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Fever-Like Dreams
I just got up from a nap, so pardons all around if this isn’t very coherent. I’m still a little dazed from the whole napping experience. It didn’t help that I had some of the craziest dreams ever. They were very surreal, but I think I was the closest to lucidity in these dreams than I’ve ever been before. In the first one I was talking to someone of a different faith and then I started making very sound explanations of why a just God would allow pain and suffering. It’s odd because I’ve always had a hard time explaining that on the fly before, but there I was, in the dream, coming up with stuff. The other one was much more strange and deserves a paragraph of its own.
I was at a really seedy dive bar with Willie Nelson, some random older woman, and my mom (I know this sounds like a joke, but bear with me). Some music started playing and Willie Nelson asked the other woman (not my mom) to dance. He wasn’t very good and after the song ended, he came back to the table very embarrassed and was ready to immediately leave. I convinced him to stay because, well, IT’S WILLIE NELSON and I love Willie. My mom then started complaining about the bar, saying stuff like “It’s too dirty” and “The music is horrible.” Frustrated that she would complain when I was getting to meet Willie Nelson, I told her that she was being pretentious and that if she thought she was better than the bar, the people in the bar, and the music, she should just leave. She then left. After she was gone, the older woman asked me what I meant when I said “portentous.” I told her that I didn’t say portentous, but pretentious. Regardless, I told her that a portent was a sign of things to come or a foreshadowing of future events and that portentous was an adjective form of portent meaning of or relating to constituting a portent. This is really odd because I can never remember what portentous means and here I was, in my dream, explaining it…and I gave the right explanation. Anyway, in the dream, my mom was instantly transported back and she and Willie Nelson both raised their hands to ask me more questions. That’s where the dream ended. If anyone’s an aspiring Freudian, please feel free to interpret my dreams…
I wonder if all of this relates to me playing waaaaay too much Super Mario RPG. I leave you all with a screenshot of that fine, fine game:
Cereal Moment
So I went to Safeway and had to get some cereal. I made the biggest error in cereal purchases – never pick a cereal based on the cartoon character on the outside of the bag. Actually, the biggest error is to pick the cereal based on the toy inside. I don’t know how many weeks I ate Grape Nuts just for that collectible “Flex Me Faster Noid McFloid Belt Buckle.” Well, I made the second worst choice when I looked at that big-toothed, eye-popping crazy squirrel on the front of a cereal sack and thought, “Mmmboy…squirrel…hungry.” I thought that the comical outside said, “Delicious inside.” The taste says, “Squirrel feed inside.”
It’s so bad. It has the same look as Cap’n Crunch with Crunch Berries but with an interesting twist: it sucks. I don’t know if I will ever trust Safeway cereal again. The best part is that you get a lot of it, which is a good value. The bad thing (aside from flavor) is that it’s in a plastic bag, so when you pour it out, the thin plastic shell collapses under the pressure and it pours out about four inches too early and all over the counter, the floor, in your hair, behind the fridge, and then like two kernels roll into the bowl. They mock me. So really, you get a massive amount of cereal to compensate for how much you actually dump on the floor.
And I need to go to sleep because I swear I’m seeing things.
It Feels Like the Day after Y2K
Friday came and went…I didn’t post on the blog. I thought terrible, calamitous things might happen if I didn’t post, and yet here it is; a day has gone by and I’m still here. I was pretty bummed out last night when I realized that I wasn’t going to make it home in time to write anything and have it show up for Friday. Fortunately, this realization came as I was sipping a tasty boba beverage on Mill (toffee coffee, for those who care). If I was drinking boba, you could run up to me screaming “Oh my gosh, Steve! You’re hair is on fire!” and I would calmly look up, put my hand on your shoulder, and in the softest voice I could muster I would say, “Shhhh….shhhhhhh…I’m having a moment.”
Yes, I know…past experiences would lead one to believe that I was now going to write something about Mill or boba, but YOU’RE WRONG! HA! I’m not. I don’t want to take that obvious road. I have to keep people guessing. You think I’m going to zig, but I zag instead. Misdirection is the key…oh yes, I love misdirection.
The key to misdirection is that you have to have something to misdirect people to. I don’t have that. Nothing really of note happened today or yesterday. I stayed up way too late last night, got up early this morning to go running with the Teej, did some laundry, came home, read some Native American creation stories for my English 241 class, and that’s about it. I don’t understand why nothing exciting ever happens to me. I come on here all fired up about writing stuff and then…nothing. It’s like one of those times when you think you have to go to the bathroom, you get there, and then you don’t have to go anymore. Disappointing, but life goes on. Perhaps life is better this way. I can’t help but be reminded of the ancient curse: “May you live in interesting times”. If interesting times equates to me being thrown from the freeway overpass by an explosion from a rolled oil-tanker, give me those crazy Native American stories anytime.
You’re a Liar and a Tramp
Oh if this entry could be as juicy as the title implies…it would rival General Hospital or Days of Our Lives in its content. I’ll try to spice things up with hyperbole and straight out lies.
The evening started when I caught Greg stealing money out of my wallet. I said, “Unhand that, you unwashed miscreant”. A violent but brief scuffle ensued…the conflict was resolved when Greg fell for the ol’ “Look! A Three Legged Airplane!” distraction technique and I deftly slipped a pair of sturdy undies over his head and, much like a horse with blinders, he calmed down. We then listened to Raffi and ate caramel corn.
Ok…that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever written. I shall now divert the conversation to beloved children’s song singer and hippie, Raffi. Perhaps his most famous piece of work, Baby Beluga, was an institution in my youth. Here’s a lyrical excerpt:
Baby Beluga in the deep blue sea
Swim so wild and you swim so free
Heaven above and the sea below
And a little white whale on the go
That’s the cheesiest hippie crap I’ve ever seen. It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up into a weed-smoking environmentalist who is unwilling to shove cow flesh into his maw.
Anyway, I’ve gone off topic. Tonight was volleyball night. Greg and I joined the Pure Heart crew for volleyball. Let me go on record saying I never want to play volleyball again. Standing idle while getting my feet dirty in hard sand and waiting for a ball to come my way isn’t exactly my idea of fun. I go for the social funtimes and several good friends that I have there. Here’s a picture showing me with a band of women who must surround me at all times (touch頭aintenance man).
Ok, I might have sweetened that up a bit…it’s actually a group of my platonic female friends who were asked by someone to pose with me to make an exciting picture. Eh, you say toe-may-toe, I say toe-mah-toe (I think that saying loses something when typed).
On to more pressing matters. Tomorrow TJ moves in, which, while anticipated and long awaited, will introduce a new dynamic to apartment living. The first change is that I have to get up early and clean his bathroom before he moves in. Nothing would be more disheartening than to move into your new pad only to see messes in the toidy, hair in the sink, and bags of crack hidden in the toilet tank (let’s keep that last one on the dl). Provided TJ never reads this blog and Greg and I get our duties accomplished, he’ll be none the wiser that we used his can and stored severed heads in his bedroom closet.
I must sleep now…peace to all.