somehow some weird older guy in jeans and with a long grey ponytail has gotten me to agree to get my haircut always from him, every time. There’s something a little menacing about him, but there is also something nice about him, he means really the best for me. But he has to come in the apartment via a cat door, and it’s all a little suspicious. He waits for me, really looks forward to my visits, so he can give me a trim.
The hostess figures out that this is going on, and she intervenes, in a very diplomatic way, so that I can come without having the obligatory haircut every time. She asks to speak with him. Oh also she has an assistant with curly red corkscrew hair. She speaks with him, and shuts the door gently in my face as well, but in a nice way. So they discuss. He leaves. It’s never mentioned, I get no details, but everything seems to be sorted out. I feel a bit badly, though.
Next time it’s like a store, almost, this same apartment. I’m there checking out some beauty products. Then the next time it’s the dinner party.
The hostess asks me to get the water for everyone, waving at a nearly empty bottle of mineral water and 2 saucers. So I start looking around for cups and water, and someone else helps me, but I’m nervous because I really have no idea where to look and I have to rifle through everything. The hostess gets up and exasperatedly asks me why I’m so timid, why don’t I just look for it. Uhh, ok.
The table is set for dinner, we’ll eat later. Meanwhile we have class. We sit around, and R. is there. We get along great, so great, that we’re basically cuddling up. In fact, everyone is cuddling up, like a pile of dogs or kittens or something having a slumber party or movie night. We watch films that we all produced. They show one of mine, which is me being really silly - it’s a comedy -, with a special trick that shows my mother’s mouth moving in place of mine, she is also being silly and saying ridiculous things. I say I don’t remember making this film at all. We’re wearing weird wigs and ribbons and makeup. It looks like fun. I laugh.
Then we have a long discussion about how to decide which way to make the water flow. The instructor is sometimes the hostess, but also sometimes morphs into some guy. He’s ok, as far as instructors go. I love to discuss the topic but somehow it’s unsatisfying. I think the discussion is basically that you have to just feel it. Then you swirl the water around whichever direction seems right, like in bathtubs, for example.