The Modeling Contest

We were in college. We were settling in, like we just got back from break. I was asking what time they were going to eat dinner. A couple of girls were ther but I mostly recall Krissy Frederickson was there (childhood best friend - she was prety and very smart but financially struggling as her mom was a divorcee, her dad was a truck driver and her mom, who she lived with was a baker at Market Basket, the local supermarket). She said she was going to eat around 4:00. I said, 4:00?! Isn't that kind of early? She said she was going to practice piano. I was shocked that she had started piano lessons and I thought well, maybe I can eat a little early but decided that was just too early so I wanted to know when she would finish practicing because I wanted to practice as well and thought maybe I can practice after she ate and practiced and I would eat with the other girls after I practiced. I said well, how long are you going to practice? She said, well, how long do you practice - your an advanced player too, right? I was totally insulted...that she thought she could possibly play anywhere near as well as I do after a few lessons. I said irritably, no...you are a novice...I am practically a professional. She said something in rebuttal. I said, why don't you show me what you are practicing and then I can see how long you need to practice. So we and a couple other girls (I don't remember who) walked down the corridors (they looked like the hallways at Wellesley college and the dining hall looked like the dining hall at Wellesley). My intention was that when I saw the music I was going to sit down and play it without ever having seen it before (because I am an excellent sight reader) and then she would get my point. We were walking through the courtyard and suddenly I was in a large group. We were being assessed for a contest. It was a modeling contest at some place in the country. Off in the distance there were, probably like 25 other people, mostly girls - all beautiful...they were all in a single file line. They were going to ride through the country on these really cool motocycles. I said to the guy doing the assessments, those are realy cool bikes. He said yeah, those people are the ones that have already made the first cut. The riders got on the bikes and roared off into the country, single file. The first 5 or 6 motorcycles were absolutly awesome, shiny, sleek, brightly colored, designs...I specifically remember one that was cobalt blue with orange, red, yellow and black flames, chrome...but as the progression went along the bikes became more bland and the last few bikes were no longer bikes but old fashioned, but well-kept, grey cars. I said to the guy that looks like a lot of fun...I'd love to do that. He said I'd have to make the cut. Now my attention turns to all the people trying to make the cut, standing around being fussed with. But the people that were standing with me weren't all that. But in my dream they were supposed to be. A blond guy came over to me complaining that they might not let him compete. I said, they don't think your good looking enough? He said, God no! I am the most gorgeous guy here (but actually he wasn't very good looking at all - a little small, thin but a little flabby and his complexion was quite course) it's because of my speech impediment (he called it something but I don't remember now - it was sort of a lisp) He said, see those 3 over there? They are having their eyes tested. I said, with surprise, if your eyes aren't good you can't compete? He said, well, no but you have to wear your contacts and you can't wear glasses because you need to be able to see where you're going so you don't knock into the camera. Then someone came up to me to test my eyes. I nedd glasses or contacts to see but I passed. Off in the distance the bikers were heading back in our direction but in the distance and still riding off - but now they were on horses, all in a straight line, galloping through the woods. I exclaimed, Oh! Their riding!! I was so excited to see that I would have the opportunity to ride (and show off my skills) if I made the cut. The riders I could see were inexperienced and I wondered how they could be galloping up and down hills and through trees without falling off and still staying in a straight line. I decided the horses must just be trained to stay in a straight line and that they must be riding in western saddles and hanging on to the horn for dear life. When I figured out they were riding western I was very disappointed because I hate western saddles and have a hard time cantering and trotting in them. I decided I would see if I could use my own saddle. Now my attention turns back to my own group where the contestants are still being chosen for different looks. One girl comes out, in an outrage wanting to speek with the manager. She asks if they really want to shave her hair. She says this guy said she was supposed to shave her head. He says yes (she is not that pretty. her hair is bleached blond with dark roots and it is very dry and scraggily looking. her nose if thinnish and slightly hooked and her eyes are dark brown, not particularly interesting in any way. she has a thin small, red lips and soft rounded cheekbones. She is a bit pale. she's not ugly - just not pretty) She looks over behind her shoulder where the manager is pointing - we all look over there. There is a guy in a chair (it looked like the chair that Christopher Reeves rode) and he was having his head shaved - the guy shaving it looked like a dentist. I was still talking to the manager and the blond guy with the speech impediment. I said, I couldn't do that...I don't think I would do that. I love my hair. They both looked at my in surprise. Then I got sacared that I was going to get cut for being conceited and vane about my hair. The blond girl began crying and conceded to the shave. She gave one of her friends a hug (as if she was not coming back from this) and they had a weepy parting. Another girl got chosen for her punky features and came back dressed in street punk clothes with spiked up hair and punky looking make-up. Now most everyone had been selected for their looks but I still had not. The manager was working with me but he couldn't quite decide what my look was. I looked off in the distance at the models. They were returning from their hack. They were all lined up now, in a single row. The horses were gone. Some people were being cut from the group. One girl in prticular I remember was cut because she was terrible at the riding. She was smallish, long dark brown hair, large, almondy eyes. Very cute but fragile. She cried and gave several people hugs as she was leaving. My attention now returns to my group that is now all in a straight line. We are lined up along the bank of a river where we are having our photos taken as part of the contest (a modeling session). I see three people at the front being fussed with. One girl, an indian girl (like the Hindu kind of indian, not american indian) and she was dressed in an evening gown - it was a pale, silvery violety-blue tafetta, A-line skit, bustier top, off shoulder. She looked like she was going to the prom - and she was wearing a small tiara and her hair was held up in an elegant twist. She was very pretty but the dress was just too much. The manager said she was beautiful but needed to change her look, tone it down. Then there was the girl in the leapard look. I thought, oh, I could look good in that with my long hair. Then I thought, what is my look. I still didn't know. I looked around noticing other people's looks but now don't recall exactly what they were. I remember the indian girl came back and had kept the top of her gown but was now wearing a slim knee length skirt, beige. Her hair was now down and it was long and black and full bodied - really gorgeous. I felt threatened by her hair...but then I looked at her outfit and thought she looked quite plain...but dignified...but she was really beautiful so maybe the outfit didn't matter. Now I remember them calling me finally to give me my look. But it turns out that I already had my look...but I still haven't seen myslef and my look. I get called over to the bank where I look down and see all these little lizards all over the place. They looked like iguanas but not as large, they could fit in your hand, most of them. I am grossed out by them and try not to step on them. There is a guy that has also been called over to do the shoot with me. He is wearing a black vest, has dark hair but I can't remeber his face. I find out they chose me for this shoot because of my hair. I am relieved that my asset worked out to my advantage and feel proud. They ask us to kneel down and stretch out our arm in such a manner that they can see our tattoos (I don't actually have a tattoo). The tats were sepants that were going up from our forearm to upper arm. I am trying to kneel without putting my knees down and stretch out my arms and lay my hair in an attractive way without touching or squishing the lizards . One rather large lizard is really in my way so I pick it up and flick it into the water at which point I now notice that the lizards don't have legs. The lizard that I just threw into the water is furious and his neck flails and he is glaring at me from the water...and all the smaller lizards around me also have their necks flared. I look up alarmed and ask are these cobras? They said, no they are ____? (I don't remember what they called it but basically yes, they are in the family of the cobra but smaller and rounder). I ask, are they venoumous. Yes. Extremely. I am scared but trying to hold it together for the photo shoot. I don't want to get cut. This is my big opportunity. The snake hurles itself out of the water at me and lands on my arm (where there is no tattoo but the snake is on my arm in a squiggley shape, like the tattoo on the other guy's arm). The photographer is so excited. He says, hold your arm out, hold that position. I am trying to look good for the camera but I am terrified this thing is going to bite me and I'm going to be poisened. This is when I woke up.