My friend Jeff’s birthday is on Tuesday so last night I offered to buy him a birthday beer somewhere. Against my better judgment, I allowed him to talk me into going to Greensboro’s giant queer dance club. It’s a big warehouse of a place and I hadn’t been there in probably twenty years. Not surprisingly, it’s pretty close to being my personal version of hell.
When we got there, I was surprised to see that even though it used to open right onto the street, it had now sprouted a huge parking lot in front. They’d also added a big front porch with rocking chairs and it felt a little like a Cracker Barrel…clientele and all. The whole industrial area had been transformed into something surprisingly suburban-looking.
Inside, it was as annoying as ever, and it wasn’t very long till I was ready to escape. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find Jeff anywhere. After spending more time that I wanted looking for him, I decided to just leave.
For the life of me I can’t remember how I ended up on Patterson Street near the Coliseum. About halfway between Holden and High Point Roads, I saw what I thought was Jeff’s car, which surprised me because Jeff doesn’t drive. I was curious and decided to try to see what was going on.
As I closed in on the car, I noticed another car next to it and the two of them seemed to be driving kind of erratically and aggressively. All of a sudden, shots were fired out of the car that I thought belonged to Jeff. The other car returned fire.
I noticed a police officer had someone stopped on the other side of the street. I wondered why he didn’t go chasing after the two cars that were shooting at each other but he never did.
I backed off, hoping to avoid the fireworks. The two cars sped on toward the Coliseum and I figured I was safe at that point. And then one of them made a sudden U-turn and I realized I was just about to be in the line of fire.
Then I woke up.
Thoughts while doing laundry and eating surprisingly good low-carb butter pecan ice cream:
- We’ve documented that I’ve become something of a neat freak and a much more attentive housekeeper over the past several years but I’ve also become a much better (and somewhat more creative) cook. If I were ever going to get married again (ain’t gonna happen BTW) I might make someone a really good wife.
- I am beat. I didn’t sleep well last night; I had really weird dreams all night, probably brought on by the death metal show I was at earlier in the evening. And I moved another load of stuff this afternoon. Thus the long and introspective post I’d planned is on hold. Fuck introspection; I’m going to sit on my ass and watch a movie.
- I may actually get to see one of my favorite Canadian power pop bands while I’m in Toronto in a couple of weeks. That would be nice.
- Did I mention that I’m beat?
Pictures after the jump, if you care… Continue reading
I can’t even recall if we were at a party or in a bar. That’s how fuzzy it is. But I remember talking to my boss about how he’d lost a fortune investing in Canadian zinc mines. That really surprised me, but he emptied his pockets and all he had was a five and a toonie so I guess he meant it.
I was way too drunk to drive home so I flew to Fresno instead and crashed at the home of my former sister-in-law and her husband. We all watched Cops for a while. Then, just as I crawled into bed, the alarm went off and I woke up in Winston-Salem and started getting ready for work. I was remarkably productive all day today considering how busy I’d been the night before.
Assorted thoughts while spending a Friday evening with Gene Tierney:
- The first day of fall is always a happy day in my world, meaning as it does that the long hell of summer is coming to an end.
- I’ve been having very odd sex dreams the past few nights. I suppose this continues my recent trend of dreaming about habits I’ve given up. If only I could start dreaming about pizza and fried food…
- I don’t know that I’ve ever heard anyone call Starship a classic band before and I sincerely hope that I never do again.
- Here’s an article that just screams, “For the love of God please don’t read the comments, or you head will surely explode.”
Nearly eight years after quitting, I find that still smoke a lot in my dreams. I Invariably end up having a cigarette just before I wake up. Then, when I’m in that brief half awake moment, I get really sad that I’d managed to quit for so long but started back. But a second later I wake up completely, realize that I never started back, and am very happy.
It’s a stressful but generally good way to wake up. And it reminds me how glad I am that I don’t smoke anymore.
Last night about 3AM, I woke up needed to take a whiz. This is not in itself unusual. What was unusual was that I had apparently been dreaming I was in a motel room right before I woke up. When I got up, I couldn’t see anything but some light leakage around the windows, and I couldn’t remember how to get to the bathroom because I thought I was still in the motel room from my dream. I was stumbling around my bedroom, not knowing where the bloody bathroom was.
I didn’t really wake up and clue into where I was until I started feeling my way around the room and managed to find my way to one of the windows and open the curtain. At that point (maybe it was the light from outside), it finally hit me that I was in my own bedroom, that the bathroom was just a few feet away, and (best of all) that I remembered where it was. I was very relieved.
I hate those creepy half-asleep, half-awake experiences.
This week has been really insane, and I needed a little break. Last night, I went on a group tour of a museum with Mark and my grandmother. We got a little annoyed at my grandmother for insisting on coming along, since she can barely walk and the tour involved lots of stairs. We missed half the tour waiting for her. The museum was fun, though.
When the tour was over, we all landed in a giant reception room where a huge crowd of people was watching the local news from San Francisco on a widescreen TV. Cyndi Lauper came on to do her nightly report, which she sings. We all enjoyed it, and then finished our drinks and went home.
Then I woke up.
OK, so this is the creepiest dream ever:
I’m sitting in a very nice restaurant with close relatives and maybe a friend or two (although I don’t remember WHO). We’re all about to have dinner, and I’m a little peeved that one of my friends and I will be supplying the random organ meat which will be the appetizer. From our own bodies. It apparently isn’t going to kill us or cause us big health problems, but will just be something of an inconvenience…
No wonder I’m a little pissed off, huh?
So I get all passive-aggressive and leave the table, asking (a bit sacrcastically) whether anyone minds if — seeing as how I’m going to BE dinner rather than be SERVED dinner — I run down to Burger King and get a snack, so I can have something to eat too…
As I walk down the street toward the Burger King, which seems to be a mile or so away, they keep calling after me. Which apparently wakes me up…
In retrospect, two things worry me about this dream:
- Why was I pissed off enough to do the whole passive-agrgressive thing, but not pissed off enough just to say “No, you’re NOT eating my spleen for dinner, goddammit!”?
- If they were going to eat my body parts, couldn’t they at least have had the common courtesy to FEED me first? How rude…
I slept horribly, first having trouble getting to sleep at all and then repeatedly waking up, but finally I dozed for a good long stretch…
About 7:15, I woke up. In my grogginess, it took me a few seconds to realize I’d spent the night with friends in Fourth Ward. And that I wasn’t sure I’d parked my car legally the night before. And that it had probably been ticketed or towed…
So I went outside to check on it. Alas, I couldn’t remember where I’d parked the damned thing. I walked for blocks and blocks up Graham Street and never found my car. I was almost a mile from my friends’ apartment…
And then I realized I was buck naked, so I had to run all the way home to avoid getting arrested…
I hate dreams that make me wake up exhausted…
Interesting dream, but mine was stranger, I think. I don’t remember all the details, but the basic plot was that Mark and I were immigrating to Canada. The checkpoint and sign-in for immigrants was part of a very large semi-outdoors sex club situated around a lake. Mark went in ahead of me while I signed some paperwork and checked my clothes, which seemed to take an inordinantly long time. Then I couldn’t find Mark, so I stolled around the lake wondering how many of the fags there really wanted to move to Canada and how many of them were locals who were just there for the sex…
Then I woke up, realizing that I needed to take a whiz, and pondering how dressing and undressing always seem to take a really long time in dreams…