Friday, March 26, 2010

garden variety

I am visiting my ex-girlfriend at her new house.  Apparently, she has begun running her own farm.  She's leading me on a tour of the grounds.  The size of the farm and the variety of produce are astonishing.  Everything looks beautiful, vibrant, and delicious.  I'm a tad jealous, but it's short lived because I'm getting uncomfortable.
It is a brutally hot summer day and I'm trying to avoid walking into the spots of sunshine breaking through the plants and trees.  We come to a little greenhouse where plants are being misted from the ceiling.  The quench on my boiling skin is almost audible. Ahhh, much better.  Oh wait, now we are outside again and I am just as hot as before.
After the tour, we come up to the back of her house, where I find an inground POOL!  I'm instantly annoyed.  I've been melting this whole time and there's been a freakin' pool here?!  I think to myself that it's so like her to neglect to mention this very important fact.  She then explains that they aren't using the pool because it's too cold. grr.
At this point, her mother comes out the back door and makes a fuss about seeing me.  I would have liked to avoid this interaction as I am planning to leave soon.  I don't want anyone getting any wrong ideas about the intention for my visit.  Her mom is asking me to stay, promising that she will make cookies if I do. hmmm... My ex then remarks that it will take too long.  Her mom says that she will make the cookies in the microwave, which will only take 20mins, just enough time for my ex to give me a special hair treatment.  I'm really not interested in having a hair treatment because it's going to involve getting close and touching, which I don't want any part of.  However, in lieu of looking like an asshole, I agree.  During this time, we have gone in the pool anyway and I am even more aggravated to find that it is, in fact, a very comfortable temperature.
In the pool, my ex applies this special hair conditioner to a quarter of my head and then stops because she doesn't feel like it anymore.  I'm pissed.  Appartenly, this is something I can't do myself, so now I'm shit out of luck.  We argue and I attempt to leave in a huff with my hair now looking like something out of an anime cartoon.  I take a few angry steps away when one of her dogs steps in front of me, pops a squat and farts....loud...and comically.  I try to go around, but then dog keeps short-stopping me, squatting and farting.  I can't help but chuckle.

pretty (miserable) in purple

In a department store, I am looking for the perfect outfit to wear to my family's Easter celebration.  I come across the most beautiful purple prom dress and decide this is exactly what I need.  Cut to Easter Sunday.  I put on my purple prom dress and am delighted about how it looks and feels.  It's strapless, so I have to wear pasties (stick-on bra) under it.  The dress keeps slipping down.  After a while, I notice that the rest of my family is not, in fact, donning formal wear.  Even my sister, who usually gussies-up is wearing jeans.  I suddenly become painfully aware that I have made the WRONG fashion choice for this occasion of ham and grandmothers.  I am totally distraught.  How could I have been so stupid?  What the hell am I going to do with this dress now?  What am I going to wear instead?

My entire family is dressed and ready and waiting for me.  I don't know what to do.  All I know is that I'm still wearing this fucking pasties.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

all aboard...ha ha ha ha

I am driving around town close to my house.  The vehicle I'm driving is some huge monstrosity of an SUV and I'm finding that I can't handle it very well.  I'm too short to reach the pedals, the steering wheel is enormous and I can hardly see over the dashboard.  I come up to an intersection that crosses railroad tracks.  The light is yellow and I decide to stop, having to stand up with my full weight on the brake.  Good thing, because here comes a train.  Several cars behind me have already stopped, but a red Jeep Cherokee comes flying through the intersection, trying to beat the light and the train.  It looks as if he is going to make it underneath one of the train cars (apparently this train is very tall) and WHAM!, the train slams into his Jeep.  The car bursts and is torn apart as if it was made of cardboard.  I'm watching, horrified, from a safe distance.  I'm thinking this guy is dead, there's no way anyone could survive this.  As the last train car passes, I can hear screaming, screaming, screaming.  In the distance, I can see the driver of the jeep laying on the tracks with his arm completely severed.  There is blood everywhere and the screaming is ringing in my ears.

Midnight Train to Georgia ~ Gladys Knight & the Pips

Monday, March 15, 2010

my empty hand felt cold and unused

I had more than one dream about holding hands last night.

In one, a good friend of mine and I were holding hands.  It made me feel calm and secure, but wasn't part of the plotline.

In the next dream, I am in Catholic high school, but not the one I went to; the uniforms are much uglier.  Also, in this school, we have nap time.  We all lay on thin exercise mats on the gym floor and now that I'm looking around, this may be an all girls school.  The girl I like lays on the mat next me and we reach over and grasp each other's hands.  I get that too-often-forgotten puppy love warmth.  It's pure and it's innocent.  Just being with this person makes me completely happy.  Following the brief flash of respite, I am terrified that we will be caught.  Sure enough, a teacher walking in between the rows of napping teenagers spots our intertwined fingers.  We are reprimanded and another student is placed in between us.  The distance is painful.  The following day, we cannot stand to be separated any longer, so we reach across the girl between us.  As a teacher approaches, we find an ally as our human wall covers for us.  We are safe...for now.

"...and my empty hand felt cold and unused. I'm quite alright, I'll get by just fine.  I'm not depressed, not most the time.  It's just the fun stuff is less fun without you" ~ Frightened Rabbit, "Fun Stuff"

All this got me thinking; people should hold hands more often.  We take it for granted, do it out of obligation or habit, but taking someone's hand when you mean it can convey more than this subtle gesture would seem to.  We are bogged down by words, yet we never stop talking.  Human touch completes the circuit.  It is universal and can communicate in a millisecond the truth that we otherwise trip over ourselves trying to express...or hide.  Think of the peace we would find in a world of silent eyes and clasped hands...

Friday, March 5, 2010

the hunter will sin for your ivory skin...and pizza

I am at a U2 concert with my bandmate.  We start out further up in the seats, but as the concert continues, we keep getting closer and closer.  I am eventually on the ground row, along a walkway from the stage.  Oh my god, Bono is walking this way.  They are playing "Pride (In the Name of Love)".  Bono walks right in front of me.  He is beautiful.  He is a demigod.  I soak in this moment with jaw dropped.  All I have to do is reach out my arm and I could touch him.  My friend is behind me and pushing me to.  I can't.  I have no business inside his aura.  Touching him would make him real.  It's better this way.
After my brush with the Apollo of modern music, I am suddenly back up in the higher seats.  In addition to the performance, U2 also bought the audience pizza and macaroni and cheese.  The U2 crowd is always a great audience, so we all pass plates of food, take a slice, and keep passing.  Everyone is really friendly and is helping each other with the snacks.

"The hunter will sin for your ivory skin" ~ U2, "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses"

Wednesday, March 3, 2010


I am in a Bed, Bath, and Beyond-like store.  I need some kind of face wash or lotion. I am watching a commercial for this product on my iPod, which now looks like a digital picture frame.  I can't find what I want in the sea of face products.  This store is narrow with high ceilings, so the shelves are really high and I can't reach or see.  I give up.
As I walk out towards the front of the store, Hanson is here shooting a video.  The front of the store has transformed from a fluorescent-lit warehouse checkout area to a warm, mahogany-rich, bay-windowed, sunny bookstore.  Much better.  I'm excited to run into Hanson, but I'm not acting like a tool, so this is definitely a dream.  Taylor Hanson asks me to dance.  He's good at leading and I am having fun.  The other two Hansons are playing their instruments.  We dance for a bit, and he dips me.  Then we hug it out.  He is wearing a Hanes v-neck undershirt and I'm thinking about how soft it feels.  It was a good, long, comforting, back rubbing hug, much needed.  Thanks, Taylor.