I Enjoy Being A Girl

First off, I’ll mention that my nephew Jeremy is 16 today. It hardly seems that long ago that my mom and I made the trip down to Texas to help my sister and her husband out before and after Jeremy’s birth, but I guess it must have been. That’s what the calendar says, at least.
I’m too damn old.
In any case, happy birthday, Jeremy.
Today found me in my second day of JavaScript training realizing that I just don’t think like a coder.
Basically, while I can understand the principles and see how the things that we’re doing work, I can’t make the leap to see how any of it could be applied toward doing anything cool.
I mean, validating forms? Performing math? WTF?
So I can think of cool things I’d like to see done, and I can understand how to accomplish some things using the language, but there’s a disconnect between the two, as I just can’t see how the language can be used to accomplish the cool things.
Maybe tomorrow we’ll cover that (After we finish typing up 300 lines of code designed to check to make sure that required fields in an HTML form are filled out and that they’re filled out with the correct kind of data when the “Submit” button is clicked – there’s a task that will make you loudly yawn with excitement!), and do some things that are actually interesting, but somehow I doubt it.
I suspect that once you’ve learned the basics the rest is up to you, and I don’t see myself having the patience, or inclination, to learn how to go from getting a Web page to generate an error message if you type a letter into box that requires numbers to doing something flashy and cool.
That was part of the problem last year when I took a sort of introduction to Java (which is different from JavaScript). Basically, I couldn’t find myself extrapolating how to build some kind of cool Web applet after spending three days learning how to make a command line calculator.
I mean, it just struck me as making an intuitive leap comparable to going from figuring out how to get a Commodore 64 to scroll your name on the screen to writing Adobe Photoshop.
The other problem was that it wasn’t really an introduction to Java. It was basically supposed to be an introduction to the basic concepts of programming, using Java as the practical example. If it had served the purpose I’d hoped it was going to, maybe it would have repaired that disconnect that exists in my mind between basic elements of a programming language and a cool end result using that language and allowed me to bridge the gap.
However, the instructor pretty much blew, and because the focus was slightly more on learning Java, without actually being a full-blown introduction to Java, the class ended up being pretty much nothing. It didn’t teach me anything about the mindset of programming, and it didn’t teach me enough about the principles of programming in Java for me to do anything with what I had managed to learn.
But whatever. This class at least has been much more instructive in the actual language itself.
So it has that much going for it at least, and any shortcomings that prevent me from doing anything with it are likely to be entirely my own.
Over the years I’ve noted that my dreams very seldom have any obvious connection to current events. For example, when I dream about people I know I tend to dream about people I haven’t seen in years rather than people who are actually in my life now.
I’ve never been sure why that is, but it apparently takes a lot of effort for my subconscious to contemporize.
However, this morning just before I woke I had a dream that was obviously colored by yesterday’s events, specifically the whole gender confusion issue.
Yes, that’s right: I dreamed I was a girl.
Kind of, at any rate.
It was an odd dream that had a constantly shifting perspective. Sometimes I was a disembodied omniscient third person observing events, other times I was myself, and, still other times, I was viewing things from the perspective of a young woman.
The whole dream seemed to center around a group of co-workers planning a get-together at a bowling alley.
For the record, though the “me” that was in was, essentially, the “me” that I am now, the dream wasn’t entirely contemporary, as it seemed to be taking place in Minnesota, and the co-workers were from the job I had there more than five years ago.
To start with, the basic conceit of the dream took the form of a romantic comedy, one which I was, somewhat reluctantly watching, even though at the same time I was one of the characters in it (Starring Jon as “Himself”), which, I would assume, is why I got drawn into as a participant.
While “I” was essentially myself, and there were some familiar faces, I have no idea who the girl (And introducing Jon as “The Girl”) actually was. She appeared to be a construct of my dreaming mind.
I will say, though, that she was pretty hot.
In the times that I was viewing things from her perspective, she/I was preparing for the night out with “the gang,” and she/I was looking forward to seeing me, which is to say, Jon.
(If the fact that I was viewing things through the eyes of a pretty, twenty-something woman didn’t make it clear that I was dreaming, the fact that said pretty, twenty-something woman was interested in me certainly drove it home)
She/I was getting dressed, and was fretting about the skirt that she/I was wearing. She/I wanted to wear it, as it was a cute skirt and she/I looked good in it and wanted to look good for me/Jon, but the fact that she/I would be bowling could lead to some embarrassment.
Basically, she/I didn’t want anyone seeing her/my underwear when she/I bent over to send the ball down the lane.
So she/I was looking for a pair of shorts to wear under the skirt, but the only pair she/I could find was too long. She/I didn’t want anyone looking at her/my underwear, but she/I also didn’t want it too be obvious that she/I had shorts on under her/my skirt to a casual observer. So she/I went digging through her/my clothes to find a better pair.
That’s where I shifted back to my own perspective, and found myself reluctant to go bowling, but eager to see the girl.
As I said, there were some anachronisms in the dream. One of them was the fact that even though the setting for this dream was five or six years ago, when I was most decidedly not sober, in the dream I was, as I am now, approaching five years of sobriety.
Further, in the dream I didn’t smoke, though I only quit smoking a little over a year ago.
However, I was convinced that if I went out I would, no doubt as a result of being nervous about this girl that I liked being there, drink and smoke, and, in fact, get totally shitfaced.
My big concern was not so much that I would be throwing away years of hard-won sobriety, but that I would feel like shit the morning after, and that I would probably oversleep by several hours and be late for work.
(That much was not anachronistic for that particular epoch of my life)
So, before I went out I was trying to decide if I would remain sober, or if I would just take my chances and hope that I’d get up in time for work.
I don’t know what I decided, or whether or not the girl ever found a more suitable pair of shorts, or if we managed to hook up, as the dream was interrupted by my alarm going off.
So the whole being a girl thing was obviously influenced by yesterday’s experiences. It’s not really uncommon for me to shift perspectives in my dreams, especially since in our dreams we actually are everyone present, though I don’t recall having too many other transgendered dreams.
As for what elements of my subconscious shaped the rest of the dream, I’m fairly clueless. I don’t think my sobriety is in any danger, though I think the smoking thing was influenced by the fact that I’m in training this week. I always feel like I should be smoking when I’m in training, as we have breaks foisted on us and really, what am I supposed to be doing with that time if not smoking?
Anyway, the being a girl thing was the most interesting aspect of the dream, though honestly, if I were a hot chick I probably wouldn’t give me the time of day…
Speaking of which, on Friday I had a kind of sadly amusing encounter with one of the very few decent-looking women that can be found where I work, though this one is married.
Not that it matters, as she’s not exactly my type anyway.
Still, what makes her stand out, apart from her tremendous rack, is that she’s sort of…scary.
But it’s a good kind of scary. A sexy kind of scary.
Like, yeah, you’ll probably have some scars after it’s all over, but you’ll have memories that will last a lifetime. And sure, some of those memories may be repressed due to the trauma and can only be recovered and properly dealt with after years of therapy, but hey, it will have been worth it because, damn, that is one hell of a rack...
In any case, I nearly bumped into her in the hallway as she was rounding a corner, and she let out a little fake scream of surprise, then apologized.
I said, “That’s okay; I’ve gotten used to women screaming at my approach.”
She laughed, then paused to think about it, and with a mild look of concern, said, “That’s really sad.”
I shook my head and laughed as I said, “I’m just kidding,” but before she was totally on her way I added, “I actually haven’t gotten used to it.”
Anyway, I’m extremely close to finishing that RLC picture I started last week, and which turned out to be much more complicated than I’d originally anticipated, so I think I’m going to work on that.
In the meantime, just to clear any disturbing images from your minds (or, more likely, to plant disturbing images in your mind), when I was being the girl in the dram I looked much better in a skirt than I would in real life…