Minimal Viewing

There’s rain pitter-pattering outside my window tonight and a strong wind has set the wind chimes to tink-tink-tinkling. I’m reflecting back on a summer gone before it began it seems. Sure, there were a handful of trips to the pool, but I’d have preferred more. A summer with many an hour spent perched in front of the computer, working, working, working. All towards a worthy, but not yet reached end product. Thankfully, have laptop will travel, so I’m not day-glo white in skin color. For the many times spent at home, though, the TV became a constant companion, my view of “Kill your television!” going by the wayside. So, I painted the little TV in the Spare Oom a vibrant pinkish lavender with little black and white flowers just for the heck of it, and then got to viewing.

I’ve watched what feels like nearly everything. Such a mish-mash! Bad Lifetime movies followed by really bad Lifetime movies, HGTV and the DIY Network to no end, and so many music videos, that the novelty finally wore off. I think. I hope! Disney Channel’s High School Musical only to be followed by High School Musical II which led to a bizarre fondness for The Suite Life of Zack & Cody. The Girls’ Next Door early on and Rock of Love just recently. Larry King Live and Dr. Phil. Anderson Cooper 360. Nancy Grace, for all of ten minutes. Oprah, here and there. Mythbusters, How It’s Made and Survivorman -the limits a person can push themselves to for survival, fascinating.

The limits a person can push themselves to for survival, fascinating.


I’ve discovered some interests. Through Flip That House and a slew of similar shows, what is a lifestyle and living to some has quickly turned into the latest fanatical fad for many. Well, add me to the list! I already adore refurbishing old cars, and I’m crazy about decorating and organizing and gardening. Roll that all up and let me have at it! Give me a partner to handle the none too glamorous paperwork end of things.

The Travel Channel’s No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain– a fan I’ve been since his book Kitchen Confidential– is a favorite! His biting snarkiness and sometimes overly critical analysis break at moments giving way to appreciation for life with insights that have me laughing and crying all at once. A show consisting of food, writing, and travel, things that make the heart beat faster, this heart anyways. Perfection! Bizarre Foods, with a similar premise, traveling to foreign destinations to consume unusual foods to that of the American palette, has none of the depth brought from Bourdain’s musings, but is nonetheless, delightful! Asian fare I find utterly fascinating, in particular, from Vietnam and the Philippines. To walk through one of their open air markets would be a dream! Both shows have heightened my desire to travel to a whole new level. Top Chef has me anxious to learn what the term “flavor profile” means, followed by which ones are considered classic, trendy, horrid, and unusual.

I’ve developed a few heroes, of sorts, along the way. Like Dog the Bounty Hunter‘s Duane “The Dog” Chapman, a big, mulleted teddy bear of a man. And the crew on Ghost Hunters for taking their work seriously by debunking so many of the paranormal claims that come their way versus just accepting and promoting them as fact. Tyra Banks for consistently sharing her imperfections, in hopes of obliterating the illusion of perfection that wreaks havoc on the worth of so many females. Further more, for reminding her audience that it’s more than okay to be imperfect, too. Lisa Ling, a woman whose career I’d love to have in another life (minus her stint on The View). She’s been involved in some of the most newsworthy of topics, exposing and bringing to light problems needing attention. China’s Lost Girls, the New Orleans hurricane aftermath, the Lord’s Resistance Army in Uganda, and child trafficking in Ghana come to mind.

I’m sad to have caught glimpses of the up and coming fall line up, because more than a few shows caught my eye. Pushing Daisies, Journeyman, and Moonlight, in particular. Bigshots, Chuck, and Life, maybe. Kid Nation, Children of the Corn-esque, though, it is. Are these to survive, I shall add them to the Netflix list with the likes of Veronica Mars Season III, Dexter, Ugly Betty, Cold Case, and Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends.

I’ve temporarily lost a sense of something in all the jumble


In this plethora of programming, I’ve felt a mess, a tangle of over-fed stimuli and as much as I feed on pop culture and being in the know, I’ve temporarily lost a sense of something in all the jumble. A peace maybe, a sense of, I don’t know, being clean, I guess. There’s such a feeling of inundation! Like if I were to take a picture of myself right now, my eyes would be buggy and my teeth bared and I’d be a garish green or purple. The photo wouldn’t lie still, but instead, reverberate. The mirror tells me differently, but my mind does not. The countering of the vapid and the inane with that of what matters, the people. People with less than even their daily needs that I’ve seen in far too many reports during my hyper tuned-in summer. It eats at my heart. I’m all the more resolute in the statement that I much prefer to live life then watch it. I shall now return to minimal viewing, that of Survivor and Heroes, for the time being, Project Runway in November, and with January comes, Lost and 24. ♦

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Reflective Hodge-Podge

I love the smell of my knees. Don’t you? I mean, love the smell of your knees, rather? It’s a smell I find I associate with childhood. Didn’t know that I did until an hour ago, or so, when shifting yet again in search of a more comfy sitting arrangement. Somehow a knee-to-face encounter occurred. The slightly sweet, salty, fleshy goodness of knees caused a wash of memories to fall over me.

Hugging them to myself countless times as a child sitting perched along the sidewalk pushing the little piles of sand deposits around that were gathered where the black-top road met the curb pavement. Sometimes there were bits of firecracker to be found. A good day yielded a whole one, ready to be picked at until the little thing unrolled revealing the silvery powder inside. Great for then drawing hearts on those knees!

A scar, ever so faint, still remains

Running around the big toy at recess in the 2nd grade only to slip on the outer border of wet wood that separated the gravel from the grass. The bits of gravel that were then imbedded in my knee and the flat refusal to have anyone other than myself dare to remove them. The intimacy of sitting eye to knee as the courage to face the damage under those little rocks was gathered. The weeks to follow spent daily examining the healing scabs and discovering the odd enjoyment found in sniffing the sickly smell of the yellowish pus (eww, she said “pus”), only to run and slip a month later on the very same knee, and have to repeat the process. A scar, ever so faint, still remains.

Hey, there’s a new Starbucks just up the street! That means I may now go to Starbucks on my way home from Starbucks! Considering they’re but a leap and a bound from each other, no more than a block, let’s say. Does this add to the love or the hate side of my relationship with the “Bucks,” I wonder? Will have to order a drink and mull this over …

I am thrilled and delighted far too much, I sheepishly admit, to have discovered a phrase that sets a ginormous smile upon my face: chicken boobies!!! Yeah! Why haven’t I thought of this before? Chicken breasts, I say, nay-nay, chicken boobies! Hey, hey! Haha! You know you love it, too. “Yes, I’ll have the uh, chicken boobie simmered in a red wine reduction over the whole wheat couscous with the rosemary infusion.” Ch-ch-chicken!

Hey There Delilah, that song by the Plain White T’s, if we swap out the “lil” for “bor,” we have “Deborah!” Though, I do hope that doesn’t mean Deborah = lil bor, as in BORing. There just simply aren’t enough songs out there entitled “Deborah” or including “Deborah.” And I’d like there to be. There are countless other songs incorporating a variety of other female names. Sure, there’s Beck’s Debra, but he clearly has spelling issues and it’s far from romantic as the song is all about getting with some chick he’s met at a JCPenny and oh, yeah, her sister, Debra. Second fiddle, harumpf. ;) I must say, I once semi-complained of the scarcity of musically interjected “Deborah’s” at work years ago and when I came back around to the cook’s window again to pick up my order for a hungry table of diners, the cook was playing Sugar Ray’s cover of Abracadabra. At the chorus he sang it out as “AbracaDeborah.” Neato, huh?

I’ll then see someone walk right by oblivious to the entire little world they’ve just passed and I’m saddened

Alright one more thought and then my reflective hodge-podge shall cease for the time being. My pillow is awaiting a good face plant. :) Sometimes I get concerned over the ants on the ground. I could be standing at a bus stop or lounging poolside, and movement along the ground will catch my eye. All too soon, I am captivated by the workings of dozens of little ants. I begin wondering if this one is that one’s great aunt (seriously, no pun intended), or if that one is close to retirement or has two days to go until a much needed vacation, and so on. I’ll then see someone walk right by oblivious to the entire little world they’ve just passed and I’m saddened to think of those little guys who will be soon squished. I wonder, can I even move from my spot without squishing one myself? No, it seems. Death under my feet. Just like that. I know it’s all a part of how things work. But some days, things are out of whack, and it feels that no matter what I do, it’s the wrong thing, that I’ve inadvertently stepped on someone, possibly hurt their feelings, or am taken the wrong way. Then one of these little ant awareness moments occur, and though they feel very much like one of those days because there I am hurting someone I didn’t mean to, they ultimately, are incredibly inspiring! These tiny little guys can work together to accomplish so much – the construction and maintaining and thriving of their own little world. It keeps me dreaming of always improving my own little world. Which includes some much needed rest … ♦

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Petty Indulgences

Petty: Of small importance; trivial
Indulgence: The act or an instance of indulging; gratification

A brief collection of items that, though, in and of themselves may appear inconsequential, combine in such a way as to fill my heart with delight and joy for each new moment.

Ready to begin piping the dough out into the wok.

Churros! All things churros, please. The cinnamon, the doughy center and slightly crunchy outer ridges. Most especially the super duper large ones available at the Costco snack bar. Better yet, making my own! Bean bought me a box of churro mix with my current obsession in mind. Having never deep-fried (nor desired to) a thing, I tentatively filled the wok with the suggested amount of cooking oil and set the temperature dial to just below high. Soon, the oil was popping and hissing and generally having a rolling good time. The box came with a sturdy pastry bag that I’d filled with the prepared mix. Ready to begin piping the dough out into the wok. They looked like happy little rows of yellow 2 pencils, minus the lead filling and pink nub eraser. In they went, out they came moments later, right into a pile of cinnamon sugar for a coating or two before being stacked like Lincoln Logs onto a massive platter. (Nevermind the mixed comparisons relating my cooking to that of wood, mmm, tasty, in both cases.) They were fantabulous! If you were here, I’d make you one. Or three!

The comfort found in the noises of daily living from those around me to the left, the right, below -each in their own little homey compartments- their daily sounds of thumping and bumps and opening and closing of doors, the muffled laughter and the “hi”s and “good-bye”s of visitors calling out their “see you soon”s and “miss you already”s. I feel a part of a whole without even knowing them, and it feels good.

Dolores O’Riordan, from The Cranberries! Bean called to tease me a bit, casually mentioning that there was a CD out that she just knew I’d be nuts over acquiring, and that surely I had yet to hear of it because she hadn’t received an urgent call on my part. She asked if “Ordinary Day” meant anything to me. How about “Are You Listening?” Later, she presented me with the new album, O’Riordan’s solo work. Yay! I liken her voice to riding a wave, a current that has strength and power in delivery tempered with a vulnerability in just the right moments to make her songs more poignant and resonating.

Flipping the calendar to a new month and liking the new month’s image better than the prior month’s image.

Attended the theatre a few weeks back for my dad’s birthday, and as always, I sat in awe of the masses of people filling every available seat. Time and again, the actors pour out their best, breathing life into words and actions in the telling of a story, and they’re met with the audience eager to give their appreciation resulting in the rising from seats and thunderous continued applause. It never fails to move me to tears.

Le parkour, coolest sport EVER! If you’ve seen the latest Bond flick, Casino Royale, then you’ve had a taste of it. All that incredible leaping, jumping, springing, bouncing, tumbling, rolling, landing-on-your-feet, never stop efficiency. What must takes masses of training appears so effortless. I wonder what beginning lessons entail …

They reminded me very much of two old cantankerous men standing about sharing their view of the world

We have birds. Or rather, the neighborhood has birds. These aren’t your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill birds either. We knew something was up last year when Bean’s Matt was out on the balcony for a smoke and he asked if I had a pair of binoculars. A duck, a white-feathered, yellow-beaked duck was waddling its way down the middle of the road. As an oncoming car approached, the duck made its way to the side only to return to the center once the vehicle passed by. It reached a thick grassy stretch, an area nestled between our apartments and the neighborhood of houses down the way and abruptly turned and waddled into the brush and out of sight. A trip by the area later revealed a small hidden pond containing nothing less than a small fleet of feathered fowl. All kinds! Soon after, we began to hear random cock-a-doodle-dooing. If you’re up early enough, say 6:30am-ish, you will find a rooster making its way up and down the sidewalks pausing to stand at the street corners as though he knows that’s what one does when crossing. Several weeks back, he stood in the company of a duck, this time a Mallard. They reminded me very much of two old cantankerous men standing about sharing their view of the world amongst themselves with duck cluckings and rooster crowings. For months that rooster has been one very confused fellow! He’s neglected to adhere to his assigned job description of providing a timely warning to wake come dawn. Instead he is to be heard clearly and LOUDLY from the hours of 3:30am on into late afternoon at regular intervals. Frankly, I’m amazed that no one has made a meal out of him, as he must be even louder to those who live nearer the pond.

The unshakable feeling that someone is thinking of you at the very moment you’re thinking of them.

A Tim Burton bug. Content to remain in shadow under the porch step of my dad’s home. For several years now, come summer this bug, or its offspring maybe, appears. It’s the most amazing in-person beetle-esque bug I’ve ever seen! The size of a Ritz cracker (BIG!), its shell is covered in thin, stark lines distinctly black and white reminding me very much of the lines often found in Burton’s work. The critter’s antennas and legs are deep red. A metallic red as found on a Japanese beetle. I had no idea such an exotic thing was to be found here in Washington, residential Washington. I’m quite fascinated by it! And now frightened, too. I must have knelt a bit close last year because the next thing I knew it clicked, it hissed (word of the day. SEE: churros) and spread its shell to reveal wings, as it all-at-once fluttered up at me. Huge freak out on my part as I ran indoors in my own flutter of sorts. I guess the little thing told me!

And with that, may you recognize and delight in your very own set of petty indulgences. And, may you share them! ♦

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Bulletin As Bloggery

After viewing repeated promotional efforts from subsequent posted bulletins, I give you Mandy & Kasey’s survey. I must say, delightful, not your average bunk. Hooray for that! And survey says:

1. Weirdest place you ever slept?
On the floor of the downtown bus tunnel. No, wait. On the steps at Arlington National Cemetery. Super brief nap leaning back against the building in the shade during lunchtime while on tour in a sleep-deprived week. When tired enough, I can sleep anywhere.

2. Favorite use for jam or jelly?
Marmalade with crunchy peanut butter on grilled sourdough or IKEA lingonberry jam over vanilla bean ice cream rolled in toasted coconut.

3. First pet’s name?
Corkey, a Poodle Terrier.

4. Circumstances of your first kiss (who, where, when, feelings after)?
Just who I wanted it to be at the time, after school in my room on the bed, within the first month of 8th grade. Feelings after included an insatiable desire for chocolate and the sense that an internal lightbulb had been turned on. Upped wattage. The poor boy, I slobbered all over him, nervous just enough to not retain any sense of bodily function! Happy to report the slobbering has long since ceased.

5. Ever pooed yourself?
Yes. I was two. Had on a pair of PJs with the attached slipper feet. Bright pink with an embroidered Big Bird on the chest. Laid in the crib calling out for my parents because I knew 2 was on its way in a big, big way! They arrived to find my sleeper leg filled, diaper to toe, one side only, and then a seemingly neverending night of bathing ensued.

6. Is passing gas okay?
Don’t statistics say one does so 14x a day on average? If so, please do so far and away.

7. Stolen anything? What?
Yes. A heart. (Awwh, do I hear groaning out there, people?)  :)

8. Which celebrity doesn’t deserve their status?
The folks from The View, past and present, save for Rosie.

9. Is peeing in public acceptable?
Does this include swimming pools? Kidding, kidding …

10. What did you “really” do on school trips?
Some naughty stuff on a stairway or two.

11. Worst hangover, caused by what?
Not applicable.

12. Best Halloween costume (your own)?
I was fond of the butterfly wings I made one year when I found that the only ones available in stores were super crappy with ugly elastic, were often a sappy pastel color and were much too small for the makings of a butterfly befitting my imagination.

13. Kissed someone, and then discovered they were ugly?
Nope. I suspect this relates to question 11?

14. Most imaginative way you’ve wanted to kill someone?
I’ve never imagined such things, sure, felt like killing someone to a scary degree when I was bitter and angry in what seems a former life, but never endulged in the thought process of the actual execution of the deed, as I figured that to be territory too dangerous to explore, visualizing being such an integral step in accomplishing something. Such an overly serious answer for a question meant for fun, huh? Instead, let’s go with a paintbrush to the jugular.

15. Been attracted to a friend’s parent? At what age (you and the parent)?
Robyn Johnson’s dad was H-O-T!! And he knew it. And he knew I knew it. And she knew he knew I knew it. In fact, the three of us talked about it from time to time. He was late thirties, early forties? I knew him from age 14 to 18.

16. Worst thing you’ve eaten (on purpose or by accident)?
Blue fuzzy yogurt.

17. What luxury item would you take on Survivor?
Try as I may, I can’t decide on what I’d take along. Are those spiffy 39-gadgets-in-one-kinda knives allowed? If not, would a box of Sharpie markers be considered one item? Probably not. Scrabble? Again, considered multiple items? Too obnoxious, maybe, for sluggish people to wanna play.

18. Have you visited an “adult” store for reasons other than a bachelor/ette party?
Years and years and years ago with male friends. We were kicked out due to their overzealousness with the products, let’s say.

19. Secret fantasy?
I’m not one for fantasy, if it’s good enough to fantasize about, I’ve probably already done it or am working on accomplishing it.

20. Invisible or telepathic?
Invisible, please.

21. Something you’ve done that you worry will come back on you (karma)?
Anything I’ve done already has, trust me. Clean slate, here.

22. Were you spanked as a child (with what)?
With hands. Wooden spoons. Belts. Paddles. Firewood kindling.

23. Caramel or Butter?
Caramel drizzled on extra frothy hot chocolate. I prefer a swirly pattern as opposed to crisscrossing. Butter spread on warm garlic bread. BOTH on baked apples along with cinnamon and brown sugar.

24. Favorite movie sex scene?
Taking Lives. Unfaithful, the restaurant bathroom. Dangerous Liaisons, wherever the Vicomte de Valmont, John Malkovich, is involved.

25. Disney character you’d most want to have sex with?
The Tramp. Allotted I’m Lady. Otherwise, Jack, Jack Sparrow.

26. Something you survived? 
My mother.

27. When was your ugly stage?
The 4th grade! Ug.

28. Eat a shot glass of your own poo, or martini glass of vomit?
Eat a shot glass of your own poo?? Sick, people, major ew. Vomit, sure, why not. Mine for free, yours for cash.

29. Non-deadly disease you could handle having?
Is there one out there that’ll make various body parts swell nicely from time to time, i.e., breasts, lips. I’ll take that one. Otherwise, how about Saltatoric spasm – Spasmodic muscular contractions of the calves, hips, knees, and back that cause the sufferer to spring up or jump about uncontrollably every time he or she attempts to stand. Sounds kinda fun, lively and animated!

30. Who do you really wish you could punch?
Lately, myself.

31. Which of the five senses would you be willing to give up?
Sight? Nope. Sound? No way. Touch? NEVER. The reason things taste so good is often highly tied into the way they smell, so smell must remain. Some of my best memories are triggered by smell as well, so bye-bye taste.

32. Worst way to die?
Being trampled to death, all that claustrophobic smothering coupled with painful blows and the crushing pressure, the collapsing of parts never meant to collapse.

33. Favorite teacher in grade school (why)?
Mr. Gagliardi, hands down! Silent ball! Lively teachings on blood cells! Both red and white! Long division. There was a time, a very, very, very short time when I loved math. And was good at it even! Le shock! Letting me choose who I’d sit next to- the crush on one side, the best friend on the other. Encouraging me to write when I was afraid to, instilling my love for words, for poetry. Reading scary stories to us in the dark while sitting in the coat closet! His command of respect.

34. Whose body would you like to have (can mix and match)?
Alessandra Ambrosio. Marisa Miller. Both Victoria’s Secret models. Pamela Anderson from the waist down. Or Stacie Ferguson, Fergie, flouncy, flouncy. 

35. What’s the definition of scrumdactile?
A fairly tasty bit of reptilian delicacy, the tacdatile, descended from the familial line of the now extinct terradactyl. Native to the upper Canadian regions and best served warm with a dollop of softened goat cheese and a side of Kalamata olives. ♦

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Mine For the Dreaming

Let me tell you about my dreams.

For years, nearly every night I’d dream that I was on a mission of some sort, always running and hiding from something. Always having an objective to complete. But never clear as to what the objective was. I was often a special agent and carried a gun, but never shot it, it was held at my side. Dirty and sweaty, and usually efficient in movement, I’d run from place to place taking cover in the dark, down alleyways in between buildings looking ahead for the next shadow to cower in, desperate and determined to make sense of the situation. Often I was waiting for someone who was to join me, but they always seemed just ahead or just behind, timing an ever present issue. It’s only recently come to my attention that the dreams have subsided, not sure when, but sometime in the last several months.

If I could choose to live in that moment forever, I feel I would.

None of the typical dreams “they” say the masses have that involve flying, falling, staircases, bananas, candlesticks, monsters, public nudity, etc., (okay, public nudity a few times) have been mine for the dreaming. Not one to put stock into the meaning of dreams and their symbology, I do however ponder their origin. They’re supposed to be the culmination of your thoughts or your subconscious throughout the day, right? I’m banking on it being the subconscious because my dreams often consist of people I haven’t given a thought to in years. People from long ago visit sporadically. Sometimes, the visit is so sweet upon waking in those few moments between sleep and conscious where you know you’re almost fully awake, but want to hang on to that feeling the dream evokes, not let it drift away, that, at times, if I could choose to live in that moment forever, I feel I would. Then of course, just a handful of minutes pass consisting of one of those really good, long, cat-like stretches (cat dream to follow) and then a meander down the hallway to the start of the day, and the memory has floated away to where dreams go in the daylight and life is happily mine for the living. Here, in reality.

Ever have one of those dreams of someone, maybe a coworker or a friend that you just don’t think of in that way, but the dream leaves you with a new view of them, and when you again encounter that person, you could swear they know, they totally know what you’ve dreamt, what you two’ve shared to have acquired that new view, and it’s all you can do to not turn to the shade of cabernet and pivot on your heel in escape. I must tell you, a few weeks back I had just such a dream. I saw a friend in a whole new never-before light. It puts a smile on my face even now. A sentence that’s been displayed in magnetic poetry around my home for over ten years: I must be quite kissed, or else. Others may have their hankerings, mine’s for a super colossal, knee-melting, mind-bending, time-forgetting kiss. And as with all such kisses, what makes the top contenders so spectacular is the presence of emotion behind them, the connection existing between two people. There was moonlight, a confrontation and the sweetest little tête-à-tête, le sigh. Pardon the blathering. :) I must say I did not then encounter my friend as mentioned above for he’s too far away for that, but even so I swear he still knew, as I heard from him that day, and that’s a rarity. I shall end my girlish silliness as there are many more a dream to discuss …

You know when it’s the place, but not really the place in dreams?

Several years back I began having dreams that included famous people, something I’d never dreamt before despite my penchant for movies and all things Hollywood. In the dreams, I’m far from star struck as the celebrities involved are rarely my favorites. Once I dreamt I dated Jim Carrey. He made for a moody boyfriend, jealous and needy, and I was glad to finally wake up that day. Next Ben Affleck, I found myself in an embrace, dancing, and he swept me downward in a deep dip. But he never brought me back up for it seemed the applause of the surrounding crowd caused him to extend my captive state in a fit of self-seeking praise. I woke up on that note, lying at an angle, my head off the bed and upside down, as in the dream. Hot tubbing with Madge, Madonna. We both wore heels, fully clothed, yet submerged, sitting around discussing trends in art galleries with a man who looked very much like Seal. Marilyn Manson tattooed my sister and then attempted to murder her so I spent the dream stocking him in vengeance and another time Billy Bob Thornton took my sister out for Mexican food much to my dismay. Such oddities. Now after a few years celebrity-dream-free, I’ve gone and dreamt that Jared Leto and his brother Shannon from the band 30 Seconds to Mars were on the couch in my living room. Only it wasn’t really my living room. You know when it’s the place, but not really the place in dreams? A Fall Out Boy was down the hall in the bedroom with the Dresden Dolls drummer and they were each crying into their cellphones, sadly lamenting the loneliness of their lifestyles. Meanwhile, back in the living room I fed my guests peanut butter pasta (?!) and then woke up with the urge to dye my hair black again. I wonder who’ll show up tonight …

Cat ripping. Yes, it’s an absurd and horrific affair. I hate cats, positively loathe them, save Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman, and with good reason. It was Christmas Eve, I was two, and Barney Cat was long-haired and fluffy. He rubbed his charcoal grey body across my legs as cats do and I reached to pet the length of his body as he passed by. The last bit of his tail apparently didn’t make it all the way through my hand as I clenched it shut. Barney Cat leapt screeching towards my face, bright eyes wild, claws fully extended and imbedding into my chest, dangling and swinging to and fro, stretched to full length and nearly as tall as me. The room erupted in roaring laughter at the sight of the attached cat while my dad, yelling, tried to detach Barney Cat all the while muttering, “Your dress is absolutely ruined with all those little puncture holes in it. And now your bleeding. Great. Stains.” So, yes, despise cats, I do. Maybe once a year there will come a dream where a cat will leap out of nowhere at me, pet semetery-esque eyes aglow, thrashing itself about, four claws flailing wildly at my face and chest, a million stinging slices, until I manage to get one cat limb in each of my hands and I pull as hard as I can, resulting in a torn cat, insides spilling forth, blood spurting, as it lets out a bone chilling death yowl. I hate these dreams. Too barbaric even for a cat. I always wonder where is all that dormant violence coming from?!

Not to purposely cause much “eeew”ing on anyone’s part here as a follow up to that last bit of kitty carnage, but the next dream I must mention is that of my teeth falling out. I hesitate to write that, as it seems to be the one dream that I can mention during the day and it will then occur come night. Occasionally I’ll find that I’m eating something soft, often strawberries or a warm scone in a dream. The next thing I know is there is a wobbling, a loosening, and teeth are on the move. Always the ones in the front and usually on the bottom. I try to run to a mirror, (ah, vanity!) and watch helplessly in horror. Inevitably, it occurs while on a date and I’m made to deal with being seen and accepted, or not, in such a state. One time in one of the most disturbing dreams to come to mind, half of my lower jaw came off in my hand, as though it just rotted and decayed, leaving the bloody bony mess that it was, resting in my palm. You know, nothing a little lip gloss can’t fix. ;)

Do they dream those typical dreams afore mentioned that “they” say we all dream?

I’m hugely curious about the dreams of others. I wonder, are there people who dream in black and white, or all in red? Mine are in full color, save one time they were in a rich sienna, much like an aged photo from long ago. Do musicians hear music only to wake and try to capture what they’ve heard in the night? Does anyone ever dream they’re not human? Maybe a roll of Scotch tape instead or a “59”Chevy or a mackerel in a stream? Do they dream of me? Do they dream those typical dreams afore mentioned that “they” say we all dream? So often in conversation, I’ve encountered people who say they don’t dream at all. Tell me about one of your dreams. I want to know I’m not alone in all my delights and fears and absurdities. I want to know. ♦

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